The sights before him assaulted Orintur's eyes like spears, each sending a shock through him and making his stomach turn. Even as a man of the Divines specifically trained to defend against heretics such as the denizens within these Dead Lands, the Elf was as shocked and disgusted as any sane and rational person would be at the displays of chaos and wanton gore before them. The pikes, the mounds of charred bodies...if Orintur were a man of any weaker will and conviction, he would have taken one look at the blood and flame strewn across the realm and ran back, never to return. He was determined, though, to put a stop to this grossly heretical disregard for life and peace, one swing of his trusty hammer at a time. No wretched Daedra, be they prince or churl, would stop him from performing his duties and bringing glory to the Almighty Divines! So Orintur marched on, offering silent prayers to the poor souls in his path that were taken through the gate, and did not live to tell of their sorrows. Something felt...wrong, though. Even as he prayed, he felt as though his words did not reach, that his gods could not hear him. He felt...alone. It was clear then to Orintur that the hellish landscape he was in, the planes of Oblivion, did not respect his gods. Nay, worse than that: His gods were absent entirely. 

He would have kept praying, more just to spite whatever daedra may have been listening, but Orintur's train of thought was broken by the sudden rantings of the woman that lead them all through the gate. He did not appreciate her words about the Divines, though the Paladin understood that she was under a great amount of stress, and forgave her blasphemy. Not that it would matter, as the woman died just soon after in a very gruesome manner. Orintur watched, his mind in shock and his heart filling with great fury, as the Dremora flung the woman's body into the flaming ground below, where she slowly faded away to ashes. The demon stared on with obvious glee as Orintur, heaving with rage, gripped his hammer with enough force to break a man's arm. All it took was one taunting beckon from the Churl to send the seething Paladin over the edge.

[i][b]"I am Orintur Graywatch, AND YOU SHALL FEEL MY WRATH, DEMON!"[/b][/i]

Orintur, charging past all other threats, met the Dremora with a heavy swing of his hammer, which the demon blocked with the shaft of his mace. The two whirled around each other, swinging with vigour, engaging in the dance of combat. The clang of steel and daedric metals carried through the hot, eye-stinging air, accented by war cries and pained grunts. Hammer and mace mixed into a blur of white and black, becoming clear only when one combatant stopped the other's weapon with their own, thought it was never for any longer than a split second. The battle seemed to stop for good when the Churl sent Orintur's hammer to the ground, and sent the Elf with it with a bash to the chest. Orintur's head rang fiercely; moments before, the Daedra had been able to get a clean strike at his head. He could feel himself bleeding somewhere on his forehead, but that could only be dealt with once the demon leering at him from above was dispatched. 

The Churl, armor bent in several places and lower jaw being bereft of several fangs, cackled at the fallen Paladin. Instead of speaking in his own heretical tongue, they spoke in clear Tamriellic. "Your gods have no power here, worm! Your pathetic earthly metals are nothing compared to the strength my Lord Dagon bestows upon me! Now BEGONE, weakling, your soft flesh will insult my Lord's eyes no longer!" 

Orintur, lying on the ground and letting the Dremora fling his taunts, was taking the time to catch his breath and regain his strength. As his foe sent their mace down one last time, Orintur suddenly sat up and gripped their wrist firmly, other hand charging with magical energy. "I will not be the one that falls today, DEMON!" 

Shoving his hand into the Churl's chest, Orintur took the chance afforded to him by his Shock spell to grab his hammer as the Dremora shook and spasmed violently. It took a great deal of energy to lift it, but the mighty Paladin sent the head of his hammer into the abdomen of his enemy, crushing their armor and their insides along with it. Spewing blood like a projectile out of their mouth, the Dremora flew backwards, landing on the same molten rock they threw the Imperial woman onto just moments before. He did not fare any better.

Falling to one knee, Orintur breathed heavily, the fight taking almost all of his energy out of him. His head also panged painfully and the Elf was certain he was bruised in nearly a dozen places. He hoped his compatriots could handle themselves, because Orintur wasn't sure if he could fight many more foes in such a state.