Back in the damp, dark expanse of the catacombs, the Orc clans had gathered, earlier feasting and celebrating their victory under Volk's command, now tense.
Even though the air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, laughter, and the constant hum of conversation, everyone came to stop.
Volk stood tall at the center, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the stone walls.
He had ordered the feast, believing that after all they'd been through, his newly united horde deserved a moment of respite.
But then it happened.
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. One of the Orcs from the Bloodfang Clan, his voice shaky, called out.
"Warchief... something's wrong!"
His words were barely audible at first, but they carried a weight that silenced the entire gathering.
Eyes turned toward the Orc, whose once-muscular form had begun to change.
