Draxis huffed under the mask of his helm and turned to his Dethsworn, eyeing each of them. “Fine, We will play this game for now… but we will tell Razgar of our intentions for the human king. He will know that we will not stop until I have taken the foolish king’s head.” He hissed at the Orc as he made haste to leave. “Riders, I shall join you later, but for now we must make haste for the Orc Lords camp. We will use that as our base of operations, and give Razgar the illusion that he can trust us.” Draxis seemed amused that the Orc Warlord wanted to know what Draxis thought, though the last time they met; he made it perfectly clear how he felt about the humans. Nonetheless, Draxis rode forth to the camp that Razgar and his men had set up on the fields of battle. The ride was several hours long, but he made it there in due haste to give his council to the king of the orcs and their hordes. Draxis strode into Razgars tent, feeling a noticeable chill and a slightly pungent odor that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but the stench of a yeti. “I see that your Abominable Snowman has arrived, Warchief Razgar. And you seek my council as much as this beast? I am flattered.” Draxis spoke with contempt for the uncivilized beast. There wasn’t much that he trusted about these warm blooded beings. They were driven by the most primal desires to eat and feel something more than just pure, unadulterated fury. A moment went by when Draxis thought that Razgar was just planning to order him around, but the old Orc knew better than that… didn’t he?