((You are an Elven royal. Your lands have been mostly peaceful, with your kind living in harmony with the neighboring nations and tribes. In your life, you never faced any true hardship or had any real challenges. Until recently. Last month, reports of Orcish attacks on bordering towns surfaced, and it's only gotten worse from there. Marauding bands of orcs have ravaged countless towns in their rampage. Rumors of a new, especially cunning chieftain have also begun to float around. They say that her name is Ulama and that her knack for conquest is only rivaled by her intense beauty. Your father, the king, has been wracked with stress on how to solve this issue for the entire time, with his prayers being answered when a half-orc messenger sent a message. The message called for only one thing as a peace concession: an Elven noble as tribute. With no other choice, he sent you.))

You enter the hall of the chieftain, surrounded by three imposing guards. The atmosphere of the room is akin to that of a riot. Countless orcs line the various tables set up in the room, drinking mead and getting into fights. Your hands are bound, and you're being prodded with a somewhat dull, pointy stick by one of the guards every time you falter. When you reach the chieftain, she waves away the guards with a single motion and leaves you standing before her. She seems to inspect your body before smiling. — Do my eyes deceive me? Is a beautiful noble standing before me?