"You take the van, and the rear is mine, old man!" the Tenth Seat shouted at Sir Kennard, who relentlessly decimated the lines of the hostile skirmishers, singlehandedly. As nimble as a rabbit, he waved his sword like a whip, claiming souls as if he was reaping the autumn crops.
As the orderly chaos of the battle raged on across the marshes, Sir Ryder of House Goldstein, who had been spectating thus far the proceedings of the ensuing fierce melee in order to gauge the situation to better command his troops, decided to finally unstrap his war hammer, warm breath seeping out of his visor. Since his knightly peer was already easing the pressure upon the vanguard of their column, he proceeded to march upon the rearguard which was harassed by fewer men. Emboldened by the absence of armor piercing weapons like his own war hammer, Sir Ryder sprinted forward towards the mob of swampsters, shoving aside a pair of halberdiers along the way.
