(Thanks to Zelosse for helping me edit this)

Gormarr felt his heart beat quicken as the rush of battle coursed through his veins. The greenskin threw himself into the thick of the nearest Skaven horde, planting himself in the center of the battle like a flying banner. As was the way of the Orcs he used great sweeps of his axe to cut, chop, bash, and even slam his forehead into those who came to close. It wasn't until a sudden explosion caught the Greenskin berserker and the dwarven line by surprise. 
Not keen on allowing the filthy rats any more advantage than they already had, Gormarr waded through the swarm and propped himself where the Skaven menace had overtaken the dwarven line. Taking his main axe and the intricate crafted axe he had found on the plateau, the angering Orc marauder put both to powerful use. In a show of ferocity and rage that could put even the werewolf to shame, Gormarr swung both axes in either hand like a hurricane. Every sweep took life or limb, his roaring overhead chops cleaved flesh and bone in half like paper, even lashing out with his feet or fists if opportunity came. Amidst so many targets all screeching for blood it was impossible for the battle drunk Orc to miss! His armor stopped some of the more potentially fatal attacks, but the ones that found their way in only served to bring the snarling Orc further into his bloody trance.

When the King ordered the Dwarves (and the party by extension) to get him to the wall, Gormarr was quick to begin his bloody work. One dead rat at a time.