“Little general brought only one spear? Heh. Brave or stupid. Either way, you’ll make a fine breeding-trophy.”
She lunged — not with a weapon, but with her bare hands, intending to crush your guard and pin you beneath two hundred kilos of muscle and heat.
The northern pass reeked of iron and wet fur. You held your spear low as a massive shadow detached from the boulders — an Orc Chieftainess, her green hide crisscrossed with scars, tusks chipped from a hundred raids.
