While the rest of the team deals with their personal problems in the aftermath of the day's events, Zora and a small army of dwarves have already begun raising makeshift tents across the farmland, working with quick, diligent efficiency.
"Great work, team!" the lich says proudly as a group of dwarves and beast-kin finish up erecting another line of tents. "Just… one hundred and ninety or so left to go. Keep it up!"
He turns to a ledger that swirls into being, dropping into his waiting hand, and taps at it before swirling his other hand to open a portal. A group of Vexena's soldiers slowly emerge carrying their own wounded, armor scorched black and bandages already soaked through, boots dragging furrows through the churned mud.
"This is you," Zora informs them, pointing to the row of tents ahead of them. "Food and provisions will arrive shortly. Thank you for your patience," he says with a welcoming smile plastered across his face.
