No one knew the exact reason why those old men had positioned themselves so close to the Zharun lines during the descent from the ridges.
Perhaps their wrinkled minds were still completely blinded by the ancient traditions of the Sacred Pact, or perhaps the sheer, massive numbers of the Zharun gave their terrified hearts a false sense of security after the mountain exploded.
They had crowded their old bodies near the front of the Zharun infantry, completely turning their backs on their supposed allies to watch the horizon.
But ironically that false sense of security currently pierced their hearts with a wide, mocking smirk.
Without a single shout or warning cry, the Zharun captains let out wide, cruel grins.
Their long, sharp spear blades cut forward in a single, synchronized thrust, driving straight through the thick mammoth furs and heavy leather vests of the unsuspecting old men.
SHUCK. SHUCK. CRUNCH.
