Under the gray, cloud-laden sky, Lyerin's command echoed as he and his unit of twenty formidable Pig Orcs fell into formation.
Each one towered, muscle-bound, with thick hides that gleamed in patches where sparse, coarse hair covered their otherwise grayish-green skin.
They wielded massive, cleaver-like blades, rough and battle-worn from countless encounters, and their eyes were sharp with focus.
Their breaths puffed into the cold air, a steady rhythm that mixed with the tense murmurs of the soldiers standing behind them.
Lyerin, standing at the front, raised his hand and barked the command,
"Formation! Brace for defense!"
His words came with the weight of years of command, and the Pig Orcs shifted into a tight, protective wall with their blades raised and feet planted firmly.
Each step they took dug small trenches into the earth, grounding them as an immovable force.
