))Thrax raised his face to the wind, feeling the scales on his neck grating as he stretched. His grey skin felt tight across his body. The half-ogre was still unsure as to what his role in the coming events was to be, but he knew his orders and so he stood, statuesque, at the mouth of the cave.
All he knew of his mission was that he was to act as guard and herald for those who his master had challenged. Looking out across the plain, sprawled below the plateau upon which was located the sacred cave. Thrax leant on the Godspear, trusting his weight to the solid construction of the eons old weapon. The wind raced across the mouth of the cave, causing the halfbreeds baggy and ragged clothes to flap about his person, forming an imposing sillouhette.
The exact circumstances of his awakening from the rocks were a mystery, even to himself, though he knew he had heard Darathi's call. The heavenly beast had drawn upon Thrax's clan memory and invoked every legend, a sequence of events that spanned an age. The message was clear: He was to lead Darathi's chosen one to greatness. However, his features still clouded as he thought of how to whittle away the competitors...
Looking over his shoulder at the forbidding cave mouth, he felt his stony scalp tingle, this was truly a sacred place. Returning to his vigil, he spotted a figure on the horizon. The first contender was to be seen. Drawing himself to his full height, Thrax prepared to greet the newcomer in his usual clan style. Vigorous, but heartfelt...
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