Despite knowing that in mere hours he'd be leading the most dangerous assault of the campaign,within reach of every archer and slinger perched atop the city walls, Arnold carried himself surprisingly well.
At least outwardly.
He kept his posture straight and his expression still, letting not a single flicker of fear show before the men who would soon follow him into the jaws of danger.
But inside?
Inside, he was a soup of sweat, nerves, and doubt.
The plan depended on him holding the enemy's focus long enough to let the cliff-climbing contingent go unnoticed. That meant drawing fire. And with his fine, ornate armor practically shimmering in the moonnlight like a signal flare, how long until some keen-eyed bowman decided to test his luck?
It was, in fact, a question he'd rather not dwell on.
So naturally, the gods, or the world, decided to distract him.
