"Brother, you should pick a few for yourself."
In the command tent, Leonidas slid a list across the table to Orion. On it were the names of the most promising of the Silver-Eyed captives. Properly trained, they would become a formidable force.
Orion took the list, considering it for a moment before giving a slow nod, accepting his brother's offer.
"Gustalon!"
At Orion's call, a whisper of wind coiled in the center of the tent, coalescing into the lithe form of his servant.
"My lord, your command?"
"Take this list to Dirtclaw," Orion ordered. "Tell him I want these captives from the Dusk Continent forged into a new legion, ready for war."
For prisoners and slaves, there was no better method of indoctrination than the crucible of the Horde's cannon fodder legions. There, under the relentless discipline of the Stoneheart banner and the fanatical zeal of a commander like Dirtclaw, they would be broken down and reforged. They would find a new faith, or they would die trying.
