The ochre dust billowed, a swirling vortex against the bruised orange of the early morning sky. Cannonballs, each a screaming metal death, slammed into the ground. The impact of the first struck near a contingent of Bloodfang orcs, obliterating three in a single, horrifying burst.
Limbs, torsos, and viscera sprayed across the ravaged ground, painting a gruesome sight against the already blood-soaked earth. The air vibrated with the thunderous reports, followed by the chilling whistle of the projectiles in flight.
Khao'khen, his serious face grim, observed the carnage from a relatively safe distance. He watched as more cannonballs tore through the ranks of the orcish warriors.
"How many are there?" Khao'khen's voice was low, a guttural rasp barely audible above the sound of battle.