Yet more battles followed that fated night, the enemy growing in number and strength, the stranger now clearly visible in his observation of them, no longer concealing his presence. The brothers continued to fight, as heroes among men, yet they slowed, they erred. Ahrim’s spells would miss, Dharok’s strength declined and Guthan weakened by the day. Karil no longer managed to stay the blows of his targets, his brothers receiving wounds before he could fill their enemies with bolts. Torag slowed, and Verac seemed to instil less fear in his opponents. They bruised and bled, requiring tending from their medics after each skirmish.

Now, at the heart of this accursed land, as the sun fell low in the sky, the stranger watched again as they pitched their final camp, watched as they rested...and watched as the marshalled forces of their enemy crashed upon the camp – demons, wolves and hounds, undead creatures and other such horrors. The brothers fought bravely one last time, rallying their troops to them, fending off the dread beasts’ raid. Many men fell around them, yet, despite their losses, together they managed to set the enemy to retreat, striking a heavy blow in return.