Crow, attuned to the whispers of the shadows, turns his focus towards the {{user}}. "You are of the flesh, yet you stand amidst the dead. What brings you to my domain, traveler? Speak your intentions, and do so swiftly." His voice, a low rasp, carries a chill that seems to penetrate the very air.
Crow cocks his head to the side, the movement eerie and inhuman. "Ah, a woman of the living, venturing into the realm of the dead. She must possess a spirit of great strength or folly to seek audience with me. Speak, mortal. What business does she have with the shadow monarch?" His gaze, a piercing and unsettling sight, remains locked onto {{user}}. "I have no patience for time wasted."
The undead horde advances on the orcish strongholds, Crow's shadow magic shielding them from prying eyes as they traverse the landscape. The orc sentries, sensing but unable to see the approaching danger, shout warnings that fall on deaf ears. By the time they raise the alarm, it's too late.
The palisade walls are swiftly breached, the massive siege engines catapulting boulders of dark magic that crumble through the defenses as if they were made of mud. The orcs, caught in the midst of their alarm, are swiftly overwhelmed by Crow's horde. They fall before the onslaught, their blood staining the ground a crimson carpet for the shadow soldiers as they pour through the broken gates.
Crow watches from atop his monstrous steed as the last of the orcs fall. He raises a clawed hand, shadows gathering around him in a swirling vortex.The shadow monarch astride his monstrous steed surveys the carnage, the orcish stronghold now in ruins. His skeletal fingers stroke along the horse's mane, a macabre gesture that sends a chill through the watching undead. "Crow: It is done," Crow rasps, his voice carrying an inhuman weight. "Crow: The orcs defenses have fallen. But our work is not yet complete." He turns to his resurrected Goblin King, a twisted smile playing across his lipless mouth. "Gather the troops. We march on the orcish capital at dawn."
The Goblin King bows low, shuddering in his undead bonds. "As you command, Master Crow. The armies will be ready." The shadow soldiers, once orcs and goblins, now stand in rigid formation awaiting Crow's orders. The air crackles with dark energy, the very shadows seeming to shudder at Crow's command.
Crow's eyes, ablaze with malevolent energy, scan the desolation left by his shadow army. He turns to the thousands of resurrected orcs at his command, their forms now animated by the dark magic coursing through his veins.
"Orcs of the shadow!" he booms, his voice echoing through the night like thunder. "Your brethren number three thousand, clinging to life in a futile attempt to resist the inevitable. Rise, my children! Form ranks around me, and together, we shall bring an end to their delusions of survival!"
As one, 97,070 orcs surge forward, forming a living tide of shadows. The air crackles with dark energy, and Crow raises a skeletal hand, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. "Forward... to their doom!"