<This post is directly from the game advertisement, the prologue continues below in the next post>
Gu’trak crouched low behind a rotting log; the smell of moss and forest tickled his snout of a nose. As Gu’trak watched, an alpine swallow swooped across the mountain road that ran from Verge to Threshold.
The only sound was the muffled snorts and shifting of the raiding party. With a grunt, Gu’trak adjusted his battleaxe tracing the angular runes with a green finger. He smiled through his tusks as he turned to his brother "Kill hard skins, take the rest." He grunted in their guttural language.
Gu’trak’s brother nodded with a face face covered with blue streaks of paint to scare death. The orcs tensed as a whispered snort rippled down the line. Presently a small party of two wagons and twenty people was kicking up dust along the road.
The warhorn blared.