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Alrik met the slash of an orc scimitar with the blade of his axe. Spark's flew as steel forged by the finest craftsmen in the world collided with the black iron the spawn of Morgoth used for their ill-made weapons. The two enemies glared at each other with a savage wrath, red orbs of evil matching the dwarf's steel-blue eyes for hatred.
With a mighty roar Alrik pushed aside the orcs weapon, exploiting the gap in his opponents guard and caving in his head with his axe-blade. Without pause he charged his next chosen target.
In the brief moment that separated one kill from the next, he looked around to see how his comrades were doing. The carnage was utter, entrails and blood making the very face of the mountain slippery as a riverbed. The dwarves, driven by years of hatred, had formed a vedge of steel which broke through the orc mob time and again like a ship crashing through the waves. Even the beardlings were proving their mettle, and he could see no-one in need of his help. Then he glanced to his right.
The lassie, Malí, was barely holding her own against a large orc armed with a wicked-looking mace. Acting without pause, Alrik began to hack his way towards the young dwarf maiden.
An orc jumped onto his path, wielding a crude axe and screaming incoherent challenges in its evil tongue. Alrik sidestepped slightly, moving away from the point of impact, and chopped through the back of his opponents knee, hamstringing it. As the creature toppled to its knees he chopped downwards, splitting its spine lengthwise. The orc flopped wildly in a final burst of energy and slipped to the ground.
Before he could resume his charge towards young Malí's opponent, he felt something barge into himself and his axe was sent slipping from his grasp. A weight fell upon him and he could smell the fetid breath of his assailant. Grappling with the orc, he tried to desperately reach for his blade.
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