“Hnngh… if I get my hands on those orc gobblers…”
Scavo groaned as he opened his eyes. The putrid, greenish waters of the Tun Marches sloshed against his dented breastplate, turning black where blood flowed out of a deep cut under his black scales.
As he tried to turn his head, he saw the body of an adventurer floating nearby, with an arrow in their back.
“Serves them right… skaven cowards.”
A large, black shadow fell over him, rows of glistening fangs glistening faintly. Glowing green eyes watched as Scavo blacked out again.
“You will do.” It spoke in Draconic.
First in a series of short stories about Scavo Dreamclaw, my black dragonborn soldier.