[Will Witfoot]

Alrik grasped his fathers axe once more and scanned his surroundings for a suitable target. There were plenty of those to go around, certainly, but he really should not leave the lass, Malí, alone. He made a snap decision.

"Stay with me!". He shouted so that she could hear him over the din of battle. Acting without a moments pause he shoulder-charged the nearest orc, sending it sprawling to the ground and proceeding to hack appart it's prone form. The lassie was right on his heels.
That was good. Now he could guard her, and he had someone to guard his back and shout a warning if a foe were to try and take him unawares.
Another orc came for him, trying to spear him with it's curved scimitar. Froth bubbled from the creatures lips, indicating a battle-frenzy bordering on madness.

He swung his axe in a horizontal arc, deflecting the blade from himself, and rammed the top of his axe-blade into his assailants face. The orc tottered backwards with blood pouring from it's broken nose. A powerful blow from Alrik's axe split the creature open from throat to groin.
He saw the much-depleted mob of orcs beginning to loose heart from the vantom slaughter wreaked upon them by the vengefull dwarves. The battle was still in the balance though, for if they gave their foe enough time to rally their troops and organize suitable resistance it was very likely that the dwarves would be the ones driven from Moria. The fight needed to be solved quickly.

He gave a deep, guttural roar through his war-mask, causing a couple of his opponents to flinch back. Deciding to make good use of this weakness Alrik charged.