A scout’s flare shot high into the morning sky, warning the Footmen of the incoming threat. The night previous, they had listened as Mythoren had stressed the need for a company to stay behind and protect the last remaining refugees of this war-torn valley. The wisdom and foresight of this planning had not been appreciated by these soldiers originally. They yearned for battle and a chance to defeat the Ogres and Demons like their comrades were going to do, not sit at camp while war waged.  Now, as savage cries from within the forest fast approached, every Footman realized their Ranger General had known this would happen. They would not break his trust. They would give their lives for the families under their watch if needed.

“Lock ~ Shields!” Aliraele commanded. The footmen quickly obeyed and a phalanx was created. Mere moments later, their enemies showed themselves. Led by Ogres, the Demons poured out of the forest. Crashing against the shields of the defenders, the enemy horde were unable to break the wall of shields. Aliraele commanded the soldiers, “Spears!”  In unison the brave fighters thrust their spears into the Demonic foes. Lunge after lunge, spears found their mark, green blood dripping from the weapons’ tips.