Those witches, equal parts venerable, honourable and horrible, had arrayed their mindflayed flocks of men-at-arms upon the field.

"Listen here, my brothers!" I bellowed, my breastplate rang triumphantly as my chest heaved against it, "I alone will seek those three on the battlefield!"

"Alone, my Lord Jauffre?" The words were muffled through a closed Sallet. I turned to see the heraldry of my closest friend, a comrade at arms from our myriad campaigns. He was my trusted constable, the equally famed and despised knights-hospitaller, Antoni of Wut.

"So you have arrived at last from the North! Your men will be vital for the coming battle." I faced the men en-masse then.

"On the field, I will seek her on foot. Alone. For I alone am immune to their succubean magicks." My men lowered their heads, ashamed and acutely aware of their own propensity for betrayal. I paid no mind, and struck out alone across the barren, lifeless and war ravaged valley known as l'rebondissez-moi.

I met her there in the centre of the valley amongst the salted fields and burnt farmhouses. Flanked by her lesser Succubi, the Queen herself sat atop a horse with no eyes. Rodents swarmed around the horse's feet, up its legs and ran in through the horse's nose. One by one, they came scurrying out the ear.