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Bjørn hadn’t been as quick as the cloaked figures had been. They soon disappeared around the corner, fading away in the dark ahead. But it wasn’t hard to find battle for screams of terror and roars of whatever laid ahead soon echoed through the city. The source came from near the eastern city wall. 

As he came around the corner himself Bjørn quickly scanned his surroundings; armsmen fought and cried out as they tried to hack away against the giant creatures that had come over the wall, beasts that even towered over Ulfrikson himself. They seemed like worthy opponents to him. 
His eyes then flicked over to one of many cloaked figures, a woman whose body slowly dropped down to the ground, seemingly exhausted by whatever spell she had just chanted. He hadn’t missed the moment in which her body was surrounded by wind, viciously strong. This wasn’t the first time Bjørn had witnessed magic, and he knew not to mess with it. Sure, he respected it, but in a way it also made him feel uncomfortable.

His thoughts were quickly pulled back to battle when one of the beasts came running for him. Ulfrikson cracked his neck and reached for his axe, easily sliding it out of its leather sheath. Pulling his arm back he let out a bloodcurdling roar. He [i]loved[/i] battle. He lived for it. 

The monster came closer and closer until eventually it too pulled his axe back. Before it could swing the barbarian had already lashed out. His own axe had wedged itself into the beast's chest, which paused it for a moment, but didn’t kill him. Bjørn reached to grab his weapon again, trying to pull it out of its chest. 

While his attention was completely on the beast before him, or rather the weapon which had wedged itself in its chest, another beastman approached him from behind. A sharp pain went through his back, making Ulfrikson step forwards with a groan. From the shield on his back stuck a giant mace. Luckily the old slab of wood he called a shield still had been strong enough to stop the blow, though warm blood started to slowly dribble down his back. His wound wasn’t fatal. Just a scratch. 

The second beast pulled its weapon back again, now having a large wooden shield stuck to it. So while the one was staggering back, the axe still stuck to its chest, the other was hacking away to try and rid itself from the clumsy wooden slab attached to its mace. Bjørn, though unarmed from his axe, decided not to wait around and took the opportunity to pull his dagger. 

The first beast was easily victim to the human brute as he stepped over him, snapping its large head back to sink his blade down into the soft skin beneath its jaw. A spray of blood painted his forearms red while the creature sunk down. 

He pulled out his axe to turn to the second beast, who had managed to finally get the shield off of his mace and now let out an angered shriek. Though he wouldn’t like to admit it, the sound had sent a shiver down his spine. To equal his sound, Ulfrikson let out another roar and shook his body. The way he was slightly hunched over, roaring and growling while a thick fur was covering his shoulders, it could be hard to see who the giant belonged to; Beastman or Human. 

The beast lashed out first with blind fury, his weapon aimed for his chest. Bjørn managed to step aside, feeling the gush of wind that followed close behind his enemy’s mace. His axe quickly swung for the beast’s leg, cutting through its flesh to force it to the ground. But the creature wasn’t stupid. Now close to the ground, Bjørn’s legs were in reach for its giant arms. His legs were pulled from under his body, making him fall to the ground as the creature was already crawling up his body. The foul smell of its breath was sickening. 

Bjørn managed to roll them over, now sitting on its large chest and struggling to keep it down on the ground. As the beast went to shriek again, he wedged his large hand into its mouth to grab its jaw. He gave a hard jerk and pulled it loose, flesh tearing and blood gushing, tongue now hanging limp from the beasts jaw-less head. Blood was gathering down its throat, making it choke. A last guttural sound erupted from the beast’s throat before it shook and shuddered, until it eventually laid motionless. 

The barbarian wiped away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead, with that leaving a crimson smear, taking a last look at the beast’s hollow eyes before he got up and sheathed his dagger, gripping his axe a little tighter. He was looking for his next target when he laid eyes on the female elf again. She looked completely drained. 

With a soft huff - not being able to suppress the need to protect - he approached her and extended a bloodied hand. It was the waitress of the Retired Sword, he soon discovered. He was surprised to discover that she was an elf, though felt not betrayed in the slightest. Instead he felt sad, even in that moment of battle, for she had to hide who she really had been for who knows how long. 

[colour=silver]“Are you hurt?” [/colour]