[Folwren]

Skald's blow felled the orc that Bror had been bent on killing. It wasn't too dissapointing that his brother had gotten him - more likely to be relieving. He stepped over the fallen body to meet the onslaught of yet another orc. He battle axe swung and brought down the gruesome being in one blow. He pulled the broad blade from the thing's skull and stepped back half a pace to meet the next enemy. Blood and sweat ran down his face, and he had neither time nor an extra hand to wipe it away.

Battle. The word, combined with death, was bitter and hateful in his mind. The stench of the dead and dying rose up about him and his companions, almost materializing into a vapor, thick enough to encircle them and choke the breath in their throats. Another orc charged, his scimitar upraised. Bror caught the blow with his axe, easily turned the blade away and drove the spike of his weapon deep into the beast’s side.

A movement on his left caused him to duck another oncoming blow and turn. His attacker swung again and Bror lifted his axe once more to defend. The orc’s blade glanced off the shaft and slipped down harmlessly.

On and on the enemy came, beating upon the ranks of elves and dwarves like the waves of an ocean. Constantly they came and though they were flung back and broke upon the blades and axes, they slowly pushed them back - water eating out the rock.

Bror fought, his arms swinging or blocking in turn, beginning to ache and burn with the constant use, but entirely unable to stop and rest longer than a few seconds at a time. As he hewed the head off a charging man and let his axe droop momentarily towards the ground, he wondered how long they could possibly last before being entirely over run and killed.