Gyassi, the Ereian king, watched the orc, Arkagarr, with a mixture of apprehension and hope. The orc's grin, a ghastly, toothy display, held a menacing quality that made Gyassi's blood run cold. He knew that another attack of the same magnitude would spell his demise. The orb embedded in the hilt of the Sword of Ereia, once a source of radiant energy, now displayed cracks and a dull, lifeless glow.
Arkagarr, his body a canvas of fresh wounds, pointed one of his axes towards Gyassi. "The next one will take your life," he declared, his voice a rasping growl. The air around him crackled with energy, a tempest gathering for another devastating assault.
Gyassi's heart pounded against his ribs. His sword, once a beacon of power, was now a mere shadow of its former glory. Despair threatened to consume him.