Ork by kanartist on DeviantArt | Concept art characters, Character art, Fantasy art [https://i.pinimg.com/originals/39/c3/32/39c33219b3ca11e69bda3f41ba632997.jpg]
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Eyes wide with disbelief, Walter thought he had to be dreaming. But as the hordes of undead marched out of the enclosure swaying from side to side, he was hit by the ripe stench of death, and knew he was wrong. Still, no matter how he screamed at his body to move, he was frozen in place, watching as the sorcerer led out hundreds of decomposing bodies out of camp, followed by squadrons of heavily armored soldiers, and finally Robar himself.
Easily recognizable by the large contingent of horsemen that surrounded him, Robar wore an immaculate black uniform, encrusted with golden lace, epaulets on the shoulders, and brought together with a golden sash at the waist that carried a saber.
A handsome man with a neat mustache, Walter kept staring after him, when a voice snapped in his mind, “What are you waiting for?! Run!” Which oddly enough sounded very much like his mother. Turning around to flee, he took one glance behind him, and almost stopped again as he realized the honor guard that surrounded Lord Robar was made up entirely of orcs. Big hulking creatures with green skins, tusks protruding from their mouths, and blood red eyes, Walter had heard much about them but had never seen one before. Rumored to be ferocious fighters, they were the Emperor of Preternia’s first line of defense.
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Shaking his head at the thought of what that could mean, he quickly turned on his heels again, and kept running. It was only until he was miles away that he fell to his knees gasping for air. But it seemed the danger was not over for him yet.
Looking up into the trees to see the wide baleful eyes of dozens of bloodwings, he felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the thought he hadn’t sipped Hycal’s concoction for a while.
Quickly searching through his bag for the bottle, he pulled out the shattered remains of the vial, and felt his heart skip a beat at the realization he must have cracked it open in his hasty escape. Feeling both angry and foolish, he tossed the broken glass away and did what he could to scoop out whatever was left, licking it from his fingers.
Then with a heave of effort, he pulled himself back to his feet, and started to run again. Swaying from side to side as fatigue began to weigh on him, Walter felt as though his legs, lungs, and arms were on fire. Using the trees around him as support, he kept managing to trip over tree trunks, bang his shoulder into rocks, before he reached a hill and tumbled forward for several feet.
Aching all over, Walter found it hard to imagine that he could feel so much pain, before he collected himself, and started off once more. The dense underbrush became much thicker as he neared the edge of the forest, when he felt his skin tear open.
Looking down at his arm in shock, he saw that his skin had reverted back to the way it was, and nearly swooned at the flood of agony that hit him. Skin turning purple from dozens of bruises and cuts, Walter wondered what in the saints was happening to him, when he heard the beating of wings right above.
Not waiting to see what it was, he threw himself into a roll, ducking claws that swept after him, before he was suddenly free of the forest and back out in broad daylight.