Kru’jat led his fellow drow to the ambush spot. His orders were clear. The dwarven miners were getting too close to the drow’s hidden city, but after tonight, they would delve no further…

Aolis plunged the shadowy blade into the man’s heart, feeling the hunger inside him surge as he absorbed his very essence. His face looking less gaunt, he smiled, and set off in search of another meal.

Leofrick’s blade cut through his opponents’ armor with ease, while his own plate turned away blow after blow. It was not magic that enhanced these things, but his own skill with the forge. He fought for hours on end, never seeming to tire, another gear in the living war machine that was the Clanking Legion.

Toruk killed the final ghoul, but he was too late to save his friend. All he could do was offer him comfort as the light left his eyes. A few moments later, when his lifeless body began to stir once more, Toruk gripped his mace tightly, ready to lay him to rest once and for all.

Illaryl stepped nimbly atop the snowdrift, leaving hardly a trace. While most would find the frigid air uncomfortable, she reveled in it. She had lived in these mountains all her life, and was as much a part of them as the snow upon their towering peaks…

As Bryn pulled the bowstring taut, she called upon her goddess, empowering the arrow with a divine light. Her goddess didn’t tolerate poaching, and her prey would learn that soon enough.

Lyra called upon the Old Wood, sapping away the latent magical energy from the lightning bolt that had narrowly missed her, scorching a nearby tree. The energy began to knit her wounds, as she growled through gritted teeth, “You’re going to pay for that.”

Fezir saw the arrow buried in his chest…and as the momentary glimpse into the future faded, he had just enough time to duck and shout ‘AMBUSH!’ as that same arrow flew from the shadows, narrowly missing him by just a few inches.

Twyla swooped down from above, her griffon descending like a bird of prey. As Twyla slashed with her scimitar, her griffon lashed out with beak and claws. As quickly as they had arrived, they were gone, leaving behind a path of corpses in their wake…

Zulo called upon the spirit of the wind dragon as he deftly weaved through the volley of arrows. Lightning crackled around him as he leapt atop the wall, scattering the archers with a flurry of blows, and clearing the way for the rest of his party.