"YOUR MISSION," I bellowed, pointing a dramatic, pale finger towards the pit, "IS TO GO DOWN THERE AND HIT HIM UNTIL HE STOPS MOVING! CHARGE!"
With a deafening, unified roar of pure, unadulterated rage, my bait army charged.
It was a glorious, stupid, and utterly suicidal wave of green-skinned fury, pouring down the canyon slopes into the pit below.
"And they're off," I said, leaning back against a rock and pulling out my phone. I brought up the live feed from a Goblin Sniper I had positioned on a nearby peak. "Let's see the show."
The battle was, for a few brief, glorious moments, a beautiful, chaotic storm of violence.
My Orcs and Ogres hit Grak's line—which was just Grak—like a tidal wave.
BOOM! CRACK! BOOM!
A constant, percussive symphony of sonic booms and shockwaves filled the pit as two hundred brutes clashed with one, even bigger brute.
Grak was in heaven.
He laughed, a deep, guttural sound of pure joy, as he waded into the sea of his enemies.
BOOM!
