Amorak Slaughter

"Move," commanded the Collector, its deep yet calm, elegant voice resonating powerfully across the snow, reaching the ears of the goblin champions that had been downed or still panting and struggling from the Amoraks.

Without hesitation, the champions gained a burst of energy and gathered behind the Collector, for though they loved the fight, they also felt great awe in witnessing the might of the one they revered as Sovnar.

"Come, infected specimens, and meet your end." The Collector glided forwards, its arms outstretched to its sides in invitation as its voice projected even further, towards the undead the remaining undead Amorak.

It could sense that they were approaching rapidly from the distance, through the swirling rage of snow and Grain.

A full pack of twenty-three more.

But what use was crashing ants against a tidal wave? That was the futility of these Amorak specimen fighting against the Collector.