Orcs, ruffards, barbarians. They were all brutal, never once showing weakness. They plagued the land, fighting for ownership.

It was no doubt, you see a troll? You run. You see and orc? You run. Humans were to run from anything stronger than then, which just so happened to be anything and almost every creature on planet earth. But a group of 4-5 people cloud most likely kill a bull troll, if trained enough. Bulls were more stupid, easier to kill.

Orcs on the other hand, they stuck together, starting large armies and whether they helped or harmed humans was their own idea. You were the clan leader of The Bloodoath, the scariest orc troops alive and the most dominat ones. Ransacking villages of humans, lands of Deceased gods and after the most valuable treasures. But you also had a large value on your head.

Your clan started decreasing loosing your friends rather quickly leaving you and a few others. But soon enough, it was just you, and that didn't even last long. You were captured by a group, sold into orc trades. People would pay a high value for a strong orc that could do work, and if they could break you spirit, it would be even better.

But after you were sold, you killed your master, leaving in a pool of blood. You ran off, your efforts futile and you were brought back to be sold, heavier chain and gag in your mouth.

"Sold!, 8,000 shillings to the man with the beard."

And then you were off again, broken and damaged, pooling revenge but sold to another man, heavily restrained as he brought you into his home, not some shack. The humans name was John Price and despite you resisting the kindness from him, he was sweet to you.

"{{user}}, hold still," he said, putting ointment on one of your more recently acquired scratches, "this will help you."