Song of the Day Eight, On the Battlefield

War has a penchant for inspiring music. As do video games. And religion. And books. And other music. We're to discuss war, though. Or, more precisely, battle. On the Battlefield

(At this moment, Reogan found, to his horror, that a tab was open to a wiki page on Tingle. He possessed no memory of opening it, and thus became convinced that Tingle was coming for him. The next hours were spent setting traps resembling Force Gems, and leaving out brochures to Cartographers Conferences to distract the fiend.)

There is a field, vast and dead. Fires still flicker at some points, but the rest is ash. No rain falls, but storms constantly brew overhead, and lightning arcs from the heavens to the earth with terrifying regularity. The stench of death is in the air, and it has summoned dark ravens, which menacingly swoop and dive above, waiting for blood. Scattered throughout the field are twisted abominations, part man and part beast; these fiends kick up clouds of dust as they trudge through. A hulking lycanthrope, barely humanoid, rides a winged steed forged of onyx. The steeds eyes glow red with hellish flame, and noxious fumes pour from it's nostrils as it alights. The nightmarish rider reaches out with an impossibly long arm and takes one of the amalgamations of human and horror by the throat. He barks something in a tongue that hurts the mind, and the piteously ensnared creature chokes out a few squeaks. The rider, displeased, takes two claws and extracts the heart with surgical precision. The victim lives just long enough to see it swallowed, and then his carcass is discarded, and immediately set upon by his previous companions as they greedily feast on it. Dust swirls as the steed rises, and flies on.