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"The maelstrom engulfed Brokk but he stood resolute, Klad Barak’s runes of power encasing him behind a shield of light. The hammer shone brighter, incandescent in his gnarled hands, and he felt rather than saw the weight of the hunter’s spear thrust against it.

"Three times it battered against him, his hammer glowing as though molten. Spirits and creatures that might once have been aelves continued to stream over and around him; alone and beset on all sides by outstretched hands like branches and the pale, bloodstained visages of his enemy, he felt tiny. Beside him, the last of his kin were skewered like boar, dear Svari tossed from those antlers like a stuck pig, his honour guard swept away like scree from the mountainside. Still, the aelf in god’s clothing assaulted him, driving its spear again and again into the shield-light.

"Even as Brokk dug his feet into the grooves of the anvil, its silhouette towered over him. What could one duardin do against such untrammelled fury? What had his brethren and he done to deserve such ruthless retribution?"