"Damn it!" Firyr cursed, as Oomly's massive greatsword flung him back once more. Firyr was fulfilling two roles at once – he served as a spoke in the attacking wheel against the giant Oomly, and he also dove into the melee amongst the infantry from time to time, to relieve the pressure from his men.
Oomly took a step forward, standing over the fallen Firyr. For such a giant man, he had quite the baby face. Even with those wrinkles on his skin, the illusion of that child-like face was not easily shattered. From the way he smiled, he seemed positively gleeful from all the bloodshed.
Before Oomly's sword could claim Firyr's head, however, an arrow rushed in front of him, going for his neck. He'd been keeping an eye on the girl out of the corner of his vision, and it was that reason alone that allowed him to continually stay out of the reach of the arrow's vicious sting. Still, for all his watchfulness, he could not brush the attack off. He was forced to step back to avoid it.
