Snippet #2665916

Tehran's beady eyes widened as a body was tossed toward him. Quickly, he grabbed the man by the neck, nearly killing him with he grip while he stumbled back. But the bull quickly found his footing and shoved the male forward while muttering. "Forgive me."
The blade of the Psychic cut too deep into the body of a brute being held by a bull, since said bull shoved the mass forward to meet the weapon.

Now either the swing was forceful enough to cut the body in two or the shock of the body coming back to the thrower would catch the blade under the rib cage.

On either one, Tehran would use the certain pause to ram his massive fist into the side of Torm's head, pushing his human shield deeper onto the weapon or tossing it aside altogether.


Ottaga let out a Bull's cry that would nearly match that of the Frostarian's, swinging his own ax forward.

Clang! The sword and the ax came together as Ottaga strategically put them in a battle of strength. He had turned his weapon in such a way that it would catch Jaek's own in the slight space between blade and body of the ax.
His weapon may not be forged by the weapon smith's of the North but. It wasn't forged by some fools playing with fire. His muscles flexed as he pushed to keep Jaek's blade from coming down and into his shoulder.
"This is good." He chuckled while grunting, loud enough for the pale being to hear but close enough so that the message was only for him. "Let all the anger out. I know it must've been hard to face the fact that Ottaga Boff let you go. A Frostarian like you with so many connections." His nostrils flare.

The goons were still advancing.