Under the pitch-black night sky, the orc warriors gathered in a low, dry river valley. Their war horses blew clouds of white vapor, iron hooves restlessly pawing at the soil.
Torchlight flickered across the orcs' savage faces, making their fangs gleam like bloodthirsty blades.
Chief Urgok—a veteran warrior with a black leather eyepatch over his right eye—stood atop a protruding rock, holding his razor-sharp battle-axe high in the air.
"Warriors of every tribe!" His voice rasped like grinding gravel, carrying far across the silent prairie. "Those humans think their fire-spewing tricks can conquer the prairie? Tonight, we'll show them—this place will always belong to the orcs!"
The warriors struck their shields with curved blades, producing dull clangs as low war cries rumbled deep in their throats.
Urgok abruptly tore off his eyepatch, revealing the empty socket beneath—it was a scar left by human archers ten years ago before Watchman Fortress.
"They took my eye, but they can't take my heart of vengeance! Tonight, we'll tear those blue-clad bastards apart like hungry wolves ripping into a flock of sheep!"
He snatched up a torch planted in the ground. The blazing flames illuminated his twisted face. "Burn their tents to the ground! Chop off their heads! Water the prairie with their blood! For the glory of the Great Prairie!"
"For the royal tent!"
"For the prairie!"
More than a thousand Orcish Cavalry lit their torches at once. In an instant, the entire river valley shone as bright as day.
The war horses reared, then charged out of the depression under their riders' urging. The torches formed a writhing dragon of fire that swept toward the faint lights of the distant human camp.
The thunder of iron hooves shook the earth. The burning torches dragged long tails of flame behind them as they