The sounds of battle echoed through the cypress grove, muffled by the thick fog and seeming to come from every direction at once as Ollie crept through the forest in search of his next target. His midnight blue armored gambeson bore several dark crimson stains and drying blood clung to the blades he carried as he moved from tree to tree in search of the remaining Inquisitors.
Seven of the ten had already fallen to his darksteel cleaver, though one had escaped after losing his arm beneath the elbow. Whether the man would survive the injury depended entirely on the strength of the Church's healing magic but either way, Ollie was certain the man wouldn't be returning to the battlefield any time soon.
"For the Vale and Sir…"
