Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-29461586-20150122122142/@comment-32420582-20150124101832

Mazark walked through the deserts of Elsweyr, not a sound around him, the only sound there was the beating of his heart. The suns heat assaulted his armor over and over trying to make it bow to it's will, crimson stained the sand behind him, and a body of a giant sand worm lie dead, blood pouring out of it's freshly cut maw. The lone warrior walked silently, his sword covered in the blood of the beast, his boots stirred up sand each time he stepped. The blood pumping within him was like fire, it was like a dragons breath of flames, his heart beated quickly. This lone warrior only had one goal; survival. Mazark took off his helmet, his eyes seemingly glew in protest when the helmet was removed, he had two massive fangs that jutted out, they were longer and sharper then then the tusks that sat beside and under them. Mazark wiped sweat off his forhead then put his helmet back on and continued walking through the deadly, harsh and unforgiving desert.

The orc reached a hill which had a rock jutting out of it, he walked onto the rock he stared out solemnly, then he seemingly spoke to himself “It's hard enough fighting a war. But it's worse knowing no matter how hard you try, you can't save them all.” he balled his hand into a fist and stared out silently in respect. The screams of the innocents he tried to save then echoed in his head, he then thought grimly ''A near dead race is now dead... ''