Jan nodded grimly as the mage gave him her burial instructions. It was not the first time someone had given him such a charge. He was fortunate that he had only rarely had to carry out such instructions With luck, he would not have to learn which realm Illium was. He watched as she floated toward one of the orcs. He was going to remind Ren that this was contrary to the plan he had just suggested, but it was too late- and, beside, the adrenaline was surging through his body. He had nearly forgotten his plan himself.

Taking up his shield across his right arm, he surveyed his oncoming opponents. They were three: One with a longsword, one with two blades, and one with a great mace, which Ren had already begun to assault with some manner of spell. Wasting no time, Jan turned to his remaining men.

“You three!” He called, pointing his sword toward the orc with the longsword. “On that one! Stay close, charge together! The other one is mine!”

And the priest charged, followed shortly after by the militiamen. Their spears would be better used against the orc with the longer weapon, and Jan reasoned their resolve would hold better if they stuck together.

Their orc, spotting their charge, broke ranks with it's comrade, just as Jan had hoped. The monster was quick, however. Before the spears fell upon it's frame, it struck a sidelong blow at one of the older men. The poor fellow went down screaming in agony, his left leg nearly cleft through.

But the orc had left a wide opening for the other two and crumpled back with a thud to the ground, impaled twice through the chest.

As the two remaining militiamen were struggling to free their weapons from the carcass of their fresh-slain enemy, Jan closed the distance with his quarry. The orc seemed sure of himself, despite his odds of survival. Jan cried out, raising his sword.

“Ristoth and glory!”

Shield ahead, he made a feinting strike at the orc's midriff. The orc parried, and struck a glancing blow off of Jan's shield. Sensing his opportunity, Jan shoved his shield hard at the orc, bloodying it's ghastly face.

With his enemy off balance, the priest made a heavy-handed downstroke toward its groin. Blood gouted from between it's legs as it toppled clumsily to the ground, losing one sword in the process.

It flailed wildly with its remaining weapon, but it was nearly helpless now. The priest had little trouble running his sword through the thing's neck.

“Aye!” Jan cried out above the din.

“And there is more of that for ye lot!”

He had not yet noticed his wounded man, and glanced back to see the rest of his squadron. The look of triumph ran away from his face, and he sprinted back toward poor fellow on the ground. It was a grievous wound, and needed attention immediately. He turned toward the youngest of his charges, who had only just pried his weapon from a dead orc.

“You lad! Get this fellow to the rear! See he's looked to, then come right back.”

The ploughboy nodded and drove his spear into the earth before beginning to drag his injured comrade. Moving was evidently painful, as the fellow screamed as he went.

This was shaping up to be bloody business.