Cleansing of the Cenotaph
The shaman isn't even the prize: Shovash had expected a few of those to break themselves on her, and this one doesn't disappoint, calling down the wrath of heaven as though it were something for her to fear. She actually lets the lightning sizzle harmlessly over her skin and into the ground before she disintegrates the would-be defender of the faith. Her wings are enough to deflect the large majority of the incoming spears, and none of the rest manage to do more than scratch her iron skin. It would honestly be disappointing, if she had expected real resistance.
What she expected instead is exactly what emerges: a parade of fools opting for summary execution rather than swallow their pride and admit 'mighty Brumash' could not save them. She hadn't even bound this god, but still he utterly fails to raise a champion who could threaten her. And this was supposed to be the 'father of the orc gods'? Shovash rolls her eyes and bats aside an axe. If the Dead Eye tribe were capable of enough coordination to challenge her, she wouldn't have nearly so much reason to confront them in the first place. It's almost sad, watching them die for an already-bankrupt tradition. Letting Sting rampage through a few of them keeps it a little entertaining, at least. But then, eventually, the most foolhardy and unmanageable—the ones who later would have most resisted her full takeover—are gone. When it takes more than a handful of seconds for another aimless savage to rush her, she begins mentally preparing to leave. She'd give them a year to replace a fraction of their dead, and then—
And then one of them approaches as a penitent. One of them actually recants, in the sight of his entire tribe. She can smell the fear on him, but he gets the words out.
"Come here, boy." Shovash waves him close as more of the survivors echo him. Scores of more powerful warriors charged up to confront her, and the only ones who even came close were the ones she chose to cut down in melee to entertain herself—their blood covers her head-to-toe and paints the rocks around her in a wide radius. And he walks unharmed through the gore to come closer than any of them had reached. She raises three fingers to his chest and begins to paint a broad spiral, the magic in her gloves pulling the blood on her body toward them, keeping the brush wet. Soon, he bears the same mark that decorates her tribal banner. "First Eagle, bravest of your people, you will come with me. When you return to them, it will be as a hero, a teacher. I want this demonstration to be the last of its kind. Come."
She gives him some time to actually decide to obey, as his elders lay down their weapons all around. And then, still touching his chest, she speaks a word. They are both gone before the last syllable.