Orcs From Beyond: Incursion

The first orcs reached the walls. Scaling ladders rose. Grappling hooks bit stone. And above it all, above the screaming and the dying and the desperate courage of defenders who knew they were outnumbered beyond hope, the sky changed. Three shapes descended from the darkness, and the battle became something else entirely.

The avatars of entities were not creatures in the way that mortals understood the word. They were presences given form, fragments of consciousness so vast that the bodies containing them strained at the boundaries of physical law. They were fifteen feet tall, each of them, and the air around their forms bent and shimmered with the pressure of power barely contained within flesh.

Mordrion came first. The Dwarffather’s avatar struck the earth before the western wall and the ground cracked beneath his feet. He was carved from the living idea of what a dwarf should be: broad as a fortress gate, armored in plates of mithril and adamantine that had been forged in the heart of his own plane, his beard a cascade of iron-grey that fell to his waist and seemed to move with a will of its own. His warhammer, Grund, was a slab of star-metal the size of a man’s torso, its head inscribed with runes that blazed white-hot with every swing. Where he walked, the stone rose to meet him. Where he struck, the enemy ceased to exist, not died but was unmade, scattered into component matter by the force of a blow that carried the weight of a god’s will behind it.