On To Sweartmereseld! (Redux)

[Eclecticon]

All the power and precision of a seasoned warrior are on display as Grimbeorn dispatches his assailant.  As his hearth-companion pursues the last of their immediate foes, the Son of Beorn casts his gaze about him.  Though the woods oppress his sight, he can clearly hear the sounds of desperate struggle continuing unabated.  Not far away, a young woman staggers into view from behind the trunk of a tree, an arrow piercing through her arm, and collapses to her knees.  Elsewhere, a snatch of song carries over the din as warriors of Woodmen-Town vanquish their foes.  Though no victor can yet be determined, nor may be for an hour or more, the goblins' numbers are easily twice that of the Stag-horn's host, and it is clear that the Woodmen's advance has been stopped. 

And yet, as he watches, a knot of Men, some bleeding and all breathing in the rapid gasps of those who have recently been struggling for their lives, coalesces from among the survivors and those no longer encumbered by enemies.  A cry comes also from Esgalwen as she sights more, and recognises them as the kinfolk of Arbogast.  They are altogether little more than a dozen of the six-score who set forth that morning, and yet they are ready now. 

Oderic, full of brashness and fire beneath his bloodied sark, calls out "Why do you tarry?  Let us press on!"   

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn replies with nothing more than a growl and presses on to the town.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn looked for the kin of the Firewatcher in the turmoil of the clash. Seeing the knot of men and their axes he sung out to them, "Now, now is the hour we strive together. To the Tarn. The bear and the fox, the bow and the axe!"

Hathcyn beat the butt of his spear against the shield of a goblin laying discarded upon the ground. Then pressed on with the battle fury upon him.