Gorak’s voice thundered above the chaos, his breath billowing in clouds of mist. His orders were sharp and decisive, yet loaded with the weight of decades of warfare. Every muscle in his massive body was taut, his icy furs clinging to him, blending his form with the swirling snow and frost around him. Yes, he was as much part of the mountain as the mountain was part of him. He was the mountain incarnate, an unyielding force of nature that understood both the unforgiving terrain and the desperation of a cornered beast.
When the voltera, struggling to move within the confines of the narrow path, made an attempt to leap toward the cliffside for higher ground, Gorak’s instincts flared. The beast sought to escape the deadly ring of orks, intending to lure them into single file instead so that he may tear them apart one after the other. But Gorak knew this tactic well, had seen the same desperation in countless foes before. Without hesitation, he surged forward, his massive form ploughing through the deep snow with a grace and speed that defied his bulk as much as it testified to a lifetime of combat experience in the Albweiss. His eyes remained locked onto the voltera’s retreating form.
“Cut him off!” he roared, sending his warriors scrambling to flank the creature. They sprang into action, scattering across the terrain with deadly precision. Nine orks rushed forward to encircle the beast, moving to block his retreat before he could climb out of reach, while the others, directed by Baltagar, hurled their metal spears at his hind legs. The close range ensured lethal accuracy. Spear after spear struck true, sinking deep into the thick hide and finding purchase between his massive muscles.
The beast stumbled, its legs buckling under the sudden onslaught, and its body slammed into the frozen rock wall. The wizard was thrown off upon impact. Ice and snow cascaded down from the cliffs above, tearing him away from the beast. The trail and all remaining warriors were shrouded in a suffocating haze of white.
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