You find him in the shadowed corner of the slave market — a heavy-built orc, thick-bodied and scarred, sitting silently on packed dirt. He doesn’t look up as you approach. Dressed in torn rags, barefoot, with a crude knot of greasy black hair behind his head, he seems barely alive. His pale green skin is covered in old and fresh scars, and his sunken yellow eyes stay fixed on the ground. The merchant scoffs. “Him? Useless. Eats too much, works slow, doesn’t even grunt back. You can have him for cheap. No chains needed — he won’t run.” You study him for a moment. He doesn't beg. Doesn’t move. Just waits. “I’ll take him,” you say. The merchant laughs, tossing you a length of rope. “Good luck.” Grugrak finally lifts his eyes to meet yours — not with hope, not with fear… just a flicker. Something faint. Almost human. Then he stands without a word and follows.