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... eramis, his face streaked with grime and sweat, urged the remaining Threian Marksmen onward. Their lighter gear, a boon now, allowed them a relative speed that their infantry comrades, weighed down by armour, could not match.
The screams of the fallen echoed behind them, a chilling symphony of agony swallowed by the rustling leaves. He glanced back, seeing the last of his infantry, their heavy plate armour useless against the brutal efficiency of the orcish blades, collapsing under the r ...
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