The tundra that stretches from the rim mountains down to edges of human civilization is an austerely beautiful place. At least, it can be. An army of a hundred or more orcs does somewhat ruin the view.
This particular army is slowly settling down for the night. Already several bonfires are raging, fueled by whatever plant life the orcs were able to find in the area. As usual, they've given no thought to the possibility that they might want to come back this way - an orcish army either wins, or dies.
There are, however, a few signs of something out of the ordinary here. Bat winged serpents patrol above, their wings glowing dull red in the slowly darkening sky. Within the camp itself, more serpentine forms can be seen, bossing the orcs around or lounging in the bonfires.
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