Cold drops of rain began drifting down from the dark clouds, only for the winds raging between the mountains to turn them into little knives of ice, leaving bursts of bone-deep pain on the soldiers' tense faces.
Yet this could not make the warriors waiting in formation close their eyes. They stared fixedly at the Half-orc army charging toward them down the steep northern slope. A gray-black tide covered the entire hillside, with Snaga scrambling between the rocks, crude weapons in hand, and letting out harsh shrieks.
There were also considerable numbers of Uruk among them, well equipped in full armor, their weapons either black iron hammers or vicious-looking clubs. Farther away, a band of Warg Riders watched the battle. Every human warrior knew these cruel, cunning creatures must be waiting for the right moment.
The rain grew heavier in the howling wind, and the Half-orc ranks drew ever closer to the human troops. Faster still was the black rain of arrows loosed by hundreds of Snaga archers. Even washed by the rain, wave after wave of black arrows retained a foul, bloody stench.
Clearly, they had been coated with some unknown poison. Perhaps it was even Half-orc dung.
Yet faced with the Half-orcs' ranged assault, all the human soldiers merely raised their left hands to cover their unprotected faces. Beyond that, they made no other move.
The human soldiers certainly should not have made any large movements. The Half-orc vanguard was already closing in, and if dodging the arrows disrupted the formation they had worked so hard to establish, they would likely be at a disadvantage in the coming fight.
There were simply too many enemies, like an endless tide. Only by holding formation could they gain an advantage in battle.
The black arrows shot by the Snaga archers