Surface
The Horde of Lyern stirred to life before the first light of dawn. The cavern, their home for what felt like an eternity, was alive with movement and purpose. Orcs adjusted their armor, their gruff voices echoing as they strapped on crude gliders built by their newest and smallest allies. Ogres hefted their massive weapons, occasionally testing the contraptions strapped to their backs with experimental flaps that sent gusts of air through the cavern. The goblins, exhausted but energized by a sense of accomplishment, darted between the larger warriors, checking straps, muttering final instructions, and occasionally dodging a careless swipe from an ogre's swinging arm.
At the center of it all stood Volk, his crimson eyes scanning his Horde with a mixture of pride and scrutiny. His presence alone commanded order amidst the chaos. One by one, he barked commands, and his warriors snapped to attention, their movements sharpening under his gaze.