Cromwell manages to pull the orc back, although Norji put up little resistance anyways. It seems, however, that the Mirok heard you. The carriage begins wheeling towards you, chasing you down rather quickly. When it inevitably reaches you, the party collectively flinches and braces themselves for a spear strike that doesn't come. The scaly one begins to speak to you in a voice as insubstantial as a shadow.
Ah, so some more mortals have arrived. Although, you smell a little off, somehow. Wait, is that...?
The demon sniffs the air and looks ponderous for a moment. Slowly, a grin spreads across his face, as much as a vile creature such as him can have one.
"Ah, yes, you're the Champions, aren't you? The ones who are going to try and kill the Mirok? What a riot that'd be! Anyways, introductions. I am Xif, the Guardian of Darkness, and the lowest in the Order of the Grand Mirok. While I'm supposed to kill you here and now, that doesn't sound like much fun. I'll let you go for now. Of course, if you happen to come by again..."
The demon gnashes his teeth at you.
"Before you leave, have some parting gifts. Not much, but they do have some rather unusual abilities."
He begins shouting at the lesser demons in a language you don't understand. One jumps out of the chariot, and takes a blade out of the back. He holds it carefully, and seems to be trying to avoid touching the blade.
"The Weiß Schwert. It's said to have been blessed by Pelor himself. No clue if there's any truth to the story, but it's a well forged blade nonetheless. As for a second gift, I'll answer one question of your choosing, to the best of my abilities."