Okay, you don't have to read all this, but I wanted to share what I've dug up regarding the staffs. Turns out, there were more references to them than I thought!!!
Way back in Guthluthic, we ran across the first staff (I totally forgot about this), which eventually went to Sikuaq.
Chapter 3, msg #322
Dungeon Master:
At last the shaking stopped, the smoke cleared, and the rocks ceased falling. The chamber was eerily quiet, revealing for the first time the echos of distant, dripping water. The magma was gone, leaving a deep, empty pit in its wake. Opalia clung to the outcropping of hardened magma, her legs dangling precariously over the pit.
Where Cherufe had been there now lay the body of an orc. Any clothing or armor it may once have worn had either rotted or burned away, but the staff in its right hand seemed untouched by time, as did the sword protruding from its chest.
Chapter 3, msg #337
Sikuaq:
Despite her hurts and fatigue, Sikuaq's curiosity would not be overcome. When the demise of Cherufe revealed an orc's body left behind, she immediately became suspicious of the true nature of the beast they'd slain. A curse? A form taken on in defence or anger that took over and could not be shed later? A bargain?
She pushed herself to her feet again as her companions started examining the remains and she ambled their way in time to receive the staff Arvid offered. She thanked him quietly and ran raw fingers over its length, tracing the runes inscribed upon its surface.
Brigha identified Garduk as a staff-carrying orc. She also painted a little bit of the big picture here.
Chapter 3, msg #433
Midwife Brigha:
"There remains a graver threat," she continued as if scolding them for indulging the toast she herself had prompted. "Not just to Guthluthic, but to all the North. Indeed, to all the world!" A spectral red hand suddenly appeared floating in the air before her. It faded away, to be replaced by the image of an orc, old by the standards of their people, clutching a gnarled staff. A skull, dark smoke pouring from its eyes, adorned the top of the staff.
"The rumors you have heard are true. Garduk continues to grow his army, pressing elf and Northman alike into his service." A plague of fretful murmurs spread through the crowd.
"Peace, children," the Midwife quieted them. "Your Cave Mother, in her great wisdom, gathers an army of her own. Some of you have met already Leif Olavson of the Kerit tribe, soon to seal the alliance of our peoples by wedding our own Raheera Ironhip. And it is no coincidence that the heroes she has brought to us in our time of need are not orcs alone but a coalition of the great races: human, elf, dwarf, and even our distant cousins the goliaths." Another cheer erupted, which much back-clapping for Opalia.
"Just as in the ancient days of the Starbound Alliance, when the races first united to banish the beasts of Hrom from this land, so shall they unite now in opposition to his servant." More muttering. "Yes, children, make no mistake. Garduk serves Hrom. From where else could he derive his otherworldly power?"
"But fear not! At the helm of these heroes is none other than a daughter of Baghtru, the first orc. For this shall be an alliance of all the races under the command of the orcs, just as in our Grandfather's day." The assembled orcs cheered lustily.
Fergus thought he saw Garduk in this vision. But maybe it was Stormbringer.
Chapter 5, msg #39
Fergus Glowforge:
The vision was brief, and not nearly as clear as the one before. Fergus squeezed the ingots again in hopes they had more to tell, but they quickly cooled in the swirling storm. The message was far from certain, but considering the circumstances, Fergus was thankful for whatever hints the Great Mountain would deliver. "I saw an orc. Garduk, I presume, holding a staff with a skull on its end. It spewed shadows, which confirms our suspicions about his allegiance with the creatures of the Turnugaq. It was an eerie sight, but I also sensed a strength born of our combined number. For that reason, I say we stick together."
Chapter 5, msg #78
Dungeon Master:
"Stormbringer," the orc repeated, as though its meaning were self-evident. "He carry..." the prisoner paused, searching for a word, and settled on, "head. On stick." He pointed to the staff Sikuaq carried. "Dead head. His word is word of Garduk. Garduk. You know?"
Invisible Opalia gathered some intel from the orcs about the staff and their own (lack of) dedication.
Chapter 5, msg #110
Opalia:
Opalia was almost too busy poking at and peering through her invisible self to mind the passing bad-orc patrol, but she paused to listen to their grumbled words. The patrol passed so close that they'd surely have been noticed, if not for the magics of her friends. Once the patrol finally passed beyond earshot, Opalia said, "Little friend Cora, did you make me UN-SEEABLE?! This is the best and most clever magic! Look at this! Oh, wait. You cannot see it, HEH!" Cora was suddenly compressed and hoisted off her feet by an enthusiastic invisible goliath hug!
Once her excitement had abated for long enough to consider another subject, she said, "These bad-orcs do not like STORMBRINGER either! They do not want him for chieftain, but they are scared of the staff. They say it was made by Kinak, and that staff is the powerful one, not Garduk!" Opalia nodded, without realizing nobody could see it. She then added, "Bad-orc army will not fight so hard to protect bad-Garduk. Good for us!"
Arvid and Opalia teamed up to steal Stormbringer's staff...
Chapter 5, msg #130
Dungeon Master:
Arvid and Opalia approached the wagon, slinking invisibly past its orcish guards. The only obvious way into the wagon was through the doors on either side. The doors, though reinforced with metal plates, had an obvious handle and would likely not be difficult to open. There was a small window, likely too tall for a human to peer into, through which Opalia could see a single orc wearing a mask crafted from a skull. He held a staff with a skull on its tip and seemed to be concentrating on something, presumably maintaining the storm he was channeling.
Chapter 5, msg #136
Dungeon Master:
Arvid threw open the door of the wagon, his invisible hand snatching the skull-headed staff from the startled shaman. The Northman's bear arms punched Stormbringer in the face as he Arvid made his escape, but the shaman took the blows in stride, reaching out a hand to send lightning coursing through the retreating Northman. (15 lightning damage, DC 14 Dex save to take half) His speedy retreat also earned him a slash from one of the rear guards (hits AC 19 for 10 damage).
Opalia, in an uncharacteristic rage, smote Stormbringer a great blow from her maul and then dragged the shaman out of the wagon and through the snow.
Only then did Arvid begin to notice the numbness spreading up his arm from the hand holding the staff. At first it was indistinguishable from the wet cold of the storm, but it quickly became more than that, like ice spreading through his veins and threatening to freeze his arm solid.
Stormbringer's staff broke and turned into some kind of enchanted tempest.
Chapter 5, msg #140
Dungeon Master:
A thunderous boom erupted from Stormbringer, shaking the ground and sending boughs heavy with snow flying from nearby trees.
Arvid willed his quickly-numbing hands to drop the staff, and they did, though the unnatural cold continued to burrow into his bones.
Once free of his grasp, the staff twisted and jerked like a dying snake. Then it broke apart, and a living cloud rose up from within, spiraling up and out into the shape of an enormous, sentient tornado. Lightning crackled at the outer reaches of its dark funnel as it slammed two fists of sleet into Arvid.
Upon defeat of the tempest, it swore vengeance upon Gruundelheim.
Chapter 5, msg #170
Dungeon Master:
The black storm kept moving west, its sights now set on Fergus and Farra Glowforge. If the dwarves did not fall to the shadows, then they would die by lightning, and either way the death-touch of the creatures from the Shadowlands would transform them into undead shadows themselves.
Cora bought them some time with two eldritch blasts that dropped the nearest shadow, but more kept coming, becoming visible in the heavy storm only when they were practically upon their victims.
Then Fergus raised his holy symbol. "Otharem othok oz da Khorok undor!" he cried. "Return to your black abyss or fly to your heavens. I care not which, but begone from this place!"
The ground shook. The cleric did not actually grow in size, but he suddenly seemed much larger and sturdier, as if he contained a mountain within himself.
The storm faltered, blowing harder but making less progress. Something was pushing back against it, something strong and unmoving. The dark cloud began to dissipate, breaking apart like a wave upon a rock until only the black outline of a face remained, its features gaunt and harshly angular. "Kaaaaaannnnnn!" it roared.
The ground shook harder in answer, the shadows upon it trembling, frozen in place. Then one-by-one they ripped apart like parchment, each shrieking as it dissipated. The bone-chilling wails announced the presence of more shadows than could be seen in the storm, dozens of them flying off into the aether.
The storm subsided, but the dark face remained etched in the sky. "You shall pay for this, Kann," its thunderous voice boomed. "You and those you care about. My armies are unstoppable and ever-growing. And I shall use them to crush your pathetic dwarves and anyone who dares aid them. None shall stand against the North Wind. Even mountains fall into the sea, eventually."
With that last threat, the face vanished, vaporized like its shadows before it. The snow stopped, the sky cleared, and all was still.
The shadows were gone, and most of the orcish army was presumably scattered on the far side of the bridge. A few, strapped on the near side by their shadowy companions, huddled near the river bank. "Oh, shit," one said to the other two, his orcish profanity familiar even to those who did not speak the language. "Gruundelheim is fucked."
After the tempest was defeated, Sikuaq picked up the remains of that broken staff...
Chapter 5, msg #206 – 208
Sikuaq:
Having spotted the broken staff earlier, Sikuaq excused herself from the dwarves' company and went to collect the two pieces. As she reached their resting place and squatted down and looked at each closely for any telltale markings or carvings, like her own staff held.
Assuming she saw nothing particularly threatening, she reached out and picked up what would have been the upper portion of the staff.
Dungeon Master:
Valaku followed Sikuaq back to the wreckage and, when he saw her reach for the staff, shot out his hand and grabbed it before she could. "Anatka, no!" He braced himself for a psychic reaction of the kind Arvid experienced, and only after satisfying himself that none was forthcoming did he pass it to Sikuaq for her inspection.
Sikuaq:
Sikuaq was surprised by Valaku's quick intervention, but once that faded she smiled reassuringly. "Thank you my friend, but I think the evil has been purged from this vessel now. Along with any other powers it once held," she said a little wistfully, as she puzzled over the engravings along the upper piece of the staff. They were vaguely familiar to scripts she knew, but in the end she could not make real sense of the markings.
"Perhaps some day it can be remade and put to a better purpose," she mused, bending to retrieve the lower piece of the staff and examining how the two pieces might be fitted together again, given a craftsperson of sufficient skill. For now they must be content with breaking the device of Kinak and freeing the orc clan to forge its own destiny without Stormbringer's influence. Lashing the two pieces to her pack, Sikuaq glanced at Valaku again and then jutted her chin to where Arvid was exploring the ruins of the wagon and its inhabitant.
"Shall we go see what our Northman friend has uncovered?"
Fergus worrieed about Sikuaq using her staff (the one from Guthluthic).
Chapter 5, msg #231-232
Fergus Glowforge:
As the journey commenced, Fergus played back the battle in his head. The rage of Opalia was surprising, as was the bravery of Caell and the fiery attack from the ridge by Sikuaq. And while that attack certainly turned the tables and quite well saved all of their lives, something about it... the phoenix, troubled him slightly.
He decided to confront it with the druidess as they walked, taking care to upset neither her nor her steadfast guardian. "I've been meaning to ask," he started, a bit awkwardly. "The fireball you unleashed on Stormbringer. Was that... I mean the shape of the delivery... it reminded me of Cherufe. Did that... "
The topic proved harder for him to discuss than he anticipated. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and got to the point. "Did that attack come from the staff? The one we found at the bottom of the pit after defeating Cherufe. And if it did, do we still need to worry about Cherufe?"
Sikuaq:
Sikuaq was happy to chat with Fergus as they made their way back to the Kerit camp. Her expression betrayed some confusion over his trepidation though.
"Yes, this is the staff we recovered at the end of that battle," she nodded. "It contains a number of powers related to the facets of Nature. Animals and elements, mainly. And that includes Fire, thankfully. It was most effective against the elemental spirit encased in Stormbringer's staff."
"But what do you mean about the 'shape of the delivery'? I sent an eagle at our enemy. The eagle is a lord of the skies in Quinichiat lore, and what better than a proud eagle to confront the evil of Kinak's wind elemental?"
This may be a red herring, but Tuber from Chapter 6 had a stick... or was it a staff?!?!?!? Did we miss something here?
Chapter 6, msg #371
Dungeon Master:
Daug took the group deeper into the ground, down to a small warren filled with the sounds of a dozen orcish children at play. Daug was indeed the oldest, with most of the others not yet in their teens.
One boy sat off to the side, watching the others wrestle and tumble without joining in himself. He was perhaps 6 (which would be more like 8 or 9 in human years) but looked older because of his serious expression and the lines of worry that creased his young face. All the children were small for orcs, surely the result of malnutrition, but Tuber looked especially frail. An unkempt mob of messy, rust-colored hair topped his head, and two oversized, blunt incisors protruded comically from his small mouth. A necklace adorned with the teeth of some predator - a bear, most likely - hung from his neck.
As the party entered the warren, he hopped to his little feet and snatched up a thick branch which he held before him in a pantomime of menace. The branch, upon closer inspection, looked like a druid's staff, adorned as it was with feathers and fur.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his tiny face scowling ferociously.
And finally, most recently...
Chapter 7, msg #375
Dungeon Master:
The fire-worshipers held their breaths, crowding around to see the results of the roll. There were gasps and cries of jubilation when it settled into place with six pips pointing up. The priest gave a thin smile, seeming no more or less pleased by this result than she would have been by any other. "Six," she noted dispassionately. Her eyes met Cora's, and she smiled as if the two shared a secret. "Or do you prefer djor?
It is an inauspicious number among the dwarves. The mark of Hrom, He-Who-Thunders. Yet the orcs favor it, perhaps for the same reason."
The die burst into flames, though it had landed far from Forza's fire. The flames vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving only a small pile of ash in their wake.
"You have cast away a part of yourself, as we agreed. Let us see what Hrom has been up to."
She indicated the great fire in the back of the temple. Staring into its leaping flames, the party soon recognized a familiar sight. The Resting Place, the eternal home of the elves, which the party had previously defended from the combined forces of Hrom and Forza, still stood and appeared no longer to be under attack. The forest around it was decimated and many of its grand spires reduced to smoking rubble, but it still stood. Elves moved through the charred streets, some digging through rubble, some tending to the wounded, some already working to rebuild.
There was much to lament, however. In addition to the ruin of the city, Hrom's forces had apparently withdrawn largely intact. Dark clouds gathered in the distant sky, and the scene in the flames shifted towards them. Thunder rolled and lightning crackled over towering peaks, where in a cave many dark spirits had marshaled. They were gathered near a crackling black sphere, the beginnings of what would be a portal to the realm of the living. Through the portal could be seen the form of an orcish shaman bearing a skull-headed staff, much like the one Stormbringer had carried.
Then the scene faded, and the fire was fire once more.
