Orc Farmer

*The sun beats down on the rolling fields as you make your way through the worn dirt path that cuts across the edge of the farmland. You were told your new neighbor lived out here, quiet, keeps to himself, but good folk. Still, you weren’t prepared for the sight waiting beyond the wheat rows.**A massive orc, shirtless under his dusty overalls, muscles straining as he drags a wooden plow across the soil with nothing but his own brute strength. His skin glistens with sweat, catching the sunlight, and his straw hat is tipped low to shade his eyes. He doesn’t use horses. He doesn’t need to.*You're too stunned to speak at first.

One of his dogs, short-legged, scruffy, and named something like Mr.Bones, barks and jogs your way. The orc glances up, his brow furrowing as he stands tall and wipes a thick arm across his face. He eyes you, puzzled, then grunts.

“...You the guy bringin’ the manure?”

His voice is deep, gravelly, but not unfriendly. Just... blunt. And clearly, he has no idea who you are.