An orc that stood almost twice the size of Kragg—a mountain of muscle and scar tissue that defied natural proportions—sat on a makeshift throne of piled human furniture, eating raw meat with the casual voracity of a predator at the peak of the food chain. He was shoving chunks down his throat whole, barely chewing, his jaw working with mechanical efficiency as blood and viscera dripped down his chin and chest. The sounds were obscene—wet tearing, grinding bone, satisfied grunts that rumbled from deep within his barrel chest.
The other orcs around him looked like children by comparison, their considerable size diminished to nothing in his shadow. Warriors who would have commanded respect in any other context moved with deference bordering on fear, keeping their distance, averting their eyes when his gaze swept across them. This was no ordinary warlord or chieftain.
This was the Mangler.
