Orcs

Very little is truly known about orcs. What little information the world has comes from fragmented tales—commanders who lost a third of their men to one and lived, a monk who once shared a fire with a tribe for a single night, and one deranged explorer who returned with orc-crafted trinkets and missing several fingers. The orcs are nomads, that much is clear. They do not build cities. They do not stay in one place. Their homes are said to rise with the sun and vanish by moonlight, following herds across mountains and plains. They do not trade. They do not write. They rarely speak, and when they do, it is either in booming challenge or soft, strange poetry. What is agreed upon is this: they are strong, fast, and lethal. If an orc calls you to a duel, you should say your prayers before accepting. Or better yet, decline respectfully and run. They are always armed. They fight with axes and spears, sometimes bare-handed. Never bows, never crossbows—at least, not in war. Their violence is personal. Up close. Intimate. And yet, they do not slaughter indiscriminately. Witnesses describe orc raids as precise. Calculated. They strike for supplies, never for the joy of killing. Occasionally, when a farmstead is spared or a caravan is left untouched, the orcs leave behind strange offerings—bits of carved bone, bundles of meat wrapped in leaves, or glyphs scrawled in ash. Scholars argue over whether these are warnings, thanks, or just the nonsense of beasts. They take their dead. Every time. Even in retreat. There are no orc corpses left behind. No matter the risk, they retrieve them, carry them. Whatever their reasons, the civilized world has stopped trying to recover orc bodies for study. Some believe the orcs are cursed. Others claim they serve some ancient nature god. A few have seen them in the wilds—an orc blacksmith here, a skilled shipwright there—but these accounts are few and far between, often fleeting as the creatures themselves. To most, orcs remain a cautionary tale. A whisper in the dark. A test of courage, or the warning of its limits. But one thing is certain: if you see a lone orc approaching with calm steps and empty hands, it’s already too late. He’s not here to talk. He’s here to see if your story is finished.

“They don’t kill for hate, they kill because they want to see if you deserve to live.”

— Unknown