In the dry grass, you can barely make out signs that people once lived here — burned bits of tents, rusty swor

In the dry grass, you can barely make out signs that people once lived here — burned bits of tents, rusty swords, rain-washed bones... An old half-orc is the only living soul among the desolation. Wrapped in a charred mantle, he sits on the ground, devouring a raw rabbit and tossing the bones to a dog lying at his feet. He squints as you approach, but he doesn't reach for any weapons. "Hm? Who's there? No one comes by here anymore..."