The Dreadmaw Clan marched through the rugged terrain, each step heavy and deliberate, their massive forms causing the ground beneath them to tremble ever so slightly.
It was as though the very earth feared their presence, shifting and cracking beneath their weight.
At the front of the procession was Volk, now back in his normal Orc form, though still larger and more imposing than the average Orc.
Around his neck hung an ornament—one of the skulls of the three-headed dog, Dozer—fashioned into a crude necklace.
The skull, bleached white with deep cracks from the battle, dangled from a thick, leather cord, a grisly reminder of his victory over the Warlock Zenveil and his monstrous beast.
In his hands, Volk carried a massive crystal, its size so great that it required both arms to manage.
The crystal glowed faintly with an eerie, pulsating light, shiiiiing! casting long shadows on the ground as they moved.
