Ithacles rushed in upon the semi-circle of orcish fury. Seeing him coming, covered in the blood of the enemy, his comrades seemed to rally. They pushed away from the trees, and one orc came stumbling back. He noticed too late that someone was behind him. Ithacles fell to a knee and swiped his heavy saber in a horizontal arc.
The beast's hamstrings were severed down to the bone, straight through the heavy wolf fur which made up his mangy kilt. With an animal howl the orc fell to the snow. The piercing cry of pain was cut short. Smack! Ithacles buried his axe in its exposed throat.
Another fell, practically on top of him, its belly slashed wide open by strong Faustben steel.
"Ithacles! I have 4 more nearly across!"
Ithacles turned and stood, leaving the two soldiers to combat a lone orc armed with two cruel looking hatchets. He crossed to Vedette quickly, weapons dripping fresh blood down onto the stained snow.
She was right. Four orcs coming across the road, and not making any patient time of it. One of them caught his eye. A massive baying demon of an orc, standing a head taller than the others he drove forward like a pack of hounds. He wore armor, a ragged collection of scale and plate and leather. A bright white skull painted across his scarred face, holding a massive two handed axe.
"Alright," Ithacles said practically breathless. "I'm going to go talk to him, keep the others away."