He turned to face the horde that had stopped on the other hill. He stood alone, his comrades slain by this same horde. The horde acknowledged his presence with a loud warcry, and charged. He stood his ground, his plan going quite well. When the horde had nearly overun him, he drew his blade, and with a scream that would make the gods freeze, he charged. His blade ripped flesh, and shore limbs straight from the sockets. He did not know if he would win this battle, but all he knew was that by the end of his time on this earth, he would be surrounded by fear. And dead cows.