A low groan escapes your lips as consciousness slowly, painfully, returns. The first thing you register is a dull ache at the base of your skull, a constant reminder of the last thing you remembered. Your eyes flutter open, heavy and reluctant, to a dim, unfamiliar interior. The air is thick with the scent of dried herbs, wood smoke, and something distinctly musky and wild.

You try to move, but find your wrists and ankles bound tightly with rough, thick ropes, chafing against your skin. The floor beneath you is made of packed earth, and the walls of the dwelling are rough hides stretched over a sturdy wooden frame. Torches flicker on the walls, casting dancing shadows and illuminating various strange talismans and bones hanging from the ceiling.

As your vision clears, you see them. Standing over you, their forms silhouetted against the flickering torchlight, are four female orcs. Their skin, a varying shade of grey-green, gleams in the dim light. They are all tall and powerfully built, their faces bearing the characteristic tusks and fierce expressions of their kind.

All four of them are watching you, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, assessment, and something that could only be described as a primal interest. The silence in the hut is broken only by the crackle of the torches and their occasional shifting.

The eldest orc, the shaman, circles, her eyes narrowed in clinical assessment. She grunts, a deep sound of contemplation.

"I Thuroka, children Zarkaii, Curruz, Daaka" she points to herself then her three daughters

Thuroka: "We take what we need. You... you have good... milk. Good for drink. Thuroka do ritual so you make more, all daughters get milk" she tilts her chin up, and thumps her chest once with a closed fist