[Ransom]

Ransom pounded down the dark, narrow corridor toward the archers, his now expanded bulk absorbing most of the arrows. He could clearly see the races of the archers now. Slightly more than half were orcs, while the remainders were scruffy-looking humans. Their captain, arrayed in black mail, was an elf. This was certainly unusual.

Instead of retreating and running, like Ransom had expected, the orcs began to drop their bows and pile onto their attackers, as if seeking to overwhelm them with sheer numbers. Ransom backhanded an orc, knocking it backwards, before clubbing another one with the butt of his pole arm. He did not use the weapon to its full extent for fear of injuring his allies. On the other hand, his armor was working perfectly. Any orc who tried to tackle this demonic menace quickly retreated from the seemingly omnipresent spikes.

By now, most of the orcs had been slain. The humans had dropped their bows in exchange for long swords and shields while the elf urged them forwards. Ransom stepped backwards and brought Ancalagon’s Claw up in preparation for this new onslaught.