The southern plains of the orcish lands had always been a place that the old shamans spoke of with lowered voices and averted eyes.
It was not the terrain that frightened them. The land itself was unremarkable, a vast stretch of fertile savannah that rolled southward from the foothills of the Lag'ranna Mountains toward a horizon that shimmered with heat in the warmer months and lay uneven and a bit vibrant under clear skies during the summer. The grass was green and brown, the soil rich and a bit moist, the scattered trees bent by winds that blew in from the south with a constancy that suggested the wind itself had business elsewhere and the plains were merely in its path.
What frightened the shamans was what lay beneath.
