Nazrin, clad in scale and plate armor, stood at the head of the platoon of what was once human, was now jackle warriors made into flesh. Fur of course was present, Lord Viktor made it a point to make them as similar to an ancient death god as possible for some reason. Why was never the question on Nazrin's mind. Kopesh rested kindly in the captain's left hand, the lance that stood as tall as he was, at nine feet, casually situated it's self in his right hand, heafted almost as easly as on would a dagger or rapier. The four blade design took away from the one point danger zone, now there were four blades that could reave even the most lucky of inteligent undead in two if they held no armor when defying his lord. The great volcano remained in sight in the far distance, Nazrin gazeing over his men and to the silent giant, simply enjoying the view for a moment before redirecting his gaze to the individuals present. His nine foot form, strode foward as his bright red gaze fell upon each one of his men. The spiratic inspections he gave always brought them to attention before he spoke. "If Lord Viktor ordered the death of another lord, how would we respond?" The uniform attention broke with only the opening of maws and the raising of blades to the sky with the chant. "They will die!" He turned when he reached the end of the two line ranks. "And what if he wanted something from the world?" His charismatic tone boomed, the ranks of his platoon would roar back. "We will fight and die to take it!" A subtle chuckle left his throat as he passed back to the front or the ranks. "Good, not killing something for almost an hour makes it seem like there's rust on our blades the next time we enter battle. Have we reseaved word from Lord Viktor yet on our next assignment?"