![]() Every bolt of energy seemed to linger after it hit, the Warlord’s skin decaying where each hit landed until he crumpled over, defeated after decades of tyranny. Everyone’s blows landed, gashing open an arm that looked like it belonged on an Ettin and throwing the Warlord back into his own throne–but it was the tiefling’s blasts that struck hardest. The brief delay was enough to give the first strike to the party, the muscle-bound Fighter swinging an impossibly large axe, a studious-looking fellow mumbling words of power, and a slight tiefling woman sending blasts of brilliant energy in his direction. As he reached for his sword and charged to his feet he paused for a moment, almost as if his leg cramped. The Warlord went wide-eyed when the party burst through the doors into his private chambers.
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