The giant dog lay dead at the feet of the clan and its allies. Grawuulf, covered head to toe in the beast's life blood, wiped his blades clean and grinned at the resolute melee classes surrounding the smoldering corpse. He clapped a hand on the now slick shoulder plate of Alhazad and complemented him on a job well done.
Alhazad cursed as he gently pulled on his now singed beard.
Out of the corner of his eye, Grawuulf catches Rhoach gently pickpocketing a few pieces of gold from Scryll's purse as Scryll obliviously danced about the corpse, happy to have survived the fight.
Looking though the heat distorted air, Grawuulf notices the robed caster types, their bodies still emmanating residual magical energies, congratulating themselves on the rain of terror they brought to bear that helped smite the overgrown puppy.
While the ever diligent Verissi shielded himself and climbed into the bowels of the behemoth to extract the ever precious loot consumed by the beast from other, less fortunate adventurers, the melee squad, an impatient lot to begin with, trotted past the now resting casters in search of more violence.
As they prepared to assault the vicious imp pack, Maube barks an order, bringing the blood thirsty crew to a stop. The fearless leader of Clan Skullcrusher asks the war party to disrobe and in the name of efficiency, sacrifice themselves to the spirit healer to curb their blood lust. Most, not being of modest nature and thinking their Chiefette uses the opportunity for some cheap personal thrills, happily remove their gear to give her what she wants.
Most that is except for Uglutz, who being old, wrinkly and generally un-attractive even by Orc standards, is rightfully ashamed of himself and remains clothed to avoid even further embarassment while the rest of the war party runs happily, naked to their deaths.