The greatsword rose and fell with runes blazing a cold blue, dessicated and half-frozen limbs falling to the ground or thrown in the air behind it. Moans and screeches of the undead horde filled the silence, punctuated by the rustle of chainmail and plate armor rubbing against each other. It was snowing heavily, yet it went completely unnoticed by both the undead and the greatsword wielder. Crippled scourge crawled to grasp at the legs of the warrior, only to be crushed underfoot by massive hooves. The oversized shoulderplates on the outnumbered assailant that resembled fanged jaws snapped open, revealing long whiplike tongues that would wrap themselves around an arm, leg, or head of the nearby scourge. With a tearing sound, the deceptively-weak looking tongues ripping the appendages off and would draw them into their respective maws. Through it all, the massively-built Tauren emitted no sound; not even heavy breathing as should be the case with his constant movement.
“Brahin!” A voice called out from the snow covered fields. He ignored the voice and continued fighting the scourge.
“Brahin!” The voice called again, punctuated by several of the scourge suddenly becoming encased in solid blocks of ice.
Lowering his greatsword, runes dimming as the rush of battle fades, Brahin turns to the sound of the voice calling him. “Who…” A deep gravelly voice coming from a mouth clearly unused to such work echoing in reply. His face hidden by a dual-horned helmet resembling the face of some demonic entity long dead, eyes glimmering a sharp blue-white glow.
Dminutive hooves crunched into the snow nearby as he gazed at the speaker. The driving snow lessened, then stopped as the female tauren stepped into view. She was showing no signs of being affected by the cold, the bangles in her hair and beads on her clothing swaying as she walked towards him. Her eyes on him and showing no fear, she stepped closer to him and stopped.
Brahin shifted to fully face her, the helm hiding his face. Sensing his sudden unease, his shoulderplates snapped open, the whiplike tongues tasting the air before closing again. “Inko ….” The gravelly voice came again from his throat, the second time he had spoken in what seemed like years. Lowering his sword further until the tip touched the ground, he outstretched his gauntleted hand towards her.