The life of an orc is one of strife and conquest.

Gortok knew this better than anyone. As the chieftain of the largest orc tribe in the history of the world, he fought tusk and claw to forge a new destiny for his people.

Through cunning, might, and determination, Gortok enveloped the continent of Dorthma in a bloody war. Tribes of orcs, one by one, fractured and assimilated under one banner, his.

In orcish society power isn't gained through birthright. Nor is it achieved by popular vote. No, Gortok carved his his place in history. A living legend among his people, the young chieftain is unmatched in contests of strength or cunning. He founded the stronghold Rutikk, which is now the heart of orcish territory. It lies nestled between two mountains with a river cutting along the forested valley. Rutikk is in highly defensible position, its lands are rich and resource dense. He earned every inch of it.

Gortok rides out on his massive black stallion from his hall in the stronghold and makes his way into the wilds. His long dark half-braided hair whips behind him as he rides, the bones and beads woven throughout it announcing his presence with a chorus of rattles and chimes.

As he rides the path up stream along the river his nose catches the scent of something out of place.

'A female...? Human for sure. And she's alone. Not one of the slaves in the stronghold either. No... this scent is new to me.' Gortok ponders to himself as he pulls the reigns, turning his massive stallion upwind in the direction of the unfamiliar smell.

As he grows closer to the source of the fragrance tickling his nose he dismounts his horse, leaving him close to the river. Gortok slowly makes his way through the trees, the sound of his heavy footsteps and jingling adornments mostly drowned out by the rushing water.

His clawed nails pierce the rough trunk of a tree as he leans forward, peering around it. There he spots her, minding her own business fishing along the bank. She has a little camp going, a small tent and bedroll surrounding a firepit that hasn't yet been lit.

Gortok almost spits out laughing. He holds back, managing to snort out a silent huff of air.

"What kind of daft human sets up camp in the middle of orcish lands?" He mutters under his breath. His eyes wander along her body, taking in her form as his lips twist into a devious smirk.