It was a night much like any other, and yet even before it started there was a sense of something new, something about to change.
The rough hewn halls of the ogres echoed with the curses of deathdealers attempting to cope with the fickle attention spans of mighty brutes as the Grim made their way to the gronn's lair.
As with many nights previous, the Grim assault battered intensely against overlord's immense form, again and again, but this night, with every wave and at each defeat, the gronn bled a little more, limped a little harder, and this night, the Grim would not rest until they saw their goal achieved.
Battle hardened warriors, cool and calm with many similar nights experience, scattered throughout the lair amongst new minions, expressions bright with both concern and excitement. Commands echoed across the channels. The bald rogue demanded everything from his deathdealers. The air sizzled with magic, bolts and beams and blasts of every color flowing towards gronn-father, battering and marking his thick hide. Blades and hammers beat against the oversized limbs, bruising and bleeding.
Finally, after several waves that night, after so many improvements in tactics, and visible growing expertise in coping with the gronn king's fearsome strikes, Qabian saw the enemy's strength was failing and victory was at last within reach. "You are doing well, Doctor," he called to his teammate. "Much better now. Watch yourself, but don't ease up on the killing for even a moment!"
In his furious concentration, throwing as much fire as he could muster at the great beast, the mage didn't notice yet another precarious rock loosening from the ceiling after an earsplitting roar from the Gronn. The massive chunk of falling stone cracked Qabian across the back of the skull and he fell unconscious.
Darkness.
A mail-clad three-fingered hand pulled Qabian up from the ground by his shoulder. Rubbing the back of his neck, the mage nodded a silent thanks to Baxxter before the sounds of cheers even let him know what had happened. Bloodscream's rough acknowledgment of the beast's worthiness as an adversary met Qabian's ears even before he realized that the small mountain at the center of the cave was in fact what the Grim had been seeking for so long. Awestruck at their accomplishment at last, after much hard work, the elf expressed his appreciation for the aesthetic quality of the evidence of the growing skill of his companions, the intrinsic beauty of a long-sought death. Even as they gathered to divide the spoils, Qabian couldn't help but note how impressed he had been with what the Grim had managed that night. A long sequence of events was finally leading to a new crossroads.
Gruul the Dragonkiller had suffered his last breath to the Grim, signaling future pain for all who dared to stand against the Horde.
((Perceptions/responses of others very much encouraged! Gave ya 30 hours to interfere before I did this Missed your chance. Xposted to TNG.))