Moving forward with deliberate slow and giving off an aura of nearly unbridled cruelty, the shaman moved to execute the crippled remnant of his foe. Unseen and unheard, with neither a whisper nor a word, a small distortion in the air rushed closer unnoticed in the chaos. Made invisible through some of his dark magic, Faeles crept past D'Artagne's wolf, the demon's foul and acrid reek masked just as surely as his form.

Faeles invisibly walked up to D'Artagne and grabbed him tight with ethereal hands that would feel like nothing more than a cold breeze. His whisper, however, would ring clearly in the rabbit man's ear. He rasped in a familiar crooning tone, [color=orange]"...so much for leadership."[/color] Darting forward, he suddenly revealed himself behind the overconfident shaman. There was a sudden explosion of what could only be described as darkness, the mystical shadows that had been wrapped around his form with black magic so as to bend the light around him suddenly unfurling and flying as they would.

Sly fingers grasped the twisted horns that protruded from the shaman's helmet and clutched with an iron grip that no being of Faeles' slender size should have been able to produce. From within the wraps around his other hand the arch-thief procured a wicked dagger and held it to Gormlag's throat. The stubby, warped shard of metal glowed and seemed to come alive at the prospect of drawing blood; like a snake it suddenly wrapped itself around the contours of the orc's neck, pressing its edge inwards.

Yanking the surprised and now truly terrified shaman back from Torrens' lava pit, he turned to face the onlooking crowd of orcs with their shaman in front of him as a shield. There was sweet, delicious silence for a pregnant pause. At last, Faeles' whispered words seemed to echo thunderously throughout the quiet mountain pass, [color=orange]"Let's negotiate, vermin: you concede, and I let you flee this place."[/color]

Before the cowards that stood gawking at him could begin to mutter to one another, Gormlag the shaman roared, "NEVER!" His smoldering claws shot like lightning to grab the blade around his neck and snap it in half like any other piece of steel. Faeles did not so much as twitch; the long and expanded blade sensed the sudden movement and responded by suddenly retracting itself back into its normal shape, cutting the shaman's throat as it went. Choking on blood, the shaman gasped, "Summon the king..."

A sense of terror and desperation instantly engulfed the orcs; awakening their king was not something to be done lightly, but they had no choice. The crowd surged back to the village walls, and a few minutes later there was the sound of a tremendous horn being blown. Its harrowing din resounded through the mountains, and within a few moments an enraged roar answered back from atop one of the highest peaks. The heavy sound of beating wings soon followed.

Faeles had stabbed the shaman in the back for good measure; he didn't like to leave any jobs half done. Laughing, he vanished as abruptly as he had appeared and then presumably retreated back to where he knew the Horde to be waiting. Torrens was left to his fate; surely he could manage to effect some sort of escape what with the orcs in such a terrified frenzy that they had all but forgotten about the dying fire demon. As in for D'Artagne, his cover was not yet blown; perhaps the rabbitman could attempt to meet this 'king' and write off the actions of Torrens and Faeles as being no fault of his group. Admittedly once the orcs saw the Horde that was composed of hundreds more demons like that, they might be skeptical, but in the mean time distancing himself from the two overly zealous demons might be a good idea for D'Artagne.