Scene 12

Great Lord Sagr looked at the huge castle, expression unreadable. The clouds above him shone with the red light from a blood sun. Perfect. The country of Eraskia, although caught completely unawares, had fought honorably, but now the last of the resistance, along with the royal family, had barricaded themselves in this castle. Their pitiful army had proved obsolete next to the Legions of the Mjolgir, rolling across the island country in a matter of days, destroying all who would not submit. After the initial examples, not many had taken the path of resistance, but there were always the heroes.

Standing, he didn't need a mirror to know he looked intimidating. Standing at easily seven feet tall, he wore an immaculate white military uniform, with his hammer at his side and a shield on his back. The hammer's haft was a full four feet long, and the head was fifteen pounds of tempered steel. He needed neither. His mane of black hair flowed in the light wind, and his straight beard and mustache barely managed to cover his permanent scowl. He flexed his fingers impatiently, black leather gloves creaking. He took a deep breath. He had waited thirty years for this time, so he could wait a little longer. After a blanket of ice had covered the entire northern half of the world, he had taken it as a sign that the soft lands of the South had finally come up with something that could challenge him. The Geist within him groaned in agony, and he ordered it silent. It obeyed, as it always did. At first, he had been afraid of the being inside of him, but why should he fear a weapon that he held? He might as well fear his hammer. The only difference was that his hammer was nothing compared to the power the Geist gave him. He had learned fast enough that it could not disobey a direct order, and it had served him faithfully for decades.

His musings were interrupted by a general approaching him on horseback at full gallop. He slowed, got down from his mount, and knelt on the ground. He was dressed in similar clothing, if with a less magnificent beard. "My lord, the soldiers have been assembled. The king suspects nothing."

"As well he shouldn't." He turned his horse around on the small hill he had positioned himself on. He faced the army behind him. 20,000 souls stared back at him, nothing but awe, respect and fear in their expressions. It was merely a third of the force that Mjolgir had brought to conquer the world, but it had done its job well. Sagr lifted his hammer, almost weightless in his huge hand and shouted to them. "Finally, my brethren, it is time! It is time the world knew the power of Mjolgir! We will show them the true meaning of fear, and we will take the nations of the South under our flag, or be crushed under the feet of our armies!" He shook his hammer once, and the assembled army roared in excitement. He raised his other hand, and they went silent. He spoke again, softer. "My father underestimated the South, and as a result of his failure, our people were dishonored and were made to retreat back to the wastes of our homeland. I promise you this! The Mjolgir will rise again, destroying all in our path, and our people will never hunger again!" The great host thundered their approval, and Sagr pointed to the castle, standing resolute. "They expect us to lay siege to them, wasting lives by the hundreds, pounding against their walls in futility! They are sadly mistaken! This is what happens to those who oppose the might of the Mjolgir!"

He lowered his hammer, and channeled the energies within him. The Geist tried to resist, but he ordered it to obey him, brutally wresting it to his will. The ground began to shake, and the castle shook visibly. Then it began to collapse. Starting with the tallest towers, it crumbled, great buttresses and soaring towers turning themselves to dust. In the space of a minute, the castle had been flattened as if struck by a giant fist. Sagr hid his sudden fatigue, and turned back to the army. They were, to a man, silent. He raised his hammer again. "This is what happens!" The army roared, stunned by their leader's power. "Destroy anything living you find, and all is yours for the talking!" The army charged, chaotic yet ordered, in the way of Mjolgir. He turned and let them run rampant. They needed the breach of dicispline every once in a while, and he could easily get them back under control. He walked slowly back to his tent. There would be none alive by the end of the night, and he needed rest.