[b]Saamir Syed,

Cowfallow Bridge[/b]

Saamir's stomach heaved with nausea, courtesy of the Orc's gut punch that he'd recieved just moments before. The large cleaver that Horace had handed him felt heavier than anything he'd ever had to swing, but it was a down sight better option than the rusty sickle. 

Two Orc warriors, their teeth gnashing white spittle everywhere, advanced on Saamir and Horace - suddenly cautious now that Cowfallow's inhabitants had felled a few of their kind. 

"Ready," Saamir wheezed over the pain in his stomach. "May Kalem hold the gateway open for us just a little longer." 

With that, Saamir threw himself at the foremost Orc in the way that only a bar brawler could. There was no method to his attack, no practicsed finesse, just sheer bloody-minded offense. He brought the cleaver against the Orc's wooden buckler, and found himself rebounding with twice the force; his adversary struck forwards with a sabre, but Saamir managed to step aside the fatal strike. 

"Not bad," the Orc grunted, jugling its sabre in one hand. "For filth." 

"I could say the same," Saamir said, his eyes narrowing. 

The Orc took offense, and roared. It came at him, striking again and again, and Saamir was hard pressed to parry the attacks. The cleaver in his hands rattled with each impact of steel-on-steel, and his fingers quickly grew numb. For a moment, he feared he'd simply drop the weapon, but he managed to maintain his grip.

"Die, die, die!" The Orc bellowed, backing away momentarily. It brought up its buckler, and stood sideways on with Saamir. "You look thirsty," it said, sneering. 

Before Saamir could retort, the hulking beast-man charged him with the flat face of its buckler aimed for his chest. Saamir stepped aside, leaving his left foot extended, and the Orc tripped. There was a huge crash as the sturdy wooden railing gave way to the creature's weight, and moments later, there was a splash far below. 

Saamir turned rapidly, and saw the second Orc advancing on Horace. He also saw, through the clearing smoke and the rushing forms, that his comrades were fairing better than he thought possible. Half a dozen Orc dead littered the bridge -- though more than a dozen farmhands joined them. 

"Push them back," Saamir called above the racket of battle. "Fear is our greatest enemy, these beasts cannot prevail against bravery!"

He felt stupid for saying it, but a rush of adrenaline made him not care too much. 

As the second Orc rounded on Horace, Saamir appeared on its left, and swung. The Orc parried the cleaver, and punched Saamir across the face; he stumbled away clutching a broken nose.