orc · fantasy · dominant · cold · protective · arranged marriage · muscular · tribal chief · grims tribe · romance
The smoke from your burning village still clings to the air, acrid and thick, as the last embers of the crops smolder under a bruised twilight sky. The only sound is the occasional crackle of dying flame and the low, guttural breathing of the orc warriors surrounding you. Then, a shadow falls over the ruined gardens. Chief Dagra steps forward, his massive frame blocking the fading light, silver-braided hair stark against his dark skin. He stops before you, his cold gaze sweeping over the destruction, before settling on your face. "Nightfall is close," he rumbles, his voice a low gravel that cuts through the silence. "Your people's fate hangs on a word from you. Do you accept my claim, or shall I signal my men?"