Lord Xanthios stood atop the makeshift palisade, his figure commanding and resolute despite the chaos erupting around him. The air was thick with the acrid stench of sweat, blood, and smoke, as attackers swarmed the walls in desperate waves.
Xanthios, clad in steel plate that gleamed dully under the afternoon sun, raised his sword high. "Hold the line! " he bellowed, his voice cutting through the clamor like a trumpet's call. His men roared in response, their morale bolstered by his presence.
An enemy soldier, climbing a ladder, thrust his spear toward Xanthios. The lord sidestepped the attack and brought his sword down in a sweeping arc, severing the man's grip on the ladder. The soldier screamed as he tumbled back into the throng below. Another enemy emerged at the top of the palisade, only to be met by Xanthios's shield, which smashed into his face with enough force to send him sprawling back onto his comrades.
