[1-3] The Nose

[Marcus Wright]

The ailing giant took a much needed breath to clear his putrid lungs. The echoes of his yelling could  have damaged someone's ears. Okor, a man who covered himself head to foot in armor, expected the "soldiers" to fall in line.  

The group already experienced many setbacks due to "Plan A" not working.  Marcus had to wonder how his group would cope. It was clear the waiter was not returning as soon as there was a loud screaming coming from the bushes.

He saw Okor as the ultimate warrior. He looked like he could survive just about anything thrown at him.  

A far cry from battle, this was no terminator littered warzone.

It indicates the past blending into the present.   Different faces, different places.

A team is only as strong as its weakest link. Marcus made it his business that Okor had become a self-proclaimed leader.  Okor, a grand leader? An undead soldier that wasn't afraid to kill anything but saves himself in the process. He had killed millions compared to the mere three meager lives lost by his own hands.  Marcus was counting his blessings that he was still alive .  The ex-killer thought himself soulless for what he did.  He couldn't imagine taking millions of lives with his own hands. He just couldn't live with that thought of blood running on his hands.

Marcus did not feel pain or remorse making it impossible to reason with him.   These were all human emotions he did not have.

He was still a stone cold killer named Marcus Wright. Who said that would change? Marcus was hesitant to partner with Okor, who was the better soldier to help the group survive.

Marcus ended up looking around the tree-covered landscape. His eyes landed upon Okor as he appointed Fiara the honor of leading the group. In turn, the annoyance Marcus had hid had bubbled up into the non existent gut he didn't have.

This was a surprise as the smaller woman was recently arguing with the Plaguelord.

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