[piosenniel]

To his far right Riv could see Skald moving in a deadly forward march against the back line of the Orcs. The Brassbeard cousins and the Hardhammer men flanked his younger brother, lending their fury to the attack. The Grimsteel brothers advanced in a death dealing dance of shield and club.

On his left, somewhere in the melee were Bror and Orin, their companions forging their way through the scrambling Orc line with fierce determination. Riv gave a grim smile, acknowledging his youngest brother’s burgeoning skill.

Caught unaware by the unrelenting fury of the Dwarves, the Orcs seemed unnerved and had begun to retreat from their attack on the Elven warriors. The Elves, for their part, were fighting coolly back against their foe. And though they had lost several of their company to the Orcs’ weapons, it seemed that a fair number of Orcs had also fallen to the Elvish blades and arrows.

Riv pressed his advantage as the Orcs began to take rout. He and Afi Glitterfist laid into the Orcs with their warhammers - the sharp spikes and great heavy heads cutting and smashing at the hateful adversaries. Then one of the Orcish captains rallied his troops and they turned from their flight for at least a moment. They seemed more willing to face the weapons of the Dwarves than to go against the wishes of their leader.

The Orcs now pressed their own attack, their sheer number forcing Riv and his companion backward. ‘Best you send up the silvered arrow, Brand,’ Riv grunted at the Dwarf on his left. ‘Despite the defense of the Elves against the foe, if this rally of theirs continues we will be undone. We will need more Dwarves to aid us.’

Riv stepped forward, putting himself between the stirred up Orcs and Brand. Afi, too, moved up beside Riv, giving his brother time to draw back his stout bow and send the shining arrow high into the sun’s light. The nearby Orcs bore down on them even as Riv and Afi swung their heavy hammers with all the force and speed they could muster.

Afi was cut down by a wicked blow to his head as he fought back two large Orcs; one wielding a great iron club, the other slashing wildly with a jagged blade. Riv grasped his weapon in both hands and swung it hard against the Orc with the club. The brute lurched back, his upper arm broken by the force of Riv’s hammer. The Orc with the blade, however, seized the advantage and ducking beneath Riv’s upswung arm, drove his blade in a slicing manner against the exposed right underarm of the Dwarf, where the chain-mail did not reach.

Riv, bleeding freely, stumbled back. Transferring his warhammer to his left hand he attempted to hold off three other Orcs who had now turned their attention to him. Brand by this time had nocked another arrow and took aim at the largest of the advancing trio, sending the feathered shaft deep into the Orc’s chest. His foul companions paid his demise no heed. With gruesome grins on their faces they struck out at Riv, knocking him to his knees.

The larger of the two raised his stout wooden club, intent on making mincemeat of the Dwarf’s head . . .