"Well, this was a great dinner, thank you," Roland said to the elder. "Now, I shall take the boy, and may God be merciful on him." Roland got up to leave, bowed slightly to the elder, and walked outside. Having grabbed the rope, Roland walked over to where the boy's tent area was, but before he could reach it, a white object fell from the sky, and landed near him. Curious, he picked it up, and found it to be what would have been known as a nail bomb in ancient times. Of course, Roland didn't know that. All he knew was that if it exploded, he would be a dead man. So, he did what anybody would do, and chucked it as far away from him as he could. Now, he was lucky, this one was a dud, but many of the others that were now falling from the sky weren't. Bombs were blowing up everywhere, spreading deadly metal pieces everywhere, maining any who were in the injury radius, and killing anybody closer than that. After the bombs were done exploding, there was a moment of silence. Somebody asked, "Is that it?" Ironically, a second later, she got shot through the head.
"Get down! Get down! Find a weapon, and fire at anything firing toward you! Find cover!" Roland was attempting to yell, but of course, it it hard to yell over a multitude of firearms, most of them the vile automatics and semi-automatics that were deemed unclean. "You, get over here!" Roland yelled, as he grabbed a fast looking boy. "Take this," Roland said, and handed him a hastily written note. "Run it to Cold Cape. You know where that is? Good. Take it there, give it to the guard. If you hurry, we'll save your village." The boy nodded, and ran as fast as he could, disappearing into the distance, toward Cold Cape. "Rally together! Fight as a unified force! You have vastly superior numbers to these people! Use that advantage and win!" At one moment in the battle, Roland thought he saw the boy Dylan, telling him to fight, but it didn't matter. By the time he did recognize Dylan, the boy was gone. Now it was Roland's turn to fight. He whipped out his revolvers, emptying them into oncoming, what were now identified as slavers, and killed 3 of them injured 4 of them, and possibly hit another 6. With no time to reload, Roland pulled out his bayonet, 16 inches of cold steel blade, and fought by hand. After bringing down another 2, a horn was heard, the horn of the Cold Cape Militia. It had worked! "Hear that slavers? Surrender now, and maybe you won't all die. Either way, the battle is lost to you!" Roland smiled as the sound of horses and deer came closer, and another body slid off from his bayonet.