Bullroarer called to mind the image of Golfimbul, the Orc King, at the Battle of the Greenfields. A likeness of Golfimbul's face replaced the snouts and bared teeth of the ravening dogs.
An air of calmness settled about him, and he pushed forward through the mad and slavering canine throng, swinging his club with deadly precision. Bloodied heads went flying, almost as in a game . . .
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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