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The raven flies through the air, surveying the ground beneath.
Terrible, unfamiliar noises rise up from the scene below it. Yet it sees a familiar sight.
Fresh blood.
It flies lower, curious and hungry.
It watches through cold, brown eyes as men tear each other apart. Axes rend limbs. Spears pierce flesh.
Fresh bodies.
Food.
The bird cares little for the violence ensuing beneath it. It's quite peaceful a dozen yards in the air.
It circles above the violence, waiting patiently for it to end.
So that it may eat its fill.
Next
The battle has begun in earnest.
Both sides have committed.
No turning back now.
As the ferocious melee commences, you scan across the field.
You quickly notice that the enemy cavalry that had been moving in an arc has begun to charge. Lances fixed, they charge for your left flank. If they were to make contact, it would be devastating. Such a move could end the battle then and there.
"Marshal?" Darin prompts, pointing at the charging enemy.
Your archers and rangers rapidly refocus and switch targets. With the enemy infantry now committed in melee combat, it's nearly impossible for your archers to target them. They're simply too close to your own men. Any arrow would have an equal chance of killing one of your own.
So now they aim for their new target.
The first volley tears into the enemy. You watch as men fall from their saddles, dead. But by the second volley, the enemy has grown wise to your assault. Shields raised, your arrows have less effect.
Still, their losses mount.
Yet the riders do not stop.
Barely prevented this on the right, you think grimly.
For a few moments, it seems as if the enemy knights are headed directly for you. But they turn for the infantry instead. You wince as they make impact with the left flank. Men fall screaming.
With these new riders in the melee, you don't know how long your infantry will be able to last.
How long before they break?
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