A great bellowing hurrah sounded from Abet Drakethorn as the boulder of a dwarf lept into combat, the great Warhammer of Drakethorn swung behind his helm. As he fell, he brought the smooth, flat stone upon a swordsman's head, cracking through the steel helm the man wore and crushing his skull. As the mercenary screamed out in pain, Abet gazed briefly at his side, as a musket man aimed the barrel of his gun at the stocky dwarf. In an instant, Abet swung his free right hand in front of him, calling out to Aznathin with a boom of his voice. Just as suddenly as he spoke, the fire of the gun burst through the air toward Abet.

A cracking of glass pierced the air as the bullet fell upon the ground, a yellow wall of mana fading from sight. Smirking, Abet shot himself forward, his hammer trailing behind him, swinging his left arm toward the rifleman, bringing the edge of the hammer into the man's side. A burst of icy-blue light shone from the contact, freezing the flesh beneath the silk shirt, the blunt force of the hammer striking it causing the wound to nearly shatter. The rifleman fell to the ground, wheezing up blood, his body nearly broken in half.

Abet turned to Nicholas, whom the dwarf had recalled having just a bit too much to drink the first night of their travel; really caused by Abet's pressuring of the man. An axeman had set his sights upon the simple warrior, who was in the midst of a duel with a gunner who had drawn his blade. Abet began running toward the gap between the two, lifting his hammer behind him as he charged; the axeman had already lunged, swinging his arm down toward Nicholas. Abet brought his warhammer down, striking the earth, shouting out a great roar of the words of shielding. A small crack in the ground pierced through the dry soil toward the axeman, and as his arm fell, it smashed into the same amber wall of mana Abet had conjured before. The axeman let out a cry of pain, before Abet jumped forward again, slamming his hammer into the man's chest.

Catching his breath, Abet set his back up to Nicholas, shouting out a bit of combat wisdom in a few gasps for air. "Ya owe me... A pint fer... That one, lad!" The sweating dwarf chortled, swinging his hammer at a charging swordsman, shattering the man's collar bone. "'Ow many ya think there be?" Abet shouted to the Ranirocan fellow, Varyon, before forcing his hammer's pommel into the stomach of a nearby swordsman.

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