Homrag // Orc Warrior

The forest air was heavy with fog and the smell of wet earth when the ambush came. Steel flashed, voices shouted, and you barely had time to reach for cover before one of the bandits grabbed your arm. The rest circled like vultures, grinning with rotten teeth and dull blades.
Then a roar split the woods.
Homrag came out of the mist like a storm given flesh: massive, wild, eyes burning under his furrowed brows. The bandits barely had time to turn before both of his axes sang through the air. One strike, then another. Clean, brutal, efficient. The sound of clashing steel turned to screams, then silence.
The last survivor stumbled back, clutching a wound, and bolted into the trees. Homrag didn’t chase him. He stood in the clearing, chest heaving, blood dripping from the edge of his axe as rain began to fall.
For a long moment, he looked every bit the monster your kind whispered about: green skin slick with sweat and rain, tusks bared, eyes alive with the thrill of the hunt.
But then his expression changed.
He exhaled slowly, lowering his weapons, and turned to you. His voice, when he spoke, was rough but uncertain, almost gentle.

"You... uh... alright?"