[ WP ] Write a horror/war story .

The warhorns blew out from the eastern desert in a low and mournful keen, as if the ghosts of the sands warned of a terrible doom about to befall on those who heard their cries. The sentries, half asleep at their posts were startled awake, worried shouts rousing them from dreamy thoughts. The general alarm went up, the empty artillery shells clanged upon in a frenzied manner so that the entire fortress might be warned of the danger approaching. All the while, the souls of the Bloodstone Desert wailed. 
 
 Captain Aeron Pike was thrust from his sleep and into the world of shouting men and maddening drum rolls as the fortress was beaten to quarters. With a snarl he threw the covers off his cot and then stamped his feet into the waiting boots besides it, cursing as he tied the laces on. He was just pulling on his coat as his squire came racing in. 
 
 `` Captain! We've been called to arms.'' The young soldier said. 
 
 Pike spat a curse. `` No shit, Corporal. Come on, help me get suited up.'' 
 
 Captain Pike was part of the Kingdom of Cygnar's military and a warcaster; one of the blessed few graced with the powers to truly master the most potent warmachines ever devised by man. 
 
 To do so required numerous technological advances, such as the steampack. A miniature steam engine, the coal powered unit amplified his own tremendous powers and provided him with an additional layer of protection through its sorcerous power fields. Water was poured into its tank, as well as coal for the hopper. A small fire of tinder and newspaper was lit in the burner to raise enough steam for the autofeeder to start up, the small gauges showing the growing temperature and mounting pressure. 
 
 `` Have the mechanics got my'Jacks boilers ready?'' 
 
 `` Almost, sir.'' Corporal Raglan said from behind Captain Pike, finishing properly adjusting the leather straps that held the steampack to his superiors back. Noticing the pressure finally high enough the NCO turned the handle to let the steam begin turning the flywheels within the pack, the eighty pounds of weight evaporating quite literally by magic. 
 
 `` Corporal.'' Captain Pike said, shrugging the pack around to settle it. `` Matilda is you'd please.'' 
 
 The junior man turned to grab the weapon out of its velvet lined case, tossing it to his Captain who caught in with one hand. Inlaid runes glowed on the scatter gun as he held it, chambering shells into the breach with a methodicalness that belied his pounding heart. Having done so, he stepped out into the fort's parade ground, and into the calm before the storm. 
 
 -- 
 
 Throwing a mental link across the grounds he reached out to his warjacks, at the Cyclone and Firefly in the garage. The heavy and light jacks respectivly answered his probing queries with the goodnaturedness common with machines, their mechanical thoughts translated through their connection. Danger, and yet excitment. He had particularly high hopes for the light Firefly, the metal beast possessing an intelligence and cunning unmatched by others. 
 
 With a though he beckoned them out of the open garage doors to stomp out besides him. The Cyclone was aptly named, for it carried twin Metal Storm Chain Guns, the multiple barreled weapons each capable of throwing nearly six hundred rounds per minute downrange. It burned through charging Winter Guard and Zealots with equal fury, the.30 caliber rounds capable of deadly work. 
 
 The Firefly glowed just like its namesake, the light jack carrying an Electro Glaive and Storm Blaster lightning gun. It bleeted a toot of steam from its armored head in greeting, aware of its part about to play. 
 
 Pike scaled the forty foot walls, avoiding the hurried paces of the Trenchers and Long Gunners. A platoon of Storm Blades in the insulated armor of their order stood ready, their massive Storm Glaives in hand. An officer wearing a Major's insignia rushed over to the warcaster, binoculars in hand. 
 
 `` What do you make of it, Pike?'' The Major said, handing the glasses over to the Captain who then raised them to his eyes. The warcaster could see nothing, save for the bright full moon and the starry night. But off in the distance, on the eastern horizon a wall of dust could be seen steadily advancing. Nothing could be seen through the cloud of sand, but the sound of voices reach through even this far, testament to the shear numbers approaching them. 
 
 *'' Har'sahs... Kho'pesh. Ter'marath... Ordesh. `` * 
 
 The low wailing of pained creatures could be heard accompanying the war chants. The cracking of whips, and the shrieks of pain joined in with the sound of thousands of marching feet and the stomps of titans. Then just barely they could be seen, the serried ranks of warriors, their wicked blades and polearms aloft, their armored brethren clanking alongside their lesser cousin. Massive pacaderms, each with six limbs stomped noisily, wielding cannons and massive towering shields. Cyclops ten feet high were goaded forward by their beast handlers who cracked their whips and spat curses at their charges. Even miles away, the aura of hatred strong on them, the scent of pain reeking. Bile roiled in the warcaster's throat. 
 
 `` What is it, Captain? What do you see?'' 
 
 
 Pike lowered the glasses slowly, staring out onto the sandy plains below the walls, at the wall of dust and metal and pain before them all. 
 
 `` Skorne... as dark as hell and as thick as grass.'' 
 
 The low horns sounded again, foretelling of their doom. Pike prayed they would not survive the night.
