The loud noise of metals clanging against each other reverberated through the land.
Dorhal walked past the many furnaces gorged into the ground, each one paired with dozens of orcs that constantly worked on fashioning new armor and weaponry.
Hundreds of other orcs wandered the area between the mountains of Karak-O. Homes were built within stone and mountainsides, and others were crafted from the ground up using logs.
Dorhal surveyed the surroundings, a narrow look in his eyes. The orc looked slightly different from before. His left eye was closed, a long, deep scar sealing it shut.
'Sergalas left a lasting impression...' Dorhal thought to himself, 'That serpent may be unbeatable, and I also heard that the Player, Midas, is still alive and well.'
These two factors were sure to make him wary.
Dorhal was not the type to fear causelessly. He was admired by those around him for his bravery and ability to thrive under pressure.
