One last orc staggered forth from the cloud of necromancy, its rusty war gear spattered with the remains of its breakfast. The warrior’s bloodshot eyes glittered with anger in the flickering light of its burning ally, but the humanoid was still overwhelmed by the revolting power of the dissipating cloud.
Nearby, Vee ducked under a clumsy thrust from one of the nauseated creature’s allies. A solid strike from his dwarven axe and the orc went down, blood spurting from its severed shoulder. Covering the rogue’s back, Dujek faced the third of those orcs that had escaped his magic.
Just then, Kadarin’s voice could be made out, beginning his enchantment of growth. Dujek’s orcish foe turned, cocking his arm back to cast his spear at the preoccupied mage, but Dujek, seeing the opening, lunged forward. The necromancer’s thin-bladed knife stabbed below the orc’s raised arm, easily punching through the creature’s greasy jupon. The porcine warrior croaked in pain as the blade sank into his lung.
Snarling in pain, his face a mask of anger, Czolba lunged forward to finish the stricken creature, but it shoved the wounded mercenary back, his dirk catching in the fabric of its filthy jupon. Shaken by the sudden onslaught of its foes, the orc stumbled backward, seeking to flee.
Kadarin’s sonorous voice echoed through the camp, growing in timbre even as his spell’s subject waxed larger. A web of magic embraced Delsordo, transforming the mute warrior into a huge juggernaut of destruction. With newfound power, Delsordo grabbed his muscular foe and writhed into a neck hold. Rapidly pinning the orc’s body against the ground, the mercenary twisted, his teeth gritted with effort. With a sickening “pop”, the snarling warrior’s vertebrae tore apart, instantly stifling the thing’s wrath. Delsordo, his chest heaving with exertion, threw his foe’s limp body aside like a child’s rag doll.
Two of the orcs that had grappled their leader slowly forced the other down while the third jabbed its bloodied blade into his side over and over. The creature howled piteously as its own blood-spattered allies sent it down to darkness.
Within the web, one of the sleeping orcs suffocated, his face falling into the tangling strands. One of the others, finally tearing loose from the web’s embrace, turned and ran.
The last of the party’s enemies, seeing what stood against them, took to their heels as Czolba hefted a fallen spear. The wrathful mercenary, his blood-lust unsated, began thrusting the weapon into sleeping and entangled orcs, butchering the helpless warriors. “Jump us while we’re sleeping, would you?” he snarled.
The three orcs that had fallen to Kadarin’s charm eyed Czolba uneasily, blood dripping from the bites and gouges it had received from its leader. One called out in the harsh common found in the foothills.
“Czolba, is that you? What are you doing here?”
(OOC: Two orcs remain alive in the web (one asleep). The rest are dead, fled, or charmed.)