Izraka wakes, a long, furious growl echoing inside her skull. The young orc finds herself panting heavily, and looking to her side at the rough Barrens dirt, she sees the marks of her own nails clawed there.
This is not unusual.
What is strange to her is the dream. No nightmare, this. Just broken images, and anger, lots of anger. She remembers the voice of one calling himself a chieftain, but his words mean little to her: ancient days and ancient evils? But.. the Twilight's Hammer. That name has some meaning at least.
Grunting, the orc pulls her rough blanket around her. Dawn is still far off.
This is not unusual.
What is strange to her is the dream. No nightmare, this. Just broken images, and anger, lots of anger. She remembers the voice of one calling himself a chieftain, but his words mean little to her: ancient days and ancient evils? But.. the Twilight's Hammer. That name has some meaning at least.
Grunting, the orc pulls her rough blanket around her. Dawn is still far off.