The Coming Storm

The cold winds swept the barren crags on which Carpet City sat as a crown, its jewel held aloft on her steed examining the lowlands below.
"Matriarch, by Ishtar, we heard the distant sound of drums and thought the combined armies of Hyboria would ride down on us today like the oracle scryed." The swarthy man fell to one knee at the side of the Avatar.
"Nay, no battle drums. See here, the lightening quickens the skies to the south, the sound is only the thunder of Crom as he passes over the land" The Matriarch suddenly aware, looked down at the swarthy man.
"The oracle said there would be a war, yet no riders pass this way and our scouts report there have been no parties leaving the towns to the south. There are no raiding parties," the Matriarch looked uncomfortable and ill at ease. "No men worth our blades it seems."
The Matriarch reeled on the reins of her stallion, and faced the legions of misfits behind her, behind shields, behind cold iron and dead eyes. "In this land," The stallion reared and let out a baleful neigh. "We are the lords and masters. Crom and Set be damned. The new gods, Ishtar and Pteor have given us our bounty. The bounty of fierce blood, swift blade and the lives of every man, woman and child that walks under the sky."
"Look down, look down on this world of dirt, of stone, of bronze and iron. Look at flesh and bone and know, this is ours. On this day we stood at the ready and not one lord, not one serf came upon our borders to drive us out. Nay," She paused and stared straight through every man and woman assembled. "We are the new Avatars of the new gods, we are the viceroys, we are the lords, we carry the banner of righteousness and before us, like a tide of rushing waters, we shall drown all of Hyboria and remake her in MY image!"
The air exploded in a cacophony of clanging iron and fierce throaty cries of men and women, faces contorted, weather beaten and tested. How noble they looked on their precipice of stone.
The jewel emanated life and made even the hewed dulled earth shine. The Conq, touched by Pteor, stepped forward and raised his sword.
"If there be no man to stand against us, then we will look for the women."
The Matriarch turned toward the lowlands again and stared well off into the distance.
"These are a soulless, lifeless people," she paused. "Kill them all, man woman and child, if they cannot stand against us, they cannot be for us. To the quick, everyone of them." She screamed, driving the horde behind her into a murderous rage.
Off in distant lands a cold wind began to bellow before the approaching storm.
<Thrusts blood soaked maces to the sky>
"For The Matriarch! Arrrraaaaghhh!"
<Clangs the shield next to him and helmet butts his comrade in arms>
"May they know the horns of Pteor! Hraah! Hraah!"
Luthyr lowers his head in shame at his inability to bring the light of the Avatar to the masses of lost souls in Hyboria. Despite his best efforts, the people of Hyboria had chosen the path of death and anguish. He could no longer hold back the horrible mob bent to the will of the divine Matriarch. If Ishtar could not have the souls of men in life, then Matriarch would see to their delivery to her in eternity. Luthyr took his place in the teeming mass, the time for ministry was at an end.
Paks, standing in the shadows behind her Master, watches with silent intensity as the Matriarch inflames the blood lust of the Herd. Her eyes are dark with unspent passion, her mind lost in the glories of Ishtar. She reaches up and lightly touches the cape of her Master. She flinches as he turns toward her, his face hard with rage. "You know you job, slave. Go!" He gestures sharply sending her from the Herd. She casts her eyes down, yielding and mounts her fleet buckskin and sharply spurs him toward Khemi.
Tehroth a warrior of virtue honor and might...walking among the ranks of Matriarch's soldiers lifts his sword high in the air and hears the defying roar from the follower of Pteor yearning to smite all those not willing to serve him or our cause in some way.
Clad in armor passed down from generation to the next, Tehroth was the ultimate bred of warrior. Flexing his muscles for a glorious fight Tehroth was first in the line of valiant warriors, ready to cleave flesh and die for the cause. For dying will mean he would not be honorable enough to fight his battle. Nay, low be hold no challengers rose to test Tehroth's will. No passage for Tehroth to meet his ancestors in the Battle grounds in the sky, but he would not allow his clan to fade out of existence. Dying is not an option yet.
Furious Tehroth made his way to Khessheta to spill some heathen blood, and quench his prowess for battle lust which seems to never dull even after each blade he wore shattered in ruins. Continuously battling,preparing himself for his ultimate test.