The chaos that swept through Arin's legions was absolute. A sprawling army, accustomed to steamrolling its enemies with sheer weight of numbers, found itself in a nightmare.
From the east and west, the Elves moved like liquid silver and green shadows, striking with impossible speed. Their arrows flew in silent, deadly volleys, each one finding its mark, often glowing with a faint, destructive magic that bypassed heavy armor.
Elven blades, long and slender, dances with a terrifying grace, cutting down Arin's soldiers before they could even react. The Elves' agility was mesmerizing.
They flowed through the battlefield, weaving around the slower, heavier movements of the human soldiers. They darted between swings of greatswords, sidestepped charges, and reappeared behind enemy lines, sowing panic and death.
The magical beasts were even more terrifying. The giant stags charged with bone-shattering force, their antlers skewering multiple men at once.
