Fire crackles against your skin as the Ghyran of the Seed mingles with the Ulgu of your battle magics, and the magic is ignited by dwarvern runecraft before it has a chance to curdle into Dhar. Your shadow writhes in what might be agony and might be excitement, before lashing out and wrapping around the head of an orc, lifting him into the air then smashing him into the ground with crushing force. You take advantage of the gap this leaves in the miniature shieldwall to thrust your greatsword into a second orc's chest, at the precise angle Markus taught you so long ago. The orc burbles as his lung is punctured, then collapses as steel crunches against spine, and you let your unwavering grip on the hilt and the fall of the orc pull your blade free of his body once more. The final orc in your path turns to flee, and you barely bother to strike him down as you urge your shadowsteed to overtake him, and seconds later what you presume to be a Boar Boy Big Boss falls to the ground, trying and failing to scream through a mouthful of dirt as your blade pins him to the ground.
Tendrils of shadow stab downward, but they are arrested by an effort of will. Instead, you dismount and mutter a second mnemonic, and roots burst from your offhand to plunge into the orc's still-writhing body, feeding on his life energies to replenish the magic that healed you.
