"Good boy," Ekkill growled. "MOVE UP! Keep yourselves covered, and don't stop until they're ALL DEAD!"
Ekkill flew through the trees, a rain of arrows steadily pouring from atop the hill. The runes on his sword and shield strayed the arrows from his path, and he knew no fear as he dodged from tree to tree, steadily moving onward, bearskin cloak flowing behind him. His first victim would be a young warrior, bow and arrow in hand, that hadn't noticed his advance. He looked just like the savage from the other night. In Ekkill's eyes, they all looked just like the savage from the other night.
His arms outstretched, the savage was about to let loose another arrow. Before he had the chance, Ekkill grasped his left arm, twisted, and pulled outward. Instinctively, the man released his arrow into the ground, trying to free his arm to defend himself, but it was too late. Ekkill brought his sword down upon his neck, effectively severing the spine, and nearly removing the head. Gravity forced the head to flop forward, hanging by a thread before the savage's chest, his exposed carotid artery spurting blood up into the air with every pump of his dying heart.
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