As Broll rolled to a halt, he became a night elf again. Teeth clamped from pain, he managed to cast a spell.

The ancient was a plant in nature. Even corrupted, he was covered in tremendous if now malignant growth. Still, that growth was yet susceptible to a skilled student of the druidic arts.

Stunted growths became thick, curling vines that within seconds ensnared the ancient's limbs. Those near the hand that clutched Thura tightened, forcing Gnarl's hand to open. [...]

Gnarl struggled. Some of the vines holding his legs and one arm snapped. He reached again for Thura-

Grunting, Broll increased his efforts. The vines strengthened, thickened.

Just before thick fingers could reach the orc again, the vines bound the corrupted ancient so tightly that he could no longer move. Broll did not let up. He had the vines continue to grow, continue to tighten.

The ancient tumbled to the ground, unable to move in the least.