Prince Turin yanked the short sword from the creature's abdomen as it gave a squelch of agony. "Die you fiend!" He cried as he stabbed again into its vitals. "Join the rest of your filth!" the Prince demanded, as he kicked the filthy creature off from his blade in one swift motion. The battle had turned, the tide was now favoring the Republic and the sun shone in the sky like the promise of a perfect day.

Prince Turin, Honored Centurion of the Sixth Grand Battalion, primed himself for a leap that would take him above the din of the battle. With a jump skyward, he let loose a blood curdling declaration: "Flee now or meet the Wrath of the Sixth!"