The Fall of Grobb
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Only days before, they had walked from the murky comfort of Innothule, bringing with them a message from their god.  The elders waited for them in the glow of Guk's stony mouth, anxious yet unaware of the dramatic change they were about to discover.  The firepots' aura met the first of Mithaniel's chosen as they stepped out of the water's dark grasp and made their way ashore.
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The elders were mesmerized.  Their eyes were transfixed on the glory that their lord had bestowed upon their fellow citizens.  Still, the fully transformed frogloks seemed natural, though the evidence of their blessings was far from subtle.  They were, after all, merely an evolution; a reminder of the power that the heavens hold over the mortal realm.
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Within hours of their return to Guk, the chosen of Mithaniel moved frantically to prepare.  Several days of prayer, fasting, and planning allowed them to convey the urgency of their visions to the elders and citizens of Guk.  They had emerged from the swamp with not only a new form, but also a plan for what would become a new age in the annals of froglok lore.  They had been given a clear vision of conquest: Grobb would fall beneath them.
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Weakened by the loss of their relic and the disappearance of their greatest heroes, the citizens of Grobb sat unaware in the morning gloom.  Their minds were on the ocean and the black waters that were swallowing their kin, a crucial distraction for the interlopers' plans.  The trolls of Grobb were wading through the quicksand of despair, blind to the final blow that was gathering in the shadows just outside their city's gates.
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Not unlike the froglok elders, the Bashers were mesmerized when their eyes first caught sight of the faces that emerged from Innothule's waters.  However, the enthralling sight was not glorious to them, but rather a horrific vision.  The first thoughts that came to them were of their god.  An epiphany occurred simultaneously among the small crowds of trolls.  As they stood on the familiar shores of Innothule, each one began to understand... they must have somehow angered their god... and the assault that was coming towards them must be his final act of retribution.
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The battle lasted only hours.  From the first call of alarm, to the moment the last of the terrified trolls scurried into the Feerrott and the sands of Ro, the frogloks were clearly blessed.  The trolls were reduced to an almost primal state.  Those that stood and fought were quickly reduced to a smoldering and broken mass; evidence of the true power of what would be called the Guktan army.  The Lance of Mithaniel could only triumph in their mission.  Grobb stood decimated before them.
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Gukta, the outpost of Marr... The visions that awaited them in the waters of Innothule that first night were not wrong. As the first light of morning broke through the haze and smoke of battle, the frogloks worked quickly to erect proof of their victory.  Before the noon sun reached its pinnacle, the city was transformed.  Grobb was no more.
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