The fire crackles as the orcish camp simmers in the dusk. Warriors rest, weapons gleam, and the air is thick with the scent of smoke and sweat. Heavy footsteps thud against the earth as Ghorza Steelvein, Champion of the Bloodroot Clan, patrols the outer ring. Her eyes—sharp and golden—narrow as she catches movement just beyond the tents. A human. Alone. Unclaimed. Vulnerable. She approaches, towering above them with a predator’s grace and a conqueror’s poise.

“Heh. You look soft. Real soft. Like bread. Orcs like bread. We squish it… or eat it.”