The party returned to their wagon in the aftermath of the devastating battle with Embrociea. Grumthar, who had remained behind recovering from severe injuries sustained from falling into lava, awakened as Tarnik and Drogoth entered the wagon. He heard the sounds of Shiv being hitched to the cart and immediately noticed that the group was missing people—particularly the wolves and the four elves. Signs of battle were evident on his companions. During his recovery time, Grumthar had been attempting to fashion crude footwear from spare canvas and leather, frustrated by his lack of skill in such delicate work. His feet were tough but the harsh environment made proper coverings necessary. When he emerged from the wagon, he called out to his companions, asking where the elves were, as he had hoped they could assist with his makeshift boots. Volza Redhand snapped her gaze toward Grumthar, her fists clenched. "The elves died needlessly," she said through gritted teeth. Grumthar, confused and distressed, protested that he had just risked his own life to save them—how could they have died? The wizard, Bordak explained, had cast a very powerful spell after he had provoked her by attempting intimidation. This led to the deaths of Aenwyn, Tessara, Thia, Elenwe, and both awakened dire wolves Lobos and Bolto. Volza turned her fury on Bordak directly. "You made a mistake," she declared. "You are not a worthy leader." She announced that from that moment forward, she would no longer follow Bordak. Instead, she would listen only to Tarnik, whom she considered "an actual orc who knows the ways of the north." She spat at the ground in contempt and offered to fight Bordak on Tarnik's behalf to prove her loyalty to her new chosen leader. Tarnik added his own voice to the conflict. He had been driving the wagon, hooking up Shiv, when the argument erupted. He declared that he would not follow Bordak any further and announced his intention to lead the group going forward. The fracture in leadership was complete—both Volza and Tarnik had turned against Bordak's authority. Narzag attempted to deflect blame, suggesting that he was the one who discovered the location and therefore shared responsibility. But Volza was unmoved—she insisted that Bordak's choice to intimidate and provoke Embrociea had led directly to their allies' deaths. The tension in the group was palpable as Grumthar suggested that both Tarnik and Bordak should take the evening to pray to Gonosh for guidance. If they still felt there should be a leadership change after communing with their god, they could either acknowledge it peacefully or settle it through a formal challenge. Tarnik agreed to the day of rest and prayer. Bordak also consented, though reluctantly. But Volza was insistent—she had made her decision and would follow Tarnik going forward. She announced that she was heading in a specific direction to continue searching for Little Wolf and Grom, and that the group should follow if they agreed with her plan. When pressed about whether she spoke as a servant of Gonosh or simply as herself, she admitted that her god was "gone" and that she served only her own purposes now. The party began traveling again, with tension hanging heavy in the air. Volza announced they needed to head south to continue searching for Little Wolf and Grom, following the path the elves had been taking. Dorgath walked alongside Bordak behind the wagon. Tarnik drove the wagon with Shiv pulling, while Grumthar, Cub, and Volza rode inside. During this time, Volza worked on completing Grumthar's boots, angrily stitching and cutting materials with barely controlled rage. Her silver-like eyes—almost appearing blind but for their silvery quality and actual pupils—were set in a tight, angry expression. As she worked, Volza muttered bitterly about elves. "We shouldn't have brought them," she said. "Elves are weak, pretty things always getting slaughtered and captured. They can't defend themselves. They're just meant for the chains." Cub, listening carefully, noticed that beneath her outer rage there seemed to be something deeper—actual vulnerability rather than simple anger. When Grumthar attempted to speak about honor and death in the orcish tongue, Volza's response revealed emotional pain beneath her harsh words. She finished the first boot and threw it at Grumthar. Then she continued working on the second, her movements becoming more controlled and skilled as she processed her emotions through the work. Grumthar, watching her work and trying to find the right words, spoke about his own understanding of purpose and value. "On the farm, everything has its place," he said. "We have the great orac that plows and helps us plow the field. Then we have the small felines, the cats. They creep around the barn. They catch the mice. They lay on our laps in the cold evenings and keep us warm. When we're sick, they can give us affection. Even the weak among us can serve a role." Volza continued her work, listening as she stitched. She finished the second boot—noticeably better crafted than the first—and threw it at Grumthar. Then she looked at Cub and shook her head, repeating "I am not weak" several times before teleporting away into the darkness to resume her scouting duties ahead of the wagon. Grumthar, moved by the display of emotion, wiped his eyes and spoke of how trying times can bring emotions to the surface that are normally kept buried. Cub made a quiet observation about seeing the assassin show unexpected emotions, though he kept this thought mostly to himself. The party continued traveling through the night, planning to journey until the heat of the day forced them to stop and rest. Several hours into their journey, approaching what would have been close to midnight, Volza signaled for the wagon to halt and made a gesture for quiet. She vanished into some bushes ahead, disappearing into the night. The party waited tensely until she reappeared—but she was not alone. With her came an orc that Tarnik recognized—Davax, the chronicler who had spoken with Grumthar before the party entered the Ketaca path and crossed the Hell bridge leaving the western cities. Volza, clearly irritated, warned that Grumthar should tell his friend to be more careful, as she had nearly killed him before recognizing he wasn't a threat. Davax brushed off the danger, noting that Volza had remarkably keen eyesight at night compared to during the day. Davax reported that he had located Urgan Mossback, the individual Grumthar had asked him to find. He presented a rolled-up map showing Urgan's exact location deep within the Runton Swamps near the Ash Wilds. The journey to find him had been treacherous, but Davax had discovered that despite rumors of paranoia and madness, Urgan's reputation seemed to be largely a facade—a calculated performance to keep unwanted visitors away. The old sculpt master appeared to still possess a calculated, sharp mind beneath the act of insanity. Grumthar was conflicted. He desperately wanted to learn more about his grandfather, but he was on a mission from Gonosh and didn't feel it was his place to stop pursuing their quest for personal reasons. He asked Davax if he would be willing to speak with Urgan on his behalf to gather information. Davax agreed but suggested that to get Urgan to open up, Grumthar should provide something of personal value—something from his tribe or clan that would prove the connection and show Urgan that Grumthar had sent him. Grumthar's mind immediately went to his prized weapons—Storm Gorge and Whisper Fang, both passed down from his grandfather. He knew these weapons would absolutely be recognized by Urgan, who had likely fought alongside Grumthar's grandfather in battle. The idea of giving up one of these weapons was an enormous sacrifice, but Grumthar felt drawn to do so. He asked Davax if he believed in the gods, if he had faith in Gonosh. Davax replied that he believed in the gods, though as a chronicler he had learned not to put his faith in just one—the invisible hands of divine power guided them in various ways. Volza objected strongly, arguing that Grumthar needed to be at full strength for the battles ahead and that giving up a weapon was foolish. But Grumthar had made his decision. He asked Tarnik to lead them in prayer, stating that his sacrifice was an act of faith. Perhaps this was a sign that he should give up the weapon to forge his own destiny. He took a knee and bowed his head, tracing the holy symbol of Gonosh in the dirt before him. Tarnik, hearing the request for prayer, said nothing at first. Instead, he went into the wagon and began rummaging through their supplies. He emerged with a skull chain flail and tossed it at Grumthar's feet, declaring "This is a good weapon. This will keep you going. This is the only prayer you need." Grumthar attempted to recite a prayer his mother had taught him—something quaint, perhaps even childish—but struggled to remember it properly. In the end, he took up the flail and handed Storm Gorge to Davax, who would use the weapon to gain Urgan's trust. The flail would serve Grumthar until Davax returned with both Storm Gorge and the answers he sought. Before departing, Grumthar made one more request of Davax. He asked about more than just his grandfather's battle prowess and path to becoming a berserker. He wanted to understand the attachment his grandfather had to a simple painted turtle—a pet that seemed incongruous with the image of a powerful barbarian warrior. He also sought guidance about his own path forward regarding continuing his family line. He had lost a companion and now faced pressure from his clan to take a bride and start a family, yet he was hesitant to follow that path without the emotional attachment his grandfather seemed to have found. These were deeply personal questions about legacy, duty, and the heart. Davax acknowledged the depth of these questions and promised to ask. He noted, with a glance at Volza, that she seemed like she would have been a perfect match with her fiery temper—were she not of questionable birth (implying she was not full-blooded orc). He assured Grumthar he would return within a week with Storm Gorge and the answers he sought. Then Davax melted into the shadows and vanished, his form wisping away into the night like a phantom. Grumthar took up the skull chain flail, unfamiliar with the weapon but determined to make it work. He joined Tarnik at the front of the wagon to drive Shiv, expressing his gratitude for Tarnik's understanding. Tarnik, still frustrated, eventually handed over the reins and retreated to the back of the wagon where he began banging on metals—forging or crafting something, making a horn. The noise rang through the night as the party continued their journey. During this time, Cub examined the remains of the corrupted lantern that Bordak had destroyed. The device still thrummed with residual necrotic energy that felt like oil trying to slither up his fingers when he touched it. The glass and twisted metal showed masterwork precision—enchanted glass and dark blackened steel, likely forged in underground cities. Complex necrotic runes were etched into the metal, and the device had been magically reinforced against damage. Most significant was what remained at the core: approximately 80% of a green gem shaped like a heart. With his extensive knowledge of potion-making and arcane theory, Cub recognized this as a phylactery—a vessel designed to anchor a soul or power source. However, this one felt different from traditional liches' phylacteries. It seemed more like a tool for channeling and amplifying necrotic energy, acting as a battery and seed for spreading corruption into the ley lines like a disease through veins. The magical fingerprint on the device was distinct, suggesting it could be replicated if someone had the power and ingredients. Cub explained his findings to the party—this lantern was life magically created and infused to torture and infect the lands. Tarnik, pragmatic as ever, simply wanted to know how to destroy them more quickly. Cub noted that these were magical but not fully invested, like taking the blood of a lich and putting it in a vial. The conversation touched on Tarnik's unexpected perspective—that protecting the orc lands from corruption was important because otherwise "the stupid elves and humans" would come across seeking the corruption. The party continued traveling until they sensed they were approaching dawn. The sun hadn't yet peaked over the horizon, but they could feel its approach. Volza remained far ahead, scouting in the darkness. Suddenly, she came running back toward the wagon, appearing from the shadows bloodied and beaten. Her gut was torn open with entrails nearly spilling out—she was on the verge of collapse. She barely managed to gasp out a warning: "Devil. Pit fiend. Large fucking pit fiend." The party sprang into action. Tarnik immediately cast a healing word on Volza, magical energy stitching her stomach back together—though not completely healing the grievous wound. She clutched at his armor, explaining that the pit fiend had appeared out of nowhere and she had barely gotten any attacks in before fleeing. She was holding her intestines in with one hand, in tremendous pain despite the healing magic. Cub and Narzag, who had been scouting ahead sent to look for her, came running back. Cub had gone invisible to scout more safely, and both he and Narzag had caught sight of the massive devil—a hulking, scaled creature with large wings and an aura of menace. Cub, with his knowledge of fiendish creatures, recognized it as a pit fiend, one of the most powerful devils in the Nine Hells aside from archdevils. More alarmingly, these creatures possessed true sight and could see through invisibility. Both scouts had wisely turned and fled immediately. The party had mere moments to prepare. Cub cast a protective spell creating a veil to hide their presence—a 30-foot radius sphere that granted bonuses to stealth and perception checks, though it didn't create actual invisibility. Grumthar moved to take cover behind a large rock. Narzag hid in nearby bushes after magically enhancing his bow to become a +2 weapon. Tarnik positioned himself behind rock formations. Volza, still wounded despite the healing, teleported into a tree and vanished from sight using her assassin's training. Cub administered more healing to Volza before she disappeared, casting a powerful cure wounds spell at 5th level that closed most of her wounds and stopped the immediate danger of death. Even after receiving this healing, Volza's anger and pain were evident. When Cub made a comment about her being stupid enough to let a pit fiend surprise her, she snapped back with fury—but Cub clarified that he was only calling her half stupid for allowing herself to be ambushed by such a creature, given her skills as an assassin and rogue. The pit fiend came into view, walking casually through the volcanic landscape, seemingly unworried despite the ambush his presence had caused. His hulking form cast a massive shadow, and flames flickered around his body. He called out to the party in a booming voice: "Come out, come out, little orcs. I have a message from your friend who is angry. I want your souls. She's promised me some fun. You disrupted our ritual. So for that I require a soul. Who wants to volunteer?" His gaze fixed on Grumthar's position behind the rock. "How about you over there? You look tasty enough." Grumthar, never one to back down from a challenge, stepped out from behind cover. "You've taken enough souls for one evening. I would suggest you move on." The pit fiend licked his lips. "I need more souls for my coins. You know, I'm planning to buy me a nice Hellfire engine. And you look like a very strong soul. So come on. How about you just make it easy? Come out here." Grumthar challenged the creature: "Tell me, devil, what master do you serve?" The pit fiend laughed. "Master? This is the prime material. I have those to serve me. I serve no master here." "So you do no one's bidding then?" Grumthar pressed. "Tell me who's master do you serve, little orc?" "I am the chosen of Gonosh," Grumthar declared. The devil's interest was piqued. "A chosen of Gonosh? Oh, well that sounds interesting. Sounds like something that would be important. What is a chosen of Gonosh doing here?" "I imagine we're killing fiends such as you, devil," Grumthar roared, his voice infused with the rage of Gonosh. "You will perish like the others before you!" The pit fiend laughed mockingly, but at that moment Tarnik and Shiv burst from their hiding place in a blaze of glory. Tarnik blew a long, loud note on his newly crafted horn—the sound granting bardic inspiration to everyone who heard it—while Shiv was wreathed in flames. They charged at the pit fiend together, with Tarnik shouting: "Come, Bazgoth! Let us teach this thing a lesson!" Tarnik declared his final warning: "You had your last warning, devil. Leave now or perish and be banished back to the hells from which you came. Gonosh has no tolerance for your kind." Grumthar attempted to intimidate the creature with a natural 20 on his roll, and while the pit fiend growled in response, it was clear this was going to be a fight. The creature released its own intimidating presence—a supernatural growl that pierced into the souls of those nearby. Grumthar, protected by his rage, felt nothing. Tarnik managed to resist the fear effect with his iron will, pushing away the unnatural dread that tried to seep into his mind. The battle erupted with explosive violence. Volza struck first from her hidden position, her daggers finding gaps in the devil's defenses for massive damage. Narzag marked the creature with hunter's mark and fired magical arrows, his bear attempting to charge but stumbling on the rocky terrain. Grumthar attacked recklessly with both the skull chain flail and Whisper Fang, landing solid blows. Cub called down a consuming radiance—a spell that could deal either radiant or necrotic damage—choosing radiant to burn the fiend. The creature had to make a dexterity saving throw and failed, taking damage and becoming wreathed in persistent holy flames that would continue burning it at the start of each turn. The pit fiend retaliated with terrifying ferocity. It focused its assault on Grumthar, biting with massive jaws for crushing damage and poison, though Grumthar's constitution saved him from being poisoned. Then it struck with clawed hands—one claw, then another, then a third and fourth in rapid succession, each blow dealing slashing and fire damage. Finally it struck with its tail for bludgeoning damage. The creature was a whirlwind of destruction, landing hit after hit on the barbarian. But Grumthar had gained a new ability—when hit, he could use his reaction to make a single attack in response. His flail lashed out, striking the devil. Then it was Bordak's turn. The warrior moved at incredible speed, closing the distance and unleashing a devastating flurry of attacks with his twin Fangs of Gonosh. Four attacks landed in rapid succession, each one tearing through devil flesh with divine fury. Tarnik charged in close and activated his Vow of Enmity, a channel divinity ability that gave him advantage on all attack rolls against the creature for one minute. He declared the pit fiend his sworn enemy and attacked. Cub's radiant flames continued to burn the creature at the start of its turn, dealing ongoing damage. The pit fiend, now wounded and facing determined opposition, had to make a saving throw to end the burning effect—but failed. The holy flames persisted, continuing to sear his flesh. Despite his power, the combined might of the party was overwhelming. Tarnik's radiant-enhanced attacks struck true, and with a final blow, the pit fiend let out a death scream. "I will see you all in hell, chosen of Gonosh!" the creature roared. "I have a soul already!" Then the devil collapsed. Its body began to dissolve into black ichor, pulled back to the Nine Hells as all devils' physical forms are when they die on other planes. Everything the creature wore or carried—its weapons, armor, any equipment—dissolved with it, soul-bound and returning to the infernal realm. The party stood victorious, but the pit fiend's final words lingered ominously: "I have a soul already." Grumthar looked around, confused. "One, two, three, four, five," he counted the party members. "I don't know where he's got this soul from." Volza, still wounded and angry despite Tarnik's healing, responded sharply: "What if it's your clan member's soul? Did he take your soul? No, I am an orc. I am not weak." She emphasized her strength and resilience, a defensive reaction to her earlier near-death experience. The party debated whether to camp at the site of the battle or move further away. Volza suggested traveling at least another 10 to 20 minutes to put distance between them and any other fiends that might investigate. Grumthar quipped that perhaps the pit fiend had been the boss and their adventure was over—though no one truly believed that. The more pressing question was what the devil had meant about already having a soul. Was it referring to Little Wolf or Grom? Or perhaps one of the captured elves? The mystery deepened. Grumthar suggested they should have kept the pit fiend alive for interrogation, but Volza admitted she had never interrogated a fiend before, though she had "a very special set of skills." Volza dismissed the idea—trying to talk to such a creature would have been pointless and dangerous. Tarnik noted that at least the party was working well together when united in purpose. Tarnik proposed that Volza continue scouting to find a proper campsite, and she agreed, requesting that Narzag accompany her so he could "take the brunt of the attack" if she was ambushed again. The rest of the party waited while the two scouts moved ahead. Grumthar spoke privately with Tarnik about Volza's odd behavior, noting how she kept obsessively declaring that she was "no elf" and emphasizing orc superiority. "That's quite odd," Grumthar observed. "But I suppose there's a lot more odd. Just look at this group. Odd as hell, our thing. We're the most odd teaming of people ever. But when we work together, nothing can stop us." The conversation turned to the battle itself. Grumthar noted that he had expected more of a fight from the pit fiend, but the party's combined strength had proven devastating. Tarnik agreed —his divine weapons—for much of his effectiveness. However, he criticized Cub's tactical choice to use fire against a creature that lived in fire. Cub protested that it wasn't normal fire but radiant flames, a distinction Tarnik dismissed with "It was fire. I saw it. I know what radiant looks like." Volza and Narzag returned and led the party to a suitable camping spot. They traveled for another twenty minutes or so as the sun began to rise over the horizon. The oppressive heat of the volcanic region was already building, but the party had fought hard enough that stopping made sense—they had defeated devils, a pit fiend, and destroyed a corruption node. They were exhausted. As they made camp, Cub cast his ritual to create water, drenching himself to cool off from the intense heat. Volza sat nearby, rubbing her belly where the massive wound had been. The physical injury was healed, but the psychological impact remained. The party began to settle in, with various members handling different tasks. Tarnik, ever practical, revealed that the elves had left behind a substantial supply of arrows before their deaths—hundreds of them, well-crafted. He threw a bundle at Narzag, who had been carefully recovering his arrows from the pit fiend's corpse before it dissolved. "Is that enough?" Tarnik asked. Narzag noted that his quiver could only hold twenty arrows, but appreciated having the supply. "Elves weren't much good for anything," Tarnik said bitterly, "but they did make us a couple of hundred arrows." This comment triggered another outburst from Volza. "Worthless. Just worthless," she muttered about the elves. Grumthar challenged her obsession with dismissing elves, pointing out that while orcs were clearly the superior warrior race, completely dismissing elves and refusing to acknowledge they might have useful knowledge or abilities was shortsighted. "Even if they are the weaker race, they might still have a purpose that could serve us in our mission and our quest. Things they might serve us. We are not going to serve them. They serve us." Volza argued back: "Why are they asking for us then? Why do they need our help if they're so powerful and so knowledgeable?" Grumthar countered that he never claimed elves were more powerful—only that they had knowledge of their land, experience, and abilities that could aid the party's mission. To dismiss them entirely as having nothing to offer was ignorant and wasteful of available resources. The debate grew heated. Tarnik interjected that they had a druid and a ranger—they didn't need elves for knowledge of the land. But Grumthar pressed on: "So you know the lay of the land then? You know it. You live here." Tarnik admitted he lived up north, not in this region. Grumthar suggested that the strength in their group came from diversity, not homogeneity. Volza revealed something of her past: "I was hunting in their woods. As Tarnik said, this is our lands. This is our woods. This all makes no sense." She was clearly struggling with the concept of elves having any value at all. Grumthar, growing frustrated, asked why she was so adamant about proclaiming orc superiority. "Yes, we're superior. Yes, in all ways we are superior. But to say they offer nothing, that's foolishness. Ignorance." Volza looked down, her fists clenching. "What could I ever offer except for pain?" she said quietly, a moment of vulnerability breaking through her angry facade. The conversation had touched something deep within her. Grumthar tried a different approach, using a metaphor: "Could be a fatal mistake someday to dismiss them just by the shape of their ears. I step on a scorpion with my boot and I crush it to death. But you slip the scorpion into my boot. It bites, it stings, and can cause death. Are the elves so different?" Volza fell into deep thought. Those watching carefully—particularly Cub with his exceptional insight—noticed that any mention of elves in either positive or negative contexts caused Volza's emotional shield to crack. This was what triggered her, what made her vulnerable. Usually stoic, anything related to elves brought visible pain to her silver-gray eyes. When she asked questions, she seemed to be genuinely trying to make sense of something, processing a conflict she didn't fully understand. She picked up a dagger and threw it at a nearby tree, then walked over to retrieve it. "Well, I suppose I should get some rest. Feel like someone kicked the shit out of me today." With that, she walked to the back of the wagon and lay down to sleep. Grumthar moved to sit near Tarnik, who was sitting on a rock with his head bowed in deep thought. "Tarnik, it's been a long day. Longer for you than for I. Are you well? Speak your mind." Tarnik looked up, still burning from the meteors that had struck him in the previous battle. "All of this can be traced back to one act," he said bitterly. "If we had done what I said back in the arena, we would have none of this issue with elves. The decision to keep Syllin alive and to trick me, and then come complicit in that... They tried to trick me into working with elves. This is elf magic. They get into your brain and they make you like them. I don't like them. I've never liked them. They killed my clan when I was away. Elves are no good. I do not trust them. I never will. And no matter what Gonosh or any of the other gods say, I will not change my attitude towards them." Grumthar listened carefully before responding. "I have this confusion, this debate in my own head. When I joined the chosen, I had sentiments such as your own. Somewhere, something changed in our time with that female elf all those weeks ago. I saw her more as a living creature, intelligent, capable, even if subordinate, subservient. Yet she had her abilities. She was a living creature. This revelation, this attitude is also new to me." He continued: "I don't see what making an enemy of them serves us. I'm not here to argue. I'm here to explore these concepts with you. I hear our kind has been at war with elves for generations, millennia—them and other races of the world. Human, dwarf, elf and others. I rely on my leading from Gonosh and I thought you did as well. I'm not trying to change your mind. I'm asking you to relent to a higher power. Search your feelings and pray to our god for guidance, and hopefully he will impress upon you your path forward in regard to elves and perhaps in regard to Bordak." Tarnik's response was bitter: "Words, my friend. But Gonosh has let me down as well. Several times now I've lost connection with him. So when he does send me messages, I take them with a grain of salt. For he's not all powerful. He's not omnipresent. I draw my strength from Lady Lysara. Gonosh... he's confused. I think he may be under the influence of the elves." He stood, his voice growing harder. "But one thing is certain: that lich that they tell us about, this withered one—we do have to stop him. After that, there better not be any elves left in the orc lands because I will bring the horde and I'll sweep these lands clean." Grumthar could only agree on one point: "I can agree. We were chosen for a purpose and that purpose was to dispose of this lich. I take it as any means possible, any means available." He urged Tarnik to pray to whatever god gave him strength—whether Gonosh or Lady Lysara—for guidance. He drew a large circle in the dirt to represent all knowledge and understanding in the realm, then placed a single dot within it to represent his own understanding. He drew a larger circle around that dot to represent Gonosh's understanding, then added another overlapping circle for Lady Lysara's understanding. "Understand, Tarnik," Grumthar said. "I don't expect your understanding is all that much bigger than my own. The gods certainly have some greater knowledge, greater understanding than a mere mortal. Do what you must. Find your peace. Tomorrow, we must clear the air." With that, Grumthar stood and wandered away to give Tarnik space, finding his own spot to rest. As the party settled into their exhausted camp, the air felt heavy—not just with heat, but with unresolved tensions and looming threats. Suddenly, the sky began to change. Bulbous inky clouds started swirling overhead with unnatural speed, swallowing the early morning sky. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed, striking one of the highest cliffs in the distance. The lightning itself seemed wrong—flashing in angry red-hot colors rather than the normal white-blue of natural lightning. Everyone in the party felt something crawling on their skin, an almost physical presence making their hair stand on end and raising goosebumps despite the heat. In the flashes of red lightning, an enormous silhouette became visible—the shadow of a massive orc-like figure that seemed to overshadow the entire sky and all the clouds above them. The image was so large it was incomprehensible, dwarfing mountains and stretching across the horizon. Then a voice came, crackling and rumbling the very ground beneath them: "WE SHALL SEE WHO IS TRULY WORTHY OF THIS GROUP. REST. AND THE CHALLENGE SHALL BE DRAWN UPON YOU ALL." The divine presence lingered for a moment longer, then faded as quickly as it had come. The clouds began to dissipate, the red lightning ceased, and the oppressive supernatural weight lifted from the air. But the message was clear—Gonosh himself had spoken. A challenge was coming. A test of worthiness awaited them all. The party sat in stunned silence, each processing what they had just witnessed. Whatever conflicts existed between them—Volza's rage at Bordak, Tarnik's hatred of elves, Grumthar's questions about faith and destiny—would have to be resolved or set aside. The gods themselves were watching, and judgment was coming. As the session ended, the future remained uncertain. Grom and Little Wolf were still missing, taken by shadows to an unknown location. Embrociea was somewhere plotting her revenge. The ley line corruption network stretched across multiple continents with only months before a catastrophic cascade. And now Gonosh had issued a divine challenge, suggesting that not all members of this fractured party might be deemed worthy to continue. The party settled into their rest, each member carrying their own burdens—grief, anger, doubt, determination. Tomorrow would bring new trials, but tonight they could only sleep beneath a sky that had just been filled with the wrath and judgment of a god.