The brutes lugged up the hill, shouldering past saplings that broke apart at their bulk. Some Orcs halted to chop at trees they bumped into, angered the beechwoods would dare impede its charge toward potential enemies. A large 'WAAAGH' was still being screamed even as the men and woman at the center of the circle prepared themselves. The greenskins that had made it past the stones paid the strange rocks no mind. They leaped with their stubby legs and swung wildly with their arms; simian in proportion and nearly as thick as Amal's waist. 

Sir Brenly wasn't as young as he once was, but he kept the Orc on him at a distance, ducking under a burly swing and hacking at its leg. It howled but seemed undaunted, advancing and nearly taking the Knight's head had his shield not lifted, though the brute's cleaver-like sword nearly chopped through the crude protection. Sir Brenly cried out with "For the Lady!" and ran the thing through the stomach, spilling its guts onto the brightly green grass. Even then it didn't die immediately, stupidly dropping its axe and trying to put its innards back into its stomach before it collapsed. 

"These things die hard!" Amal pipped in, leaping over an orc's low swing and subsequently ducking under a second Orc's stab. The rogue had never seen a greenskin before, much less fought one. He'd heard tale of tribes in the southern jungles and the badlands, but nothing that told him they would keep fighting after having an arm chopped off. He twisted his body and lifted his leg just in time to keep it from being hacked off by a wild axe swing, staying one step ahead of both Orcs and cutting them were applicable. The truth was he could do this all day, but if he became surrounded, he wasn't perfect. There was also Emmaline and the others to think about.

Gerard was being ignored, at least for the moment. It looked like the Orcs only really wanted to fight people who could fight back, though it was doubtful they would let him live once the others were taken care of. Whether by proximity or kinship, Douglas kept an Orc at bay, guarding Gerard as best he could. His spear moved like the swipes of a great hunting cat, taking the Orc in the chest before driving it through its thick neck. The thing coughed up blood and stumbled forward, trying to overwhelm Douglas and kill him with it. Douglas easily leaped back and ran it through again, only to get a boot in the back and sent stumbling as another Orc waded into the fray. 

The group was getting desperate, barely holding off the first wave of greenskins and being unable to finish them all before the next wave rolled in, screaming their bestial cries with morbid excitement. As Amal cut down one of the Orcs that had been trying to butcher him, the second Orc swung and cut into Amal's bag. The contents, mostly food as the gold was stashed in another fold of the cloth, fell onto the ground along with the rolled up carpet. The sentient rub 'popped' in excitement before it had even hit the ground, vibrating as if pulsed by lightning. Emmaline's vision could see it was glowing with magical strength, likely from the stone circle they found themselves in.