Small War
Volk stood amidst the swirling, living smoke, his crimson eyes gleaming like embers in the night.
His towering form loomed over his warriors, a beacon of ruthless command and unrelenting confidence.
The battlefield was an evolving storm of chaos—an orchestra of clashes, cries, and the deep rumble of the Ogres' guttural roars.
The humans, disoriented and struggling to regroup, were fighting blind.
It was the perfect moment to strike a decisive blow. Volk raised his voice, cutting through the din like a war drum.
"Ogres! Front and center!" he roared, his voice a rumbling thunder that made the ground seem to quake.
The Ogres, their massive forms shrouded in the impenetrable smoke, paused their rampage for a moment and turned toward him.
Their glowing eyes pierced the fog, burning with primal ferocity.
"You will focus on the magic users!" Volk commanded, pacing before them like a lion before its pride.