No, you surender.

You drop your spear and raise your hands in defeat. They surround you, binding your hands with rope then leashing it to one of the two remaining horses.

"Fuck'n rabbits, if I had it me way, I wou'd 'ave your fairy cock hanging from your neck." A soldier says passing you with a gash in his shoulder.

A large amount of whooping and hollering erupts from beyond the treeline where the ambush began. You hear a woman screaming for mercy. Minutes later she emerges from the forest with two men yanking her by a string of rope. Her body is badly bruised, and her garb is ripped below the waist.

"I did not authorize this kind of behavior," the Captain says with an uncaring tone.

"Pardon Captain, but when a ‘shroom Dancer starts fighting, someone has got to teach it a lesson,” the soldier replies with a smug grin. She sinks like shadows of timbers in her binds. The Captain doesn’t dignify a response for the lackey.

The fires die down, and the trees are left mangled from the battle. Another Elven guerrilla ****, destroyed by the Imperials. The contingent marches on to the East to the Imperial city, dragging two Elven prisoners to their next fate.