text: The Imperials try to hold out, managing to down a few orcs, but, in the end, they are overwhelmed.  You stand, stabbing an Imperial with one of their own spears repeatedly.  His friend, clutching an injury, swipes his blade at you.  You step back to dodge and ram the spear into his throat.  Gurgling as he goes down he swings once more; his blade scratches your hand but not too deep.
  
  
  Twisting and pulling the spear, you yank it from his corpse.  You run forward, seeing the orcs beating down a group of Imperials.  The last few men seem terrified, and one not older than seventeen trembles.  If you could hear over the sound of the fighting, you would be able to hear his knees causing his hauberk to clink together. 
  
  
  Before you can reach them, the rest of the orcs have stabbed and battered them into oblivion.  Some orcs ride into the forest to find the fleeing soldiers.
  
  
  You pant, watching the massacre taking place all around.  Wounded men cry out, and some lay there dying quietly. 
  
  
  An orc approaches you, the frenzy of blood-shed just starting to wear off. 
  
  
  "What shall we do with the wounded?" he asks.
  
  
  You sit there and think for a moment.  Orcs have never really taken prisoners, and you don't have the supplies to care for their wounded.  You are worried about having enough medical supplies for your own as it is. 
  
  
  Although it might help to take some of them ransom, there is not too much that you would need, so maybe just leaving them to die would be better. 
  > You leave them
  "Leave the wounded," you say.  "Gigalak will decide their fate!"
  
  
  Most of the orcs obey, although many still loot the corpses.  Some of the more savage orcs cut the scalps from the still living and squirming men despite your order.
  
  
  You walk through the dead and wounded, picking out the orcs who plead for your help.  Some you know cannot be saved, and others can while being grievously wounded.  With all the orcs gathered, you and many of the other orcs set to work helping them.
  
  
  You have saved many lives this day, working over the sound of groaning Imperials dying in the mud just outside. 
  
  
  You see Grolik looking around, putting a spear tip to a wounded human.  With a grunt he pushes, sending the dying man to his fate.  It would seem as though that is not the first or the last he has killed in this manner.  You catch his glimpse for a second, shame written across his face.
  
  
  While he does not seem the type for emotions like that, putting helpless people out of their misery must take a certain toll on one.
  
  
  On a rock sits Rolomag, nursing a gash on his face using a rag.  He just watches some of the orcs finishing off the dying Imperials.  Most of them do not seem happy about it, but maybe they believe it right not to prolong their suffering.
  
  
  You turn your attention back to your work, ending the suffering of friends in a much different manner.  The orc whose deadly injury you have just cleaned and sewn up thanks you as he hobbles away.