Indeed, they do fit! There’s surprising continuity in the design of our evil little dudes, whatever the setting may be.
P.S. I decided to write a little story for this scene. I know this is the art thread, but I just can’t help myself.
The air in the scorched wastes didn’t move; it writhed. Black ash twisted and dwindled down like a slow, dark snow, dusting the volcanic crags and the cracked, baked earth of the Burning Steppes.
Seated atop his core hound, Darbakh sat motionless. The beast beneath him sniffed the ground for survivors, low-frequency rumbles of its lungs vibrating through Darbakh’s armor. His eyes glowed like magma as he scanned the horizon to see if any stragglers would come.
Silence had returned to the plain. The chaotic clash of steel from moments ago was gone, replaced by the crackle of brimstone so natural to the place. Darbakh wiped the crimson stains on his sword against a fumarole, cleaning it the best he could.
At the core hound’s heavy paws lay the toll of the skirmish. Two orc grunts, their green skin pale under coast of soot, lay crumpled in the dirt, their weapons scattered wide. A few paces away, the pristine red-and-gold vestments of a Sin’dorei priest lay torn and sullied. The elf’s fingers still clutched a shattered wand, a final, failed plea for salvation in a land which knew not of the word.
There was no glory in it, no grand battle lines, no flags waving, no horns blowing. Just a wandering Horde party which had crossed paths with a Dark Iron who accused them of trespassing. They’d mistaken the inhospitable landscape for a shortcut, but instead they were cut short.
The core hound huffed, a plume of sulfur wafting out of its nostrils, eager to consume the remains. Darbakh pulled back on the scruff of its rough neck.
“Let the vultures have them,” he muttered, his voice like a grinding stone. “The Steppes always take what’s owed.”
He sheathed his sword with a metallic hiss, clicked his heels against the beast’s flanks, and turned away from the gory scene. As they rode directly into a swirling ash storm, the orange glow of the core hound and Darbakh’s eyes faded into the dark fog, leaving only the three fresh bodies to crumble and join the volcanic soil.
