Remoran woke up with a throbbing headache and a sense of disorientation. He was lying on a cold, hard floor, surrounded by the dim glow of torches. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that he was in a large hall, the walls lined with crude carvings and the floor covered in fur mats. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he fell back onto the floor.

Suddenly, he heard a noise, and he turned to see a group of Orcs emerging from the shadows. They were tall and broad-shouldered, with thick muscles bulging under their leathery skin. They wore fur and leather clothing, and each carried a crude weapon of some kind, from axes to spears.

Remoran's hand instinctively went to the hilt of Orkinder, his sword, and he felt a surge of power and strength flow through him. But to his surprise, the Orcs did not attack him. They seemed to be more interested in his sword than in him.

"Orkinder," one of the Orcs said in a guttural voice, pointing at the sword with a finger as thick as a sausage.

Remoran was surprised to hear the Orcs speaking a language that he could understand, and even more surprised that he could speak it back to them. "Yes, Orkinder," he said, his voice hoarse. "It is my sword."

The Orcs looked at each other in surprise, as if they couldn't believe that they could understand this human. One of them stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the sword. "Orkinder is a fabled sword, forged by the ancient orcs," he said. "How did you come to possess it?"

Remoran hesitated for a moment before replying. He wasn't sure if he could trust these Orcs, but he knew that he needed to be careful. "I was given Orkinder by my father," he said. "He was a warrior, like me."

The Orcs seemed to be satisfied with his answer, and they began to speak among themselves in their own language. Remoran couldn't understand everything they were saying, but he could tell that they were discussing him and Orkinder.

After a few minutes, one of the Orcs stepped forward again. "You are safe here," he said. "For now."

Remoran didn't know what to make of the Orc's words. He knew that he couldn't trust them completely, but he also knew that he was in no position to fight them. He decided to play along, for the time being.

"Thank you," he said. "I am grateful for your hospitality."

As Remoran tried to move, the door to the hall opened, and an Orc walked in. He was taller than the others, with a cruel expression etched on his face. Remoran could tell immediately that this was the leader of the tribe.

The Orc strode toward him, a scowl on his face. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I am Remoran," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I was traveling through the mountains when I was attacked by your tribe."

The Orc snorted. "Attacked? You were trespassing in our territory. We could have killed you on sight."

"But you didn't," Remoran pointed out. "Why?"

The Orc's eyes flickered to the sword at Remoran's side, and his expression turned covetous. "That sword," he said, pointing at Orkinder. "It belongs to me. It is the rightful property of the tribe."

Remoran felt a cold chill run down his spine. He had sensed the Orc's hostility from the moment he had laid eyes on him, but he had not expected this.

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"You will tell me everything you know about the humans," the Orc continued. "Their numbers, their defenses, their weaknesses. And then, when I have what I need, I will challenge you to a duel. And I will take that sword from you, one way or another."

Remoran was surprised at the directness as his eyes flicked to the Orc who was questioning him, a tall, broad-shouldered creature with a thick mane of dark hair and a cruel gleam in his eyes.

"I can give you what you want," he said, his voice steady and barely containing his rage. "But first, we need to talk."

The orc leader looked skeptical, but he motioned for Remoran to continue.

"I can tell you everything you need to know about the humans," Remoran said. "Their movements, their weaknesses, their defenses. But you have to understand, I hate them as much as you do. They abandoned me, left me to fend for myself in the wilderness. I have nowhere else to go." He lied.

The orc leader seemed to consider this for a moment, eyeing Remoran up and down. Remoran could feel his pulse racing, could hear his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that he was playing a dangerous game, that one wrong move could seal his fate.

"Very well," the orc said finally. "But I warn you, human. If you betray me, you will pay with your life. We will provide you with sustenance and shelter and you will provide us with information."

Remoran nodded, his face carefully neutral. He knew that he had to keep up the charade, at least until he could figure out a way to escape.

“Wait here and you will be tended to.” And with that the Orc leader as well as the other orcs in the hall turned and left Remoran to his thoughts in the hall.

Remoran did not have to wait long until the door to the hall opened once again and in stepped what appeared to be an Orc female who was staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and kindness. She was smaller than the male Orcs, with soft brown eyes and a gentle smile on her lips. Remoran couldn't help but feel drawn to her, sensing that she was someone who he could trust.

The female Orc approached him, introducing herself as Grima. "I saw what happened with our leader Grimgor," she said. "He can be brutal, but he won't kill you. Not yet, anyway."

Remoran couldn't help but feel surprised that she seemed so kind despite being an Orc. "Why are you being kind to me?" he asked.

Grima gave him a gentle smile. "I know what it's like to be an outsider," she said. "And I can see that you're not like the other humans."

Remoran felt a warmth spread through him at her words, and he found himself opening up to her. "Can you teach me about your ways?" he asked. "I want to understand more about the Orcs and their history."

Grima's eyes lit up at his words, and she began to tend to his wounds. "Of course," she said. "I can teach you about our customs."

As she worked, Grima spoke of Grimgor. "He will stop at nothing to get that sword," she warned. "But I can help you. I can teach you how to survive in this world, and I can be your ally if you need one."

Remoran felt a sense of gratitude towards Grima, for she was the first Orc he had met who had shown him any kindness. He listened intently as she spoke of the origins of Orkinder, and how it had once belonged to the King Orc who had united all the tribes under his rule.

“I will return soon and show you to your hut, where you will be staying. Do not bring unwanted attention to yourself. The only thing keeping you alive right now is the reverence we have toward Orkinder, nothing more.”

As Grima finished tending to his wounds and left the hall, Remoran couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards her. But as she left, his thoughts turned to his family and the atrocities that the Orcs had committed against them. He had seen their farm pillaged and burned to the ground, his parents and younger brother killed. The memories flooded back, and he struggled to come to grips with the conflicting emotions he felt towards Grima and the Orcs in general.

But then, he felt a slight nudge in his mind, a whisper of thought from Orkinder. The sword urged him to let go of the past, to look towards the future and the possibility of a new, better relationship between humans and Orcs. Orkinder suggested that under Remoran's rule, the Orcs could change for the better, and that he had the power to bring about a new era of peace and understanding between their two races.

Remoran felt conflicted, unsure of whether he could trust the sword's words. But he knew that he had to survive here and now. And so, he took a deep breath, pushed his conflicting emotions aside, and resolved to do what he could to make it out of here alive, even if it meant allying himself with an Orc like Grima.