Hjalmar walks through the woods, his head filled with songs and fury, people died this night and he wasn't going to leave the last survivor out here to die.
Soon the camp came into view, the Orc spotted him first, and with a snarl pulls put his axe, the other bandits scrambling to grab their weapons to join in the killing of the intruder.
Hjalmar's grey eyes watch the scene, like an hungry wolf closing in on the kill.
With a yell the bandits charge, hoping that numbers would quickly overwhelm this intruder, the Nord dodges to the side and drives his shortsword into the side of one of the bandits. The dying man's allies quickly try to hack the northman into pieces, but the hunter shoves the corpse into their midst and tries to draw out his axe, he was a bit slow, one of the raiders rushes him, only to get a steel enforced headbutt for his troubles. He falls back screaming though broken teeth with his nose crushed to a pulp. Hjalmar finally gets his axe out only for the other three men to swarm him, he grabs one by throat and throttles the man as his compatriots hack at his body trying to kill the Nord. Soon the gory parody of humanity is tossed into the last two, Bryjar backs up only to feel a tree hit his back, back to the tree he glowered at the last two marauders as they charge him. He dodges their attacks, he lashes out and strikes air, one strikes back and his sword is deflected, the orc brings his battle axe down with all his might. The axe comes crashing down singing it's death song, Hjalmar rolls away and hears the tree crack and snap from the force of the blow. The other bandit tries to pull him down and ends up getting a swift kick to the ribs for his trouble.
Gasping the man writhes from the pain as his partner lets go of the handle and draws his sword, the firelight shining on the battered steel. The Nord stalks forward, his grey eyes blazing and his hand grips his own axe.
"Pretty tough for a Nord, I'll give you that much." the Orc says, "Got a name, so I know who to sacrifice to Malacath?", Hjalmar's face splits into blood hungry grin, "Oh trust me, Spurned One, you'll see him sooner than you realize.".
The forsaken elf replies "Heh, should have known you'll say something like that round ear, ready to die?". Facing each other the two men circle around, eyes blazing, chests heaving ready for violence, and like two bolts of lighting they clash.
One rips into a flurry of blows and sends the other backwards before the other man unleashes his own assault. With many near misses from the killing blow both fighters are soon panting from exertion. The Orc then lets out a roar of hate and defiance before charging toward his enemy. Hjalmar jumps to the side and slams his blade into the orc's belly, the orc swings his arm back trying to hit him.
The blow knocks the helm from Hjalmar's head and his world pulses before using the momentum to tear his axe away. He stumbles to the side as his opponent tried to turn around whilst trying to hold his innards inside himself.
The bandit turns and swings his sword towards his enemy, all his power and strength into a killing blow. Hjalmar tries to deflect the attack and ends up getting a nasty gash on his leg for his troubles.
He cries out in pain and rage as the world turns red, seeing his attacker fall on his knees he grips his axe tightly and slams it into the orc's shoulder, the bones snapping loudly in the cold air.
Hjalmar growls in pain and uses one of his last potions, downing the foul tasting liquid quickly before he chokes on it. The wound in his leg burns as it tries to knit torn flesh back to together, he limps towards the orc, who to his surprise is still breathing.
"Do you have a name orc? I'll make bards sing your name when they sing of my deeds." he tells the dying bandit.
The orc looks up with a grim smile, more hideous with the blood oozing from his mouth, "Aye, let your women know you've slain Atulg the Butcher." he answers as his eyes glass over before shuddering one last time as his spirit leaves to join Malacath in the Ashpits.
Gathering his scattered weapons and taking the orc's battle axe he sets about the grim task of checking his kills. The man with the smashed ribs wimpers and curls up hoping the fiend wouldn't notice him. A sword through the chest steals that hope away from him.
Hjalmar sighs to himself and tries to pick the girl's trail, by Kyne this was going to be a long night.