Damien kept pacing, pausing now and again to see the progress of the battle.  Formations moved back and forth, fire and other spells flew, shouts and screams rose from the field.  They were all distant though, on the edge of hearing.  The battle itself was a low roar, a distant chime of swords and grumble of marching feet.<br/><br/>Damien wondered if he would ever be called on.  A traitor part of his mind hoped he would not.  But he snarled again as he thought it.  He would not show himself a coward!  He would prove his mettle!  Soon.  It had to be soon.  The waiting would drive him mad if it were not soon.<br/><br/>His eyes narrowed as he saw a spearhead formation of Dark Elves drive deep into the enemy's lines, breaking into their rear.  He grinned at this sign of obvious superiority, though his grin faded when the formation was cut off and the enemy mages began mowing down the surrounded warriors.  He spat in contempt, both for the failed Dark Elves and the sniveling Light Elves that had killed them.<br/><br/>Then he felt his heart skip a beat.  The enemy was pushing forward.  The Dark Elf line held... in most places.  But now a spearhead of enemy fighters was driving deep on one side.  The line there might well crumple, and if it did the enemy would be on their flank.  That could not be allowed.  Surely now...?  He turned his head to the signal hill nearby and let out a roar of triumph as he saw the flare of colored fire.  It was time!<br/><br/>He spread his wings and launched himself into the sky.  Death was about to come to the weak beings below.  A death named Damien Phoenix!