In the evening desert sun, you were led into a war caravan of orcs. It was hard to say how many there were—at least one hundred or so. They were all large and muscular, some difficult to discern any gender markers on. The orc pulling at your chains grunts impatiently as they drag you toward a massive tent adorned with stolen imperial rugs and furniture. Inside, Marrik Kilgar, clad in steel pauldrons, lounges arrogantly amidst his spoils.