The Rape of the Reach, or the Myth of Red-Eagle, Chapter XII: The Onslaught

Faolan made way to Héstram's camp.
Andoe came to Faolan and spoke: "King Faolan, the troops are not yet ready for the Hunt, and they will not be a match for Héstram in traditional combat. Shouldn't we wait, and stick to our successful ways?"
Faolan replied: "The troops might not be ready, but I am. Tell them to watch on yonder hill. I will show Héstram the might of the Reach."
Faolan began shaking with rage. His arms and legs and neck and torso became wider and bigger, so that Faolan stood well over two feet above Andoe. His hands were clenched in fists, and he broke nine javelins with his strength. The exposed Briarheart in his chest was beating with more force than his original heart could, and it broke three ribs in the process. Then, the warps began. Faolan's muscles began distorting and shifting, so that he looked more like a force of nature than a man. Great fire and frost shot from every hole of his body, or made new holes through his flesh. From the stag head on his own, one could hear his teeth clashing with the force of mountains, and spurts of blood shot out through the stag head. Faolan led out a howl that was heared throughout every corner of the Reach, from Dráchstáir to the Leap, and from there to Sian Háirgramen and back again. His howl lasted for more than an hour, and echoed through the Reach for more than three weeks.
At this time, Héstram's men had heard Faolan, and were at the ready. When they saw the lone king on the hill, they started laughing. One soldier commented: "What is that dumb and petty man thinking? Is he hoping to take on the mighty Legions of the South all by himself?"
Orcí, who was inspecting troops when it happened, said: "Hold your tongue, dumb boy. That there is Faolan, or used to be him. As a normal man he could take on any of you a hundred fold, and live to tell about it. He seems different now, and I advice you all to stay ready."
Orcí was ignored. Angry, he made way to Héstram's tent, hoping that she would listen to his reason.
Faolan heard the soldiers laughing, and it made his rage more potent. The hairs of his beard were standing upright, each tense enough to break the mountains of the Reach. Every drop of blood was filled with Magicka and rage, and each was potent enough to crack the earth beneath him. Faolan could no longer contain his rage, and that was when the fighting started.
He flung his javelins at the soldiers below, each followed by fire and frost and lightning. Before the first javelin landed, the sun was blotted out by Faolan's javelin and magicka feats. Before the soldiers stopped laughing, they were all dead. The ones that were resting or stationed at the other side of the camp heard the rumble, and rose to their feet and grabbed their arms and armour. They saw their dead comrades on the ground, their heads split open by javelins and their bowels scattered throughout the camps. Some were scattered completely by fire or lightning or frost. Some of the living vomited at this sight. They took position, albeit scared stiff.
Faolan was now out of javelins, and drew his swords. His rage had only increased by the smell and sight of blood. He ran down the hill with the speed of the winds, and caught every arrow shot at him. He carved a path through the enemy ranks, and circled the camp nine times, so that no man could flee. By doing this he made the palisade of the Reach, which was a wall of bodies, headless torso against severed neck, three high. After his ninth round, he went back in the camp to slaughter the remaining troops. The bards and poets that were in Héstram's camp were almost all slaughtered, and the remaining either fainted or were wounded, so that no one could accurately account the massacre. This was the greatest slaughter in the Rape of the Reach.
The following morning, the remainder of Héstram's forces tried cleaning up the camp. They burned or buried the bodies laying around. There were so many that count was lost, but it is thought that Héstram lost at least twenty battalions that night. No man was left unscathed; they either lost a limb, or an eye, or had broken bones, bruised limbs, heart conditions, or were damaged in another way.
Faolan, thinking his form the previous day was hideous, had made effort to look his best. He took up position on the same hill as yesterday. His black beard was braided three fold, and a nine fold ribbons were placed in his fair hair, in beautiful disorganisation. His skin was clean, and showed no signs of the previous battle. In each hand he held nine heads, each from one of Héstram's legates. He held them high above his head, to show his triumph to Héstram's forces.
Faolan's troops, who had seen the battle of the previous day, stood behind him. As much as Héstram's men were shocked by the show of power, so were Faolan's. They did not recognise their king in this form, nor did they recognise their own commanders, for they were Bráircór as well. Unruly and Uneasy, they stood behind their king, hoping to never wrong him or never upset him, for they were wary of his might.
Héstram looked out at the hill, and spit at the ground. She yelled: "This is low, Faolan, that you must show your spoils of war to us, who have suffered by your unearthly rage."
Without saying a word, Faolan dropped the heads, so that they rolled down the hill towards Héstram. Meanwhile, he picked up a stone, and flung it with such force at the horse Héstram was seated on that its brains covered Héstram's White-Gold armour. Héstram jumped of the collapsing horse and spit at the ground again before turning her back at Faolan without saying another word.