As the remnants of battle faded from the chamber, Volk's mind began to churn.
His thoughts flickered back to Warlock Zenveil, the one he fought with such relentless power.
There was something Zenveil had said—something that gnawed at him even now.
Slowly, he turned to the Dreadmaw Clan Orcs, who stood around him, still marveling at their pale, transformed bodies.
Volk stepped forward, his voice low but commanding. "Pour some water on your bodies."
The Orcs stared at him in confusion. Grok'Thar furrowed his brow, his tusks twitching as if he hadn't heard Volk correctly. "Water?"
Volk nodded once, his eyes steady and unwavering. "Yes, water. Trust me on this."
There was a hesitant murmur among the Orcs.
Why would they pour water on themselves now, after everything that had just happened? But Volk's tone left little room for argument.
Slowly, a few Orcs unslung their water skins, tipping the cool liquid over their bodies.
