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You resist the urge to simply cast your training spear at the nearest of the advancing giants. A strange set of events that you have organized here - you fight against kin whom you love, and you cannot risk harming them. There’s simply no safe way for you to cast a spear - even a training weapon can kill when wielded by hands that always seek death. In short - you don’t trust yourself to cast against Mecisteus or Pronax - to say nothing of the fact that if they turn the missile aside, some other man will catch the ricochet and be sent below to the Lord of Many. You ought to have softer projectiles made for this purpose; you'll have need of them in the sparring battles to come - but you put this thought aside as you survey the field, and prepare your orders.
<span class="mu-i">”INACHIANS - BRING DOWN MY UNCLES!”</span>
Your command is well-received, and your honorguard darts as one, a cloud of falcons flying in concert. They’ll circle to the north, in order to approach from behind your advancing front lines, and try to catch your uncles tired and off-guard. Unlike the typical Argive trooper, they'll have a chance of bringing your uncles down, although it will require luck on their part - even fatigued lions can be quite deadly. You'll have to give your honorguard time to position appropriately...
<span class="mu-i">”WHITE-YELLOW BATTALION, HOLD FAST!</span>
Your most battered battalion, now comprised of perhaps 125 men (of 250 originally), have been pursued by Mecisteus and Pronax, and being slowly picked apart. At your word, they spin and attempt to patch together their ragged group, putting shields between their bodies and your uncles. They haven’t a prayer to stop two of the Talaides, but unfortunately, they must sacrifice their bodies and limbs to buy time for your honorguard to approach. You vaguely hear Pronax and Mecisteus shouting, wasting their breath on small-talk as they make wide sweeps with their spears, sending smaller men tumbling and diving out of the way. Their oveconfidence is a mistake - exhaustion can creep up suddenly even on the most highly conditioned fighter. You hope that they will be gasping for air before they know it, drowning in a sea of lesser men.
Taking in the scene beyond your uncles and your struggling detachment, the northern flank has done well - as you watch, one of the enemy battalions breaks and is quickly taken apart by your charging men. Hundreds of Argives are left writhing in pain in the dirt and mud - partially obscured by clouds of dust rising into the air. Your northern reserves are quickly arriving as well - this section of the battle has already been won, although Adrastus’ troops don’t seem to have realized it – they continue to fight a losing battle with resolve, even after repeated bludgeonings.
