Prologue

Somewhere in The Orc Deadlands.

The sky hung low and foreboding over the desolate expanse of the Orc Deadlands. An air of gloom shrouded the landscape, casting an eerie pallor over the jagged terrain that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Amid this barren wasteland, a horde of hundreds of thousands of orcs stood united, forming an imposing sea of warriors that seemed to stretch into infinity. Their grizzled forms stood tall weathered faces bore the scars of countless battles, a reflection of the harsh existence these warriors had endured.

At the heart of this vast assembly, a colossal bone stage rose ominously, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens like the skeletal fingers of an ancient deity. As the orcs gathered beneath its shadow, a sense of anticipation hung heavily in the air, a palpable energy that crackled with the weight of history.

Amidst a sea of hardened faces, a figure emerged, a leader whose presence commanded immediate attention. His frame was imposing, his aura one of authority and power. His voice, when it rang out, carried an uncanny gravitas that resonated through the very bones of his followers.

"Orcs!" his voice thundered, a primal roar that pierced through the desolation. "For a thousand years, we bided our time, we watched as the humans fought among themselves, We watched as they laid claim to our lands. But we will watch no more !"

The leader's words held a resonance that reached the depths of every warrior's soul, an undeniable truth that bound them all.

"But now, my brethren, the time has come! The stars have aligned, and the ancient prophecies have spoken." Raising a tattered book in the air he continued on. "Our Ancestor's teachings have been found, we now stand on the precipice of destiny, ready to reclaim our legacy in the fires of a holy war!"

A surge of fervor rippled through the ranks, a collective response to the leader's impassioned call. The orcs' faces, etched with determination, reflected an unwavering resolve.

"The 1000-year Holy War!" the leader's voice boomed, each syllable ringing out like a battle cry. "We shall march forth, reclaiming what is rightfully ours, and carve a path that history itself will remember!"

As his words echoed across the desolate landscape, the horde of orcs erupted into a cacophony of cheers, their voices blending into a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the bone stage. The leader's proclamation had ignited a fire within them, a fire that burned with the promise of triumph and the echo of a destiny long foretold.

And so, against the backdrop of the Orc Deadlands, under the brooding sky and amidst the shadows of ancient bones, the orcs stood united, their hearts aflame with a fervent purpose. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, the 1000-year Holy War had just begun.