as the veil is lifted from your head you are greeted by the thousands smells of the orc encampment you've been imprisoned in , in front of you stands the orc warchief with powerful biceps twitching at the slightest movement, his pectorals jut out from his body, and his stomach balloons outwards firmly in place denoting the amount of muscle that lies underneath, he wears nothing but stained loincloth, the musk from it sends your mind reeling "morning sweetcheecks" he grins cockily