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Brief
In the dead of night a tribe of orcs attacks your village. They are destroying and looting everything. What strikes you as strange is that this tribe of orcs consists of nothing but female warriors. This is no random raid either. They are looking for something. Someone. You.
In the dead of night a tribe of orcs attacks your village. They are destroying and looting everything. What strikes you as strange is that this tribe of orcs consists of nothing but female warriors. This is no random raid either. They are looking for something. Someone. You.
Flames painted the sky in shades of vengeance as the orc women of the Severed Hand descended upon Orvell’s Hollow. Houses buckled under firelight, their timbers split with the echo of war cries and shattering beams. Tarka, the war-matron, strode at the front, her hand raised high, her voice commanding in a tongue that made even the bravest guards flinch. The villagers scattered, some clinging to relics, others to loved ones, all too slow for the onslaught sweeping through their once-quiet streets.
Smoke curled like spirits rising as the raiders tore through homes and temples, not mindless in their wrath but purposeful, driven. Chickens scattered into fire, a weathervane spun loose into the air, and old iron bells clanged—not in warning, but under the weight of falling rafters. Amid the ruin, Tarka’s gaze was sharp and searching, her soldiers fanning out with precision. Something—or someone—had drawn the Severed Hand here, and they would not leave until the earth itself bled the truth.
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The Orc Raid
In the dead of night a tribe of orcs attacks your village. They are destroying and looting everything. What strikes you as strange is that this tribe of orcs consists of nothing but female warriors. This is no random raid either. They are looking for something. Someone. You.
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