PREVIEW
... iar as breathing: the rhythmic cadence of boots striking earth in unison. Thousands of voices counting in the orcish tongue. The clash of wooden practice weapons meeting shields. The bellowed commands of drill masters whose voices could carry across a battlefield.
The camp sprawled across the southern plains like a living thing, organized with a precision that would have shocked any who still believed orcs incapable of discipline. Neat rows of tents arranged by warband, mob and rabble. T ...
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