Their actions were so amateurish, they looked like a bunch of fresh-faced recruits.
"Hahaha, maybe they're trying to stay out of our range?" someone cracked a lame joke.
There were more than a thousand of them. A single volley would wipe out more than half of those few hundred archers.
The joke sent the archers on deck into roaring laughter.
"Honestly, if I were their commander, I can't say I'd have a better idea in this situation," the captain of the slave archers began to hold court, certain of his advantage. "Those lumps of iron and their wolf-cub allies can't reach us. If they force their way closer, they'll just sink to the bottom of the sea. And the second their archers step into range, we'll give them a good thrashing."
"No, there's one other good option," someone else laughed. "These Debei sheep-people, with brains as ancient as Goblins, can always run back to their mothers for a drink of milk."
The men erupted into another round of boisterous laughter.
