Prophet slinks through the brush far more softly than he should, and it seems the spirits are with him as he approaches the camp. In fact, he makes it right up behind the fat man at the fire, crouched low in the foliage, just out of sight and too quiet to hear. That silence barely exists for the half-orc himself, though, as the blood rushes through his heart, his neck, beating in his temples. The lust of war fills him, and he has to contain his desire to strike until the others are ready. At that point, though, he rises, steps forward to plant his feet, and brings his greatsword down on Fat Norry. So this attack doesn't happen until the others are in position, but I'll roll it now to get it out of the way.
Attack: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11 Spirit Surge: 1d6 ⇒ 4 Total 15.
Damage: 2d6 + 8 ⇒ (6, 1) + 8 = 15