A Massacre but for who?

Ever been on a roller coaster? You feel that rush coursing through you as you're zipped across the twirling tracks guiding you to what crazy spin, loop, rise and dramatic full before you come to an aburpt and violent stop? 

That's pretty much the closest thing I can think of when the bad guys just ram into our cart. 

If only it came with straps or seatbelts to keep a lot of us from being thrown back. 

Those mad few who caught themselves waste no time jabbing and slamming those armored freaks of nature with everything they have. 

But the more the merrier. 

Picking up a discarded pike, my proper body mechanics waste no time going to work thrusting the first bad guy I can see. Turns out it's a lot easier than I thought. But then again, he was probably confused on what to do next. 

He made it through the hellfire and rammed into us. Now what? Was he supposed to just dismount, hop of and just cannonball into a the fustercluck of pointy ends of spears? I'm no expert, but given how little room he had, there was no much he can do but eventually get pushed off and get lost in the quagmire of horses clogging into one big juicy clot. 

It's only when another poor MoFo fell off his horse after getting marked with crimson red is when I begin to feel how easy this is all feeling. This can't be it right? No way, these guys must be the cannon fodder. These guys are supposed to be the most deadly warriors on horseback throughout the land and every one or two of them fall into the maelstrom of cavalry every few seconds. 

At this rate, there are more clueless horses than the dudes mounting them. 

Unless...

"Oh shit!" 

If they ram through the wall, they'll just dig under it!

"Move!" 

Some nearby dude won the halberd lottery as I clamor through the meat shields all clamoring to the front of the wagon. It's only when I reach the ledge is when peripheral vison alerts me of some insane mad lad crawling underneath our wagon towards our unsuspected rear. 

"Fuck!" One of these days, I have to learn not to surrender weapons to some amateur!

That only leaves one card left to play: The bane of almost everyone especially from one who played an unhealthy amount of dark fantasy games against OP bosses.

Gravity. 

Here's hoping I have the mass. 

Hyping my fall with a warcry, my feet slam into the helmeted head of the intruder and I can feel the awkward and sudden twist of my ankle before falling off to the side. 

Thank fuck fall damage does not equal actual pain, but I wish the developers REALLY toned down the pins and needles sensation! 

At least his limping self loosened the grip on a rather intimidating looking mace. One that's easily stolen and is used to bludgeon the dude until is dented body is laying their motionless. 

I just wish he was the only one. 

"Over here!" I waste no time calling out for a few of the women and children. "Hurry! To arms!" 

Amazingly, the moment they saw danger was imminent, no shortage of volunteers flood to my aid. 

I know women can be scary, especially mothers who will go full on mama bear on anyone who threatens their kids. But would anyone believe me if I told them, kids are just as scary if not more? 

Would anyone ever take my word seeing a knight stumbling to his feet only for the girl with the bow leaping from the cart and onto his back before brutally stabbing him with an arrow, leaving  a small fountain of blood erupting from his neck. It's not long before his falling twitching self is quickly consumed by the swarm of boys a girls tearing him to pieces with sharp sticks and rocks. 

I bet people would be more inclined to believe women slamming her flail into a staggering knight, lopping the head off, but even then that's a bit of a stretch. 

What sort of demons did I pick up in this party?! 

Thankfully, those few stragglers seem to be all that broke through our lines. But still, it's better safe than sorry. 

*

Where is the honor? Where is the glory in this? How did dreams of grandeur and victory sour into a nightmare he cannot wake from? 

And yet, no matter how hard he tries, Brujmur cannot wake from this madness. 

No where to run. No path to charge forth. What else is he supposed to do but watch as proud knights are impaled and trampled in cold blood? What commands can he give through all the clamoring shouting and screaming of the carnage. 

What demonic spell possessed this rabble of pitchforks and flails to fight with unnatural ferocity? 

Perhaps... perhaps one more charge. Their carts are bruised and battered, his men have slain several stop of their pitiful forts, and many their horses remain unscathed despite lacking their mounted master. 

"Yes... yes... victory will be ours..." 

All he has to do is reach out to his men and command them to regroup. Mounted or not, all while form up for one more glorious charge. One that will break the rebel scum once and for all. 

All it takes one loud pop to echo throughout and the horses seem to have react just as he hoped. Once they all regrouped from afar, Brujmur will lead the charge himself. Even if the incoming swarm of frenzied steeds close in with no signs of stopping. 

Perhaps he might be able to claim a new mount for his own, if they can slow down. 

He doesn't even get the chance to clutch the mane of one of the rabid beasts before being trampled underneath it's hooves. 

*

With the close call taken care of, and patched up, there's no excuse to rejoin the slaughter and probably get stabbed by some pissed off knight. 

That is if there is anybody left to get stabbed by.

At this point, there's more horses than knights at this point and they seem to be doing the sensible choice of scattering in all directions, far away from the splintering pikes still stretched out. 

Whether it's back the road they came, or into the marsh where many find themselves sinking in, there are none left to stand against us, save for a few stragglers. 

It's hard to imagine such the sight. The vultures are going to have a free for all buffet with the amount of corpses stockpiling the road. And at the rate of those twitching survivors, it's only a matter of time before those still living are added to the menu. 

If this does not qualify as a defining heroic victory, I don't know what will. 

We're not off the hook yet, though. This little caravan still needs to get to safety and given the state of half of them, we needed to be there yesterday! I just hope we won't run into-

"More villains!" 

I wish I sound more confident than the girl, because as I gaze out at the marsh, my eyes reveal ghosts forming in the mists. 

And they do no look friendly. 

At least they weren't really ghosts, just more bad guys that we somehow missed. 

I just hope there's no hard feelings for the mess we made. 

Aw, who am I kidding?