At long last, things were beginning to happen, people move forward, shout, sword, et cetera, et cetera. Guns were a problem, Thirodaen had never liked guns, bullets were too small and too fast to dodge, but luckily from the distance he usually operated at, they rarely hit him. He stood on the edge of their range, targeting the gunners first. Almost every arrow found its mark, loose, two steps left, loose, one step right, just to stop them drawing a bead. Most gunners were dead before they could even reload. He was worried that he might run out of targets all to soon, but for now that didn't seem to be a problem.