The sounds of battle were deafening. The horde of Gunmar, under Bular's command, had struck the fleshbag city just after the moon had begun it's rise, and though an attentive male on watch had tried to sound an alarm, a flung stone javelin had ended it quickly. Like a wave they crashed against the feeble wooden walls, and before their might the gates splintered and broke.
And from there, it was wild, barely-controlled chaos.
The general, at the first nuances of the conflict, felt his proper battle rage rise and for quite some time was lost in it. He destroyed a any obstacle in his way, ended the life of any fleshbag that foolishly challenged him. Steel blades glanced off of his forearms with bright sparks but did little more damage than cause tiny knicks and a very few chips of stony skin that he didn't even feel. His fearsome roars echoed, and blood flowed.
Moving through the city streets - almost to small for him, honestly, forcing him to widen the paths himself - his attention was drawn by a battlecry from outside the Gumm-Gumm ranks. The horde roared at the appearance of this new, greater threat, and for a split second the general felt a surge of exhilaration. This would be as Bular promised, a glorious battle!
Then he heard the screams of the fleshbags around him, some desperately trying to escape, others trying to hide. They would have no idea, he'd wager, what was going on our that technically these new warriors were coming to try and save them. All they would know was two groups of monsters were invading their town and a lot of the fleshbags would die in the crossfire.
With that thought, the fires of battle turned to ash, fast as a Troll slain turned to stone. For a moment he hesitated, conflicted and at a loss.
Then he caught sight of two fleshbags, one male and one female, who had been trying to run from the swiftly growing conflict only to nearly collide with him. Valiantly the male pushed the female behind him, though the general was a good two feet taller than either them at least, especially when he was standing at his full height, and his reach alone ensured that if he wanted he could strike her easily. It would be only too easy to crush them. Quite literally their lives, their fates, were in his hands.
In that moment, something within in the general snapped, and before he could question himself further he acted.
One mighty swing, then two, and it was done.
Planting his feet, he braced himself to survive the rest of the battle, determined now that he would survive. It was not his night to die.