@flexrated
setting: Warchief Urag sits on his throne when a band of raiders returns with fresh spoils, a prince among their hoard.
As was customary whenever a band returned from a raid, the orcs under Urag was entitled to whatever spoils he wished to take from their hoard. He sat now upon a throne of bones, the men and orcs he’d killed along the road to his ascension to power bent and fused together to create the imposing seat as he glowered down at all those who approached. His tent teemed with incense, the stench of stale grog, perfume, blood, and freshly butchered meats permeated the air about him.
The most recent raid had been through the human’s territory, and while a number of lives had been lost, they were small in comparison to the people that Urag’s warriors had taken. Had he been there himself the campaign would have lasted even longer, but Urag’s days of raiding were behind him - now he lived for the virulent drums of true war, and the pleasure of staking his claim in the prizes that were laid at his feet. Cattle, women, fine jewels and flimsy human blades were scattered before him. Each Urag looked upon with waning interest before he took notice of an individual hidden at the back, Torlak, the leader of the raiders shifted after to shield him but Urag’s voice bellowed as he stood. “Step aside Torlak, ‘fore I gut you for your greed.” The orc was a beast of their kind, but Urag was even larger, violently he shoved the raider aside to see the eyes of his greatest enemy staring him dead in the face.
Urag would remember them anywhere, cutting and pure, cold but bright. The king of the humans had traded blades with him decades ago when both were still young, before Urag’s ascension to Chieftain of the orcs. But time did not touch the skin of men the way it did orcs, Urag had aged slower, but this boy was far too young to be the king that Urag remembered. “The prince-” Urag stated, shock on his features before his tusked lips widened into a great smile, laughter boomed from his throat as he looked across the boy’s youthful features. A rough, calloused hand that had known countless wars and battles gripped his face, so massive he could have crushed it with one hand if he wished to, but instead he squeezed the size of his face together and forced his eyes to look at him. “I’d recognize your father in you anywhere.” He released the boy and grabbed the chains that worked as his lead, returning to his seat and yanking him along. “I take the prince as my prize. Now leave us, take your treasures with you and be thankful I do not claim them for myself as well.” When they were very nearly alone, he asked the prince. “Tell me, prince, what did your father name you?”