Alexan the brave stood on top of the hill with me, dust-worn eyes raging with the fires of battle. His sword was unsheathed, gleaming as the rising sun kissed it with the bright iren fire of the gods. I stood along with him and felt the rumble of the earth - sweet prelude to the battle. I clasped my warhammer hard and felt its weight. I was itching for the fighting. Alexan knew that much as well. He turned to me and asked, "What are our odds, General Baltrin?"
"Ten men against ten thousand," I replied. He grinned and tightened his chest plate. He pounded its bronze surface with his gauntlet and guffawed. "I like the odds," he said to me, "What do you think?"
I smiled. "I'd say those enemies over there are the ten craziest motherfuckers I've ever seen."
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