Dazzling fire is in front of your face. Another Quarry burst in flames. An idiot dives in the marsh to save himself not realizing that he dove in to oil. The fire spread along right to it. It lit. Who knows what transpired today. Could've been the lightning that struck or a slave with a torch. You wipe the sweat of your brow and heave a heavy sigh. Increasing border patrol skirmishes happen everyday and it's been harder and harder to control the iron and stone on the cliffs. But as long as you draw breath it will be defended.
Shouts erupt as you see his troops climb up the cliff to the mines. "Charge!" each of your soldiers runs down the hill towards the enemy. Black shafted arrows wiz back and forth. Then the battleline is formed. A bloody melée. You dodge a swordman and cleave a line through his chest. Useless Arabs you think to yourself. You kill another and you see your men likewise. You gain the upper hand and the mercenaries plead with you but you give no quarter.
This happens everyday.Your soldiers are weary and their morale low from the marches. You must finish this soon or your enemy will finish you!