His war-hammer swung around again and he heard the sickening sound of bones snapping inside flesh. With the ogre doubled over in pain he brought another blow down onto the back of its head, driving shards of skull deep into the brain. It fell immediately to the ground in a lifeless heap.
It wouldn’t make much of a song: one measly ogre, old and tattered around the edges like a road-worn shoe… not much of a challenge. In his grandfather’s day, the carcass would have been dressed, cooked, and eaten. Those times, thankfully, were long gone: ogre meat tastes terrible.