text: "Harold!"
  
  
  You call out, sprinting towards him. He half turns towards you, and flashes one of his charismatic bright smiles.
  
  
  The single arrow that flies through the air surprises you more than Harold. Curving gently, it hisses downward and slams into Harold's eye.
  
  
  He lets out a startled cough and staggers backward. You keep running towards your king, but a Norman rider cuts in front of you.
  
  
  Turning his horse neatly, the Norman swings his blade and opens your King's throat, spraying blood.
  
  
  Harold falls to the ground, dead.
  
  
  You falter indecisively, filled with wordless horror and remorse.
  > You kill the bastard
  You sprint full tilt at the Norman rider.
  
  
  Your shield feels heavy on your arm, so you toss it aside.
  
  
  Seeing your approach, the Norman wheels his horse around to face you. He knees his horse into a canter, driving it straight for you.
  
  
  At the last moment you drop down and slide along the mud of the hill, under the belly of the horse. Thrusting upward, you plunge your blade deep into the horse's gut, drenching yourself in thick blood.
  
  
  The horse collapses, but you roll out from under it.
  
  
  You leap to your feet quickly; the Norman rider is slower to rise. From under the horse carcass, you see the hilt of your longsword protruding.
  > You go for your longsword
  The Norman struggles to rise, his leg is broken. He stabs at you feebly with his sword. You knock it aside and retrieve you own, pulling it from the horse's stomach with a sickening wrench.
  
  
  Shoving the rider onto his back, you stand over him with your sword raised high.
  
  
  "For Harold"
  
  
  You breathe, and then plunge the blade into his chest, shattering the mail links and piercing his heart.
  
  
  You stand there awhile, alone in the middle of a slaughter. Orvyn reaches you, and tugs urgently at your shoulder, he is yelling something, but you cannot understand him. The words sound far away; small.
  
  
  You see a Norman on horseback charge towards you, he wields a cudgel.
  
  
  You make no attempt to dodge. You just stand there, frozen. It is Orvyn who saves you, he ducks under the cudgel swing and drives his axe into the horseman's chest. The cudgel blow loses force and changes direction, clipping your helmet as opposed to killing you. Your vision fades and you feel the ground rush towards you, feel the mud leeching through your mailshirt.
  
  
  Your vision blackens.