Old man Gerhardt sat atop his massive lizard mount, his weathered face etched with lines of age and experience.
His sharp eyes darted across the battlefield, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding before him.
The acrid smoke from the Orc shamans hung in the air, obscuring the view of his forces and stifling the sharp coordination the humans relied on. He clenched his staff tightly, the enchanted wood glowing faintly as his thoughts raced.
He mumbled to himself, his voice low and gravelly, "So, this is what they were hiding... perhaps this is why Baron Geisler fell. Not because of his incompetence, not because of his overconfidence, but because these wretched beasts have numbers far beyond expectation.
Orcs in the hundreds, if not thousands... And those Ogres..."
His gaze flickered to the monstrous figures in the distance, their shackled limbs swinging massive weapons with unnatural ease.
