Morgash Bloodhowl's heart was hollow with regret. He had been too eager for glory, gravely misjudging the strength of those bizarre humans. He had also underestimated the human army, especially the foreign lord who had come to their aid.
Why did the humans have so many mages?
Why were those strange ones impossible to kill?
And why would such powerful and unique Minotaurs follow a human lord?
Too many questions swirled in Morgash's mind, but it was all meaningless now. He stared at the human soldiers closing in around him, his expression ashen, a man resigned to his fate.
Baron Hawthorn shot a glance at the half-dead orc chieftain on the ground, a flicker of malicious glee in his eyes. He scurried over to Alistair's horse, his face splitting into a sycophantic grin.
