Arran ran until his lungs felt like they would explode, sprinting with all the speed he had in him. There would only be a single chance to get this right, and he would not let it go to waste.
Along the way, he encountered a lone raider scout. The man died as soon Arran caught sight of him, body bisected by a Windblade.
He briefly felt another stir of bloodlust as the scout fell, but with a ranged attack, the effect seemed weaker. Either way, he could not give into it — not now, with a far more devastating attack at the tips of his fingers.
When he finally thought he had gone far enough, he paused for some moments to catch his breath. The wind was still strong — that was good. It would play an important role in the battle to come.
If it worked, it would be a massacre that no sword could match. And if they were particularly lucky, it wouldn't just be the closest raiding parties that died. But either way, the attack would buy them days, not hours.
