------
Darin runs up and down the line, frantically shouting, "Everyone back! Maintain yer positions!"
He's riding atop his horse in the center of a torrent of fleeing loyalists.
Men drag their exhausted bodies across a field turned red by blood.
Darin is like a rock in a stream. The waters of men part around him, inconvenienced but not deterred.
He looks up at the melee. He sees the crumbling royal line. And he realizes that it's over.
We've lost.
No…
Next
"Get back in line!" you cry, seizing the shoulders of a nearby soldier. You release him, and he flees.
All around you, your line melts.
You alone stand, battleaxe in your weary grasp.
The rebels surge forth, running down your retreating men. Two rush toward you, expecting you to flee like the rest, but you hold your ground. With two quick strikes, both of the rebels lie dead at your feet.
All around you is a claustrophobic chaos. You're practically carried by the crowd as you launch a fighting retreat.
Your only chance at restoring order is to reach Aurora and get back on horseback. From there, you'll have mobility.
From there, you might prevent disaster.
Next
You find Aurora only a few yards away from where you left her. The warhorse's experience and training allowed her to keep her nerve and stand his ground, but you swear that you can see terror in her eyes.
You give her a quick pat on the flank and mount. You raise your visor and scan the area.
Darin suddenly rides up beside you from behind, mounted and clutching a bloodstained blade.
He shouts over the chaos, "Arthur Hornraven! Arthur Hornraven… it's a rout. We're fucked."
Your stomach churns as you watch your fleeing men get cut down in droves. Hundreds of fresh bodies now litter the ground.
The only ones who maintain any sort of cohesion are your Kroridian veterans. They commit themselves to a desperate rear-guard action, permitting the rest of your units to flee. But even they are rapidly being overwhelmed.
He's right.
The words are on the tip of your tongue, but you hesitate.
You realize that Rade is done trying to take you alive. If you ride forward alone, you will almost certainly be killed.
"Arthur Hornraven?" Darin says, fear flashing behind his eyes.
"My mind's made up," you reply. "Now get the hell out of 'ere."
He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath. After a few moments, he says, "If you get yourself killed, I's never forgive ya."
"Fine. Now go, goddamn it!"
He nods and wordlessly departs from your side.
With the resignation of a dead man, you lower your visor and ready your battleaxe.
Next
------
Rade watches with intense satisfaction as the loyalists flee before him.
After so many setbacks. After so much failure…
He won.
He finally won.
Suddenly, Rade's eye catches a figure on horseback, dressed in brigandine, a gleaming battleaxe in their hands.
Marshal.
The Marshal is rushing forward alone, striking down soldier after soldier, caught completely off-guard by the unexpected, brutal assault.
Rade smiles.
The greatest prize of all has just fallen into his lap. With the way that the Marshal is getting surrounded, Rade realizes that there's no way out. No jungle or river to save him.
Finally.
Finally, he can put the Marshal down for good.
"Everyone, converge on that one."
Next
Encircled, you fight on, ten to one.
Your warhorse provides a crushing advantage against the enemy infantry. You cut them down in droves. Your bloodied battleaxe flashes through the air.
You keep fighting, despite the exhaustion.
Suddenly, Aurora is struck in the flank by an enemy spear. She lets out a terrible, pained whinny, and you're thrown from the saddle.
You hit the ground, channeling your fall into a roll. Your battleaxe flies from your grasp.
You pull yourself onto your knees. A rebel dagger digs into the mail on your neck, but the blow fails to penetrate through your armor. You grab the rebel's wrist and turn your body, slamming your fist into his face. He releases the dagger, and you drive it through his chest. He crumples.
You quickly stand back up and draw your blade in one smooth motion.
You're completely surrounded. A ring of infantry has formed around you, their weapons at the ready. They've encircled you like hunters encircle wild boar. In the center, you stand alone, your horse laying at your feet.
Before you can lash out, Rade's booming voice carries over the battlefield, "Marshal! There's nowhere to run now."
Next