"Bloody Hel, what is it you want? Your children have wandered away..." He shook his head, as he was returning, he saw the shambling forms of undead. Not the first time; he sighed to himself. How would the strangers handle themselves?<br/><br/>He ran back to join them, ran back just in time to see one of the warrior women all too eager to die. "Idiot! Valhalla welcomes the brave, not the foolish," He chastised her, even as he aimed to join her. The waterskin he simply dropped to the ground; it could be reclaimed later. He held his spear in both hands, and not content to merely stand and wait for their approach, struck forward.<br/><br/>There's nothing fancy about what he does. Flashy moves might look impressive, but that was a waste of energy; it was something the foolish did. His moves are smooth, fast, efficient; and they are not telegraphed in the least, a testament to his training.<br/><br/>He rushed forward, and brought the spear up and at an angle. He struck at the nearest corpse, lunging, extending the spear forward and at the creature. It struck the throat, but continued at an upward angle; its sharpness, and the strength of its wielder pushing the spear cleanly through its neck, and upwards through its head. He pushed until the forehead of the corpse was stuck against the 'wings' that jutted out around the spearhead; they did exactly what they were meant to.<br/><br/>He pulls backwards, and retracts the spear from the corpse; it falls to the ground. He flicks some rotten blood off the spearhead, to the side, then regrips it in both hands, and repositions himself. All in all, his strike takes mere seconds to complete; and in those mere seconds, the dead continued their march. Thus, he had need to readjust his positioning, to keep himself out of harms way, while being within striking distance.