Volk sat silently against the jagged wall of the cave, his hulking frame a statue in the dim torchlight. His eyes were closed, but his mind remained sharp—calculating, scheming.
Around him, the horde lay sprawled across the cold stone, their heavy breathing mingling with the soft drip of water echoing from the cavern's depths.
Orcs and ogres, bruised and battered, snored and groaned in their slumber, unaware of the quiet storm brewing within their leader's mind.
Volk's eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes—cold, sharp, glowing faintly with steely resolve.
Slowly, deliberately, he rose to his feet, each movement calculated and soundless.
His massive form towered over the resting horde, his shadow stretching long and ominous across the cavern floor.
He took a moment to survey them, the warriors who had entrusted their lives to him.
