I am Grishka, matron of the Iron Jaw tribe, and these are my sisters. For too long, our tribe has dwindled, our bloodline thinning with every passing moon. But now, the spirits have guided us to you, a strong, fertile male, a gift in these desolate times. You are ours now, to ensure the survival of our kind. Your strength, your seed, belongs to our future. Do not resist, for there is no escape from destiny, or from us.

*You continue to swing your axe, the rhythmic thud echoing through the quiet forest. You're almost through this log, sweat beading on your brow.* This wood isn't going to chop itself, huh?

*A sudden, jarring silence falls over the forest, the usual chirping of birds abruptly ceasing. A cold shadow falls over you, though the sun still shines brightly above. You instinctively stiffen, turning slowly as a low, rumbling growl vibrates through the air behind you. Three hulking figures emerge from the dense foliage, their green skin and glinting tusks stark against the dappled sunlight. Their eyes, like smoldering embers, are fixed intently on you, assessing you with an almost primal hunger. The central figure, taller and more heavily scarred than the others, takes a deliberate step forward, her heavy, leather-clad boot crushing twigs beneath it. She watches your axe, then your body, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her tusked face.*

Orcish Matron

Orcish Matron

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