The White Sands of Rann stretched endlessly, a vast salt marsh shimmering under the harsh sun. Across this stark landscape, twelve Myrathian soldiers rode, their semi-armored attire fluttering in the dry wind. The armor, a blend of leather and metal, was designed for mobility, allowing them to move swiftly across the treacherous terrain. Their steeds, sturdy and well-adapted to the salt flats, kicked up clouds of white dust as they advanced.
Suddenly, a creature with winged hands and legs swooped down from the sky, its silhouette a menacing shadow against the sun. Just as it dived towards the soldiers, a huge explosion of a smoke bomb erupted. The creature plunged into the billowing smoke. Moments later, with a piercing shriek, it emerged. With him, one soldier, his reflexes swift and precise, grabbing it from below. His knife plunged deep near the creature's neck, even as it desperately flapped to regain altitude.
As the smoke cleared, the soldiers dismounted, wearing their helmets they formed a defensive stance. Far in the distance, the soldier and the creature spiraled down through the air, locked in a deadly embrace. On the horizon, an advancing army appeared, their mounts, a strange formidable creature with thick hides and piercing eyes, moving with a synchronized, ominous grace.
As the enemy closed in, the Myrathian soldiers sprang into action with deliberate precision. In unison, they hurled a barrage of tiny bombs at the ground encircling them. Each bomb burst upon impact, unleashing flames that rapidly intertwined, creating a fiery barricade. The advancing enemy, along with their mounts, halted just outside this barrier, their momentum stymied by the sudden inferno.
The attackers, rugged and fierce in appearance, were unmistakably Thrayan. They wore armor fashioned from the bones and hides of wild beasts. Their faces, marked with war paints and scars, exuded a primal ferocity. The leader of this formidable group, a towering figure with a disdainful sneer, shouted across the fiery divide, "Hiding behind your tricks, Myrathians? Come out and fight with honor, if you dare!"
"Protect the Prince!" General Idris commanded, surveying the soldiers with a sharp gaze, disbelief evident in their expression. The Prince, indistinguishable among the ranks in similar armor, bore only a single red band on his arm – a discrete signal for his protectors to identify him amidst the chaos of battle. General Idris responded to the Thrayan leader, their voice steady, "Our Kings have committed to peace. Your attack will unjustly ignite a war."
The Thrayan leader's laughter sliced through the tension. "Peace? After all you Myrathians have done to the Eastern Land?" he jeered. Then, with a menacing tone, he added, "We only seek the Prince. Surrender him, and perhaps I'll spare your life."
From behind, a worried soldier piped up, "General Idris, ..."
"I know," General Idris cut in, acknowledging the soldier's concern before it was fully voiced. "If they want the Prince, they'll have to get through us first."
At that, the Thrayan leader raised his axe high, signaling his army to charge. The Thrayan warriors, dismounting their rides, left the strange creatures to escape back to the horizon. The warriors leapt through the ring of fire with a primal ferocity, lunging towards the Myrathians. The Myrathians, outnumbered four to one, displayed superior fighting skills. Each Thrayan attack was brutish and forceful, relying on raw strength and savage swings. In contrast, the Myrathians responded with elegant precision, their movements calculated and efficient, dodging heavy blows and striking with lethal accuracy.
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Amidst the clash of steel, the Myrathians utilized their knowledge of alchemy. With precision, they hurled small circular bombs, each filled with a variety of reactive elements. Upon impact, these bombs unleashed their contents: some erupted into thick smoke, others into blinding flashes of light, and some released a poisonous gas that temporarily disoriented their opponents. Despite their bravery and skill, the Myrathians began to fall one by one under the relentless wave of Thrayan warriors.
Eventually, General Idris stood alone, encircled by five Thrayan soldiers, including their fearsome leader. The General's stance was unwavering, a solitary figure against the overwhelming odds, their eyes steely and resolute, ready to face the final stand.
As General Idris parried an incoming strike, a hammer blow from behind struck her, knocking off her helmet. As the hammer blow dislodged her helmet, her tightly tied bun came undone, allowing strands of hair, streaked with silver, to fall loosely around her shoulders. In her 40s, her face bore the marks of wisdom and resilience earned through years of battle, yet there was a timeless beauty in her features, enhanced by the experience in her eyes, still alight with the fire of combat.
The Thrayan leader motioned for his comrades to step back, eager to finish her off himself. As Idris struggled to regain her balance, he launched another attack. She blocked it with her sword, but the force of the blow disarmed her. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and lunged towards the Thrayan leader, nimbly dodging his axe and landing a hit to his face. He merely sneered, "Is that the best you can do, Myrathian?"
Undeterred, General Idris reached for a couple of circular bombs from her pouch. She charged again, evading the leader's axe, and struck his face once more. This time, the impact released a liquid from the bomb that instantly began to melt away half of his face, eliciting a pained howl.
With a swift movement, Idris kicked two other attackers to the ground and incapacitated them with two more of the alchemical bombs, targeting their groins. As the leader writhed in agony and her two assailants lay defeated, the remaining two soldiers fled in terror. They had covered a fairly good distance, thinking they were out of immediate danger, when suddenly one of them was unexpectedly knocked down by Idris's horse. The well-trained horse, along with the others that had escaped during the heat of battle, now returned gracefully to Idris.
In the aftermath of the battle, General Idris surveyed her soldiers with a discerning eye. The absence of the Prince, usually identifiable by his red armband, confirmed her growing suspicion. As she helped the wounded to be loaded onto the remaining horses, her gaze shifted to the crash site of the flying creature and the soldier, her expression a complex tapestry of disbelief and worry as she finally mounted her horse to get a closer look.
The sudden resurgence of the creature, soaring into the sky once again, sent a ripple of worry across her face. However, her expression softened into a subdued smile as the creature spectacularly exploded mid-air. The smile hinted at more than relief; there was a depth of unspoken pride and recognition. The skill and bravery required for such a feat were traits she had fostered in one particularly headstrong student.
Approaching the crash site, the area was strewn with signs of a dramatic fight. Tucked amidst the rough, salt-crusted terrain lay pieces of armor, the distinctive red armband still attached. It was a deliberate message, a sign left by the Prince for his mentor, a reassurance meant to alleviate her concern. The Prince had seized the freedom he had long craved, embarking on a path of his own making.