"Just be careful, don't be a wazzock." the old Dwarf grumbled, waving a hand dismissively. "I suppose you're doing well for the 'heroing' stuff, you should be proud umgi." He said, and then cracked his back arthritically. "My turn, friends!" he exclaimed and went for the biggest Norseman there was.
He clicked his tongue at him and flipped his hammer in the air, catching it to have the pick side facing the northerner. He didn't stand around to "take the charge," instead charging the man himself. He ran and swung his weapon with both hands in left-to-right strike aiming to get the pick into the Norseman's ribs while also having it in a good position to parry the inevitably downwards strikes. He caught the axe-blade just between his right hands index and middle finger, the Dawi steel not giving way. He pushed back, the strength of a Longbeard coming in handy and then followed it with the swiftness and resilience of a ranger and any Dwarf respectively; he headbutted the man right in the groin, and then used his hammer as a hook to pull the man down by his leg. Now on his arse, the final act of turning the man's head into a red mush was quickly done, and all the ichor was wiped off upon a fur pouch on the man's thigh.
The pseudo-longbeard waddled over to another scene of fighting, tugging at two of his throwing axes and throwing them simultaneously into the back of one of the enemies, and pulled them out to deliver strikes to the guts of his two comrades who only now were turning to face Brokk. "'n' stay down!" he shouted, cheerfully nodding to the comrades before him. He went under the cover of one of the torn sails, more or less preventing water from going down the barrel of the Thrund he was reloading. Just as he was almost finished another one of the Norscans had spotted the "helpless" ranger and approached him with a grin praising the brotherhood of four for the opportunity. Brokk groaned, swallowing up his marksman's pride and stopped reloading to raise his rifle and subsequently strike the coming great-axe from the right. His weapon was lighter so he could quickly recover and smack the man upon the head and flip his gun over to stab him in the eye with the metal barrel. As he wrenched it out he gave a little sigh of annoyance as the man's eye got stuck in the muzzle. That would take a lot of cleaning to deal with. Thus he returned to the melee, hammering left and right, throwing axes, unifying the trinity of a Ranger's dexterity, a Dwarf's tenacity and a Longbeard's rowdiness.
When it was all over, he leaned on the mast using his grund as a sort of cane as he caught his breath. "That," he began, getting interrupted by a pant, "was nice." he said, slouching down. Tugging at his rifle he closed his eyes before firing out the eyeball, groaning as the white and red matter flew all over, a horrid smell of scorched eye spreading. He pulled out his cleaning kit and got to work, somewhat angry. "Right, tell me when we're in Lustria, don't want to miss it I don't!" he said, trying to sound cheery despite no longer being happy.