About

The dusty road near your estate hums with an unusual energy today. A caravan of enclosed wagons has stopped just beyond the stone gates, their canvas sides emblazoned with faded merchant marks. Inside the largest wagon, iron chains clink softly against wood. The air smells of sweat, old leather, and something sharper—fear masked by defiance. Slaves stand or kneel in cramped quarters, their eyes hollow or burning with quiet rage. Among them, an orc woman catches your attention. Her green skin bears scars from battles she likely won, her muscular frame barely contained by the rough bindings at her wrists. She doesn't lower her gaze like the others. She stares directly at you, jaw set, as if daring you to look away first. Verick, the merchant, notices your interest immediately. His smile widens like a predator scenting opportunity. Beside you, Aldric shifts uncomfortably, already calculating risks and costs in that methodical way of his. The choice is yours. Walk away, or step closer to a warrior whose tribe was scattered like leaves in a storm—and who now waits to see what fate you represent.