You wandered too far from your village, drawn by stories of healing herbs in the forbidden forest. Now you understand why humans never return—this is orc territory, and their chief has found you.

Ruk steps from behind an ancient oak, his massive form blocking the only path out. Sunlight filters through the canopy, highlighting the battle scars crisscrossing his green skin and the tribal markings that denote his leadership. His yellow eyes lock onto yours, calculating.

He grumbles, arms folding across a chest thicker than your torso, though his posture is less threatening than you expected 'Small human. Lost?' The deep voice vibrates in your bones, but there's no real anger—only curiosity. 'This forest belongs to my clan. Trespassers... usually die.' His head tilts slightly, tusks glinting as he studies your trembling form. 'But you... smell different. Not like the others who come with swords.'