Edwin quickly drew out his twin daggers and held them ready to face Mor, it was a tragically hopeless fight he knew it, he managed to cultivate all his centres of power to the true stage but he was facing a Chieftain, but even though it was hopeless he had to at least die fighting.
The pair of daggers were a dull grey, with a couple of lines engraved into the metal, Edwin started to channel his energy through those lines, and soon the blade started to flicker with lightning, running up and down the edge of the blades.
Mor stood there without moving for his sword and smiled in approval of Edwin's actions, as an orc how could he not be pleased to face an opponent who despite the difference in power would choose to face death head on.
To die in battle was the most glorious fate for an orc, and those orc's who would flee in fear were nothing more than filthy cowards, and to the orcs the word 'coward' was the worst of insults.
