I got to the small armory, and got in the fight for weapons, throwing punches at my competitors to get to the

good weapons. I grabbed a longsword, and ran out to the ramparts. I lay down flat, afraid of being shot with an arrow, and peeped through the crenellation. My mouth fell open. I saw a mass of huge machines being wheeled slowly towards our inferior defenses. I stumbled up and ran with my head down, all the way to the next tower. A dove through the doorway, and blasted through the group of men standing there. I sprinted to the next tower, and ran up the top. Leaning on the archer slit was a bow and a full quiver of arrows. I picked it up, and tried my hand at shooting it. I had prior experience, so I could shoot well enough. But an idea popped into my head, what if I set the arrows on fire? Would they burn the siege engines? I dipped my arrowheads in some nearby resin used for healing. I ran one over the torch, and it caught ablaze. I shot arrow after arrow at the moving walls, without result, until one of my last arrows. It caught the canvas on the machine, and set it alight. The men behind it cooked, and burned, they ran towards the walls, screaming, until the more experienced archers picked them off. I grinned at the burning corpses, proud of my pyrotechnics. The fire seemed to reflect in my eyes. I shot my remaining arrows, and then went down the stairs. Surprisingly, nobody was there. Everyone had disappeared. I saw a mass of our men, with shields, spears, and full front line combat gear. They were taking orders from a few men in full generals garb. Lines were formed, with shields in the front. The archers sent volley after volley of arrows, and Mongols were falling, rolling down the hill. The walls stopped the majority of the attack, but many men had arrow shafts protruding from their lifeless bodies. I couldnt stay on the wall, or Id be trapped. I saw a rope leading to the ground, so I grasped it and jumped off. I rappelled down the stones, and jumped off and landed on the ground. I couldnt let these men know who I was, or Id be killed in spite of my cruelty. I put my hood up, so the shadows covered my face. I joined the back line, and readied myself for the inevitable battle. I prepared myself to leave, if the exits ever opened. We were surrounded. Then, in a shocking fashion, a whole ring of cavalry rode up over the hill. A man signaled them forwards to charge. The Khan. He shot his arm forward, and all the horsemen galloped forwards. Our few men kept a tight formation. The archers on the wall tried valiantly to pick off the horseback riders, but only a few men fell. The front lines stood up, and thrust their swords. It was absolute chaos, with our men spearing and slashing at the riders. At that moment, all the foot soldiers poured over the hills, with the deafening roar of battle cries echoing over the stark landscape. The Mongols were highly trained, but we had heart. Men were battling everywhere, and swords sliced through flesh at every turn. A man came at me, screaming Mongol gibberish. Trembling, I took my sword and plunged it into his skull. I took my sword and swung it at a horse, hitting it in the leg. It bellowed and fell to the ground. I took my sword and drove it into the riders chest. Gore spilled out of the wound, as the life left his eyes.

Normally I would have enjoyed that, but this was no time for emotion. I grabbed a halberd from a fallen ally, and dropped my inferior longsword. I picked it up, and brought it down hard on an unsuspecting Mongols head. He sliced open, straight down the middle. Blood from my fellow soldiers spattered all over my face as they were cut down one by one. The whole battlefield was a writhing mass of Mongols. I was on of the last ones. I fought nobly, but as our numbers grew thinner and theirs larger, I became a target. I felt an arrow tear into my arm. It burned more than anything I had ever felt. I attempted to rip it out, but failed and snapped the shaft. The pain seared every nerve in my body. I realized I wasnt safe, so I ran with all of my strength, only hoping I could reach the woods. My brothers in battle lay dead behind me. Everyone had been killed, with the exception of me. I neared the foliage, with arrows zipping past me, nicking me, but not hitting me. I dove, and tumbled into the bushes, with the arrow wound tearing more flesh than it already had. I rolled, got up, and sprinted into the woods, with the shouts of Mongols behind me. I ran and ran, trying to find a place to hide. I jumped into the cover of the undergrowth, and waited for my pursuer, a Mongol, to pass. As he went past, I snuck up behind him, and drew my dagger. I plunged it into his back, stabbing it in over and over, blood gushing out of every one of the many holes speared into his body. His mangled body lay on the grass, his gore forming a puddle. I looked at my quivering, blood-caked hands with the awareness that the other Mongols would come searching for their comrade. I ran. My heart was bursting out of my chest as the branches whipped against my face. I was cold. But I pressed on. I couldnt stay. My breaths became so fast, my body so overworked, that I couldnt do it anymore. I stopped, but I couldnt breathe. I went deep into the shrubbery and slept, waiting for the next day, which would be undoubtedly me fleeing from everyone.