Gnoll Warband

The gnoll warband - disease-ridden, travelling under the cover of putrid smoke dispensed from giant thuribles - has reached the party. Arrows immediately shoot towards the northern thurible-bearer with remarkable accuracy. One, two, three. The thurible rattles as it slams into the ground, shortly followed by its carrier. The smoke continues to diffuse but ceases to encroach on the party.

Izz and Merric escape the tower as the cascading blue flame approaches. Taern, however, does not emerge. Aust pokes his head through the door to note the progress of the fire and the complete lack of Taern. Assuming he has teleported to safety, Aust puts distance between himself and the tide of primal magic. It bursts out of the tower entrance and lashes at Merric, as if extending an arm to constrict him. Though he escapes its grasp, the flame licks his left forearm and inflicts a scar which glows a dull blue.

Jorund is consumed by the southern cloud and engages in melee combat with one of the rotting gnolls. An aura of malice washes over him, hampering his ability to withstand the poison which fills his lungs. Grageon charges south of the tower to aid his companion. A shield bash to the lower spine crumbles the thurible-bearer, immediately followed up by two crunching morningstar blows. Jorund finishes the job with a carefully targeted horizontal slice. The thurible-bearer falls still.

Closer to the tower, Izz is charged the other rotting gnoll. A few glancing blows from the gnome leave dents in its armour but he fails to find purchase. Noting the impossible odds, Izz misty steps to a safer range. The gnoll locks its sights on Merric.

Shoddy gnoll arrows fly through the smoke clouds, pinging off of the southern duo's heavy armour and barraging the rest of the party. Aust, meanwhile, sees an opportunity for practice: with unnatural grace and speed, he catches not one but two arrows which were destined to cause significant pain. Dropping the arrow at his feet, he calls a lightning strike on a cluster of the trackers. Pained howls are propagated by the wind as their flesh sears and they fall rigid into the mud.

Grageon and Jorund turn their sights to the death knight. A huge cleave from Jorund's greatsword is followed up with a shield bash. A flurry of morningstar blows cave the gnoll's chest and leave it gasping for breath. Grageon, sensing victory, rushes towards the archers which are bombarding his friends. The gnoll bites at his heels as he moves. Instinctively, Grageon swings the morningstar behind him and finds the wheezing gnoll's skull. It falls silent.

Meanwhile, Merric's deadly dance with his own opponent reaches fever pitch. Lightning strikes - called by Aust - slam into its back while Izz snipes it from afar. Merric draws his lucky wooden sword and drives it deep into the gnoll's chest. No sign of pain, no sign of panic. Again and again, Merric cuts at the rotting flesh through carefully selected weaknesses in the armour. The gnoll falls at his feet as the party swarm to deal with the archers.

Deathsworn

In the distance, rival orc tribes have descended into chaos. One side is clearly bolstered by unnatural strength, making short work of those who stand against their march. A path is carved through the centre by a frenzied barbarian, drenched in the blood of countless foes. She screams as she raises her handaxes towards the sky. Lightning strikes them immediately and they burn blue as she leads the charge towards the party.

A number of orcs follow her charge, pouring through the gap in the melee left in her wake. They surround Grageon who now stands alone at the frontline. Izz conjures a healing spirit between himself, Aust, and Jorund. It soothes their wounds as they regroup for the next wave of enemies.

Within the blue blaze which engulfs the tower, the party note a humanoid silhouette. It is Jaric - and Taern's rat familiar perches upon his shoulder. Immediately noting the danger into which he has teleported, Jaric dives out of the flames. His face is seared in the process and his cheeks glow blue.

Quickly surveying the battlefield, Jaric notes Grageon's danger. Weaving a ball of fire between his hands, he launches it over Grageon - shield raised, braced for the impact of ten orcs - and obliterates those who followed the berserker. Grageon now fights toe-to-toe with favorable odds.

With each wound inflicted on the orc, her grin grows larger. With each step closer to death, her strength grows. Grageon's morningstar slams into her temple, Izz sinks an arrow deep into her heart, Merric splits the arrow with inspired accuracy, and Jorund joins the fray to open a gaping wound in the orc's stomach. The orc's eyes fill with a dying rage as she unleashes a final flurry.

We die, bloody and thrashing on the field of battle, like true orcs should!

Jorund falls to a burst of unnaturally powerful handaxe strikes. Grageon braces himself against them, digging deep to find a second wind. Aust attempts to dodge the strikes with his honed agility but finds himself no match for the berserker.

The orc succumbs to her wounds, collapsing into the mud with a wry grin.

Shaman of the Sundered Lands

A flash of blue energy streaks through the clouds, arcing towards the ground a few hundred feet from Chill Tower. The orcs loyal to both sides are torn asunder without bias. The energy begins to coagulate on the ground, forming a whirlwind of fire and earth. With a loud crack it dissipates in all directions. Corpses, trees, even rocks, are ignited with blue flame which burns unnaturally bright and strong.

Venom-filled words echo through everyone's mind. The voice is soft-spoken yet imperious, and speaks in all languages - known and unknown - at once.

You are strong, but I am beyond strength.

I am the fist of retribution.

That which quells the recalcitrant.

Behold now the terrible vengeance of Talos the Destroyer.

At the centre of the explosion, a hulking orcish figure rises to its feet. A giant scar - diagonal from shoulder to hip - burns with the same blue glow of the flames. It extends a hand towards a number of the fallen orcs, clenches it into a fist, and yanks it back, appearing to tear their very souls from their bodies. The wisps of pure magical energy coagulate into humanoid forms and march towards the party.

The Shaman of the Sundered Lands has arrived.