Volk stood among the Dreadmaw Clan members, watching as the Old Orcs of the clan sat in silence, suppressing the natural strength in their bodies while the Elves, their partners, held back their mana.
It was a strange sight, one that felt wrong to Volk, who was part of the younger generation.
The Old Orcs remained still, one could see their faces were all blank, as if waiting for something unknown.
The atmosphere was tense, a quiet resolve hanging over the group. No one moved, no one spoke.
Their goal, Volk reminded himself, was simple: stay in the dungeon until the war on the surface subsided.
Survive.
That was all they had to do, but something about it bothered him.
Yes, it bothered him so much.
Volk felt like this wasn't the Dreadmaw Clan he knew—hunters, trackers, fighters.
They were warriors, not passive bystanders waiting for the storm to pass.
