The dust and fine sand particles blew off the cliff like a mist. Dry heat, making the inside of the helmet feel like a cast iron pot cooking its last supper. The smell of death, the dead gnolls behind him and the blood boiling on the hard polished rock. Flies. Already feasting on the carcasses with a few buzzards circling high above, waiting for the half orc to move on. Behind him his hired hand shifted nervously. Sighing as the relentless heat baking the rock made the ground in the distance shake like a opaque ocean of liquid dirt.
He knelt. Studying the landscape before him. The formation of ancient final resting places of lords and kings. And where the sun bleached bones of warriors ruled. Where shambling moaning servant, slain to serve their masters in death roamed and where nobles, wrapped in dirty torn rags, trapped in dry and…
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