Torrens awaited the shaman's approach. He watched every footfall, every gesture, every cruel step, checking at every moment whether now was the best time to make his move. It was all going according to plan. Sure, it wasn't the original plan. His plans had changed three times in the past ten minutes. Yet this was his last plan. If he could not make this one work, that would be the end of him, unless the Master were to show such uncharacteristic mercy to revive him. Did anyone even know that he could be revived? If no one figured it out, then he could be stuck here an extremely long time, as this place was barren, and it may take millennia for a fire to pass by him naturally. He had spent that sort of time out before, but now was too soon. There was so much left to be done.

Torrens' brooding came to an abrupt halt when the shaman was stopped in his tracks by an flurry of shadows. He looked up attentively and saw that the shaman was now being held hostage by none other than Faeles. Torrens smiled. Seemed like he wouldn't have to deal with the shaman after all. It was nice to have backup. A minute earlier would have been nice, though. Hadn't Faeles been the one to prompt him to advance on the tribe, after all?

"Hey, thanks. Could you-" Torrens called out to Faeles, but already the arch-thief was gone. "Sure, just leave me here," Torrens muttered.

He put his hands on the obsidian encasing him and pushed, trying to lift himself out, but to no avail. He wriggled and writhed, but he was stuck fast. He sighed. No shortcuts this time. "Keep clear," he said to D'Artagnan, "This will get messy."

Giving the rabbitman enough time to move away, Torrens went back to his prior plan for escape. He released that ember which he had held onto so tightly, and for an instant he was engulfed from head to toe in pure-white Empyrean, a flash which for that instant was far brighter than the noon-day sun. In that moment the obsidian encasing Torrens was vaporised, and shards of shattered obsidian and molten rock were flung from his feet. For another second Torrens' skin crawled with fire, which curled around him and gave him strength. After it all, Torrens was standing strong and proud, his skin cherry-red, and surrounded by a puddle of lava above which the air shimmered and waved.

"Woo! That was a rush!" he exclaimed jubilantly. Then the horn blew from within the camp, and Torrens' face became sombre. He turned to D'Artagnan and said, "I think I should be leaving now. I've been beaten up enough for one day. I hear this king is a bird or something, which suggests he might be flammable, but I'm not keen on sticking around and finding out. Good luck." And Torrens turned and ran in the general direction of the Horde. It was dark, and he stood out like a campfire in the night, so he wanted to put as much distance between him and the orcs as possible before their king arrived.