The glob of sweat blinded the eyes of one of the incoming elves, and Essenla dashed forward to capitalize.
Morne barreled forward behind her with the momentum of a raging bull, charging fearlessly into the wall of spears as Essenla wormed her way to their back.
For what felt like the fiftieth time just that day, the overwhelming advantage of decent armor made itself apparent as their spears bounced off him like rain. Whether the elves could tire or not didn't matter when their weapons couldn't breach his defenses.
He swung his halberd like a lumberjack felling trees, lopping off limbs and narrowly avoiding necks as the elves scrambled to defend themselves. Even with the blessing of the Mother Tree, decapitation would still prove fatal. Likewise, Morne had to fight to keep his face and neck protected, since his armor didn't cover those parts.
