The chieftain, his grandson, was dead. The elder peered down at the corpse, his golden eyes gleaming as he inspected the gory cadaver up close, due to his failing vision. Ah well, they couldn’t all live forever. The greenskin cared little that one of his seed had died, orcs never cared about their families beyond having children to replace them. He ordered the corpse butchered, no need in having the meat go to waste, orcs were not shy of cannibalism.

Zathul had no doubt a new chief, or chieftain, would appear. But before that, there was an uproar in the orc village, and the elder hobbled towards it, a cane in hand and his back hunched. His white hair was long and unkempt, and he only wore some tattered brown robes over his decrepit frame.

”What is worth such a clamor?”

The old orc complained as he arrived on the scene, his voice cold and raspy.