As the ninth commander of the Orcan Army, Marule was a strong warrior who took great pride in himself and his unusually hard Orcan skin.
He and his fleet of ten thousand soldiers had travelled through the seas, from Elyrus to the cursed land of Levaria where his father, and father's father had all died fighting for a king whose face they had never seen.
His arms were crossed as he sat on top the main mast of the largest ship that led the fleet.
The wind blew against his hairless green head. His fangs pressed against his lips as he looked at the army of Humans ahead. The ones he had been trained all his life to slay. The ones his family had died slaying.
He clinked the breast plate of his black armor with his knuckles.
"Hmph!" He clinked it again. Louder.
It echoed, resounding through the seas.
