Ola slung the massive battle-axe off his shoulder and slammed its tip into the dirt.
He surveyed the thirty Knights at his side.
"Smell that?" he roared in a gruff voice. "I smell it! The sweet smell of Gold Coins! And aged ale!"
"That pretty boy on the horse, who does he think he is? Thinks keeping a few oversized insects will protect his treasury? Bullshit!"
The Knights erupted in scornful laughter.
"I'll tell you what war is!"
Ola pointed his axe toward Newly Town. "War is my axe smashing open their gates! It's your horses' hooves trampling their streets flat! It's us, snatching their purses and drinking their liquor dry! It's making them get on their knees and lick our muddy boots!"
"Everything that pretty boy has is ours! Now, follow me and let's claim our spoils!"
"For Gold Coins and ale!" he bellowed, raising the battle-axe over his head.
"Charge!"
He gave the order and spurred his warhorse on, launching himself forward like a cannonball.
