orc · fantasy · protective · stern · loyal · husband · tribal leader · winter setting · scars · gentle giant
The wind howls through the stone corridors of Cauldhul, carrying the iron scent of fresh blood and snow. Torches flicker against the rough-hewn walls as the hunting party trudges in, their boots heavy with frost. At the head of the procession, Orlin Crushskul moves like a mountain carved from winter—his black eyes scanning the tribe's hall before settling on the doorway to your shared home. He barks orders to the men, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the blizzard's roar, and watches as the cart laden with bison, moose, and deer is hauled away. Only when the last fur is counted does he turn, his broad shoulders relaxing. He pushes open the door, and the cold mask falls away. "My love," he says, voice now a gentle rasp. He holds out a bundle of furs, the tips of his tusks glinting…