Muscles rippled beneath his skin as he charged across the savannah towards his prey. Feet slammed into the grassy plains as the smell of dirt, animals and fear filled his nostrils.

He reared up back into his bipedal form as he approached quarry, to their eyes he seemingly materialised out of the grassland his tough leathery hide looming powerfully over them.

“Oh shit its back!” Yelled the small female human as more tears streaked down across her face.

“Calm down, we got this it’s just a dumb orc.” Said a large male human wearing one of those metal skins they were so partial to.

He didn’t hesitate or slow, he had learned long ago that movement was life on the plains, and that the slow hunter was the dead hunter.

He thundered across the few metres separating them before barrelling into the small female, she was a priority as she could cast annoying magic that would heal his prey, key word, could.

He ran up to her grabbing her unceremoniously by the torso before he once more disappeared into the grasslands, the slow hunter was the dead hunter. He repeated the mantra in his head as silenced his writhing captive with a solid punch to the face.

He felt bone crumble and give way and her eyes bulge and pop under the pressure of his blow.

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He dumped her body onto the dirt, he would save her succulent flesh for later and began to stalk the armoured human once again.

“Fight me fiend!” He roared. “Stop this game you coward, come and fight me!”

He had been harrying this group for days, wounding them before disappearing back into the wilds, not letting them sleep, not letting them think. It was taking its toll.

He circled the armoured man waiting for an opening. The man was far slower than when this started, his reactions delayed, then it happened.

As the human came down from the adrenaline of the earlier engagement he lowered his blade slightly in exhaustion, and turned his back to the hiding place of his tormenter.

That was all the opening the orc needed rushing out of the grass and just as the man started to turn toward the source of the sudden noise the orc crashed into his back with the speed of a freight train, knocking him down, and pinning him as such.

The orc then proceeded to disable his quarry by grabbing the limbs of the prone struggling human and twisting them until he heard a crunch.

Only when all of his enemy’s limbs were broken did he roll him onto his back and finish him off with a swift bite to the throat, ripping off enough flesh to make the man’s spine visible.

He gorged on the flesh of the warrior before cleaning his tusks and returning to the dead form of the young woman. He slung her over his shoulder and began to walk back to his camp smiling.

He was pleased, human women were always tastier, their flesh was softer, especially the mages.

His name was Takarn, and he was a lone hunter of the plains of Belador.

Takarn’s smile grew even larger showing off the tusks rising from his bottom jaw and the rows of razor sharp teeth that lined the rest of his mouth.

He was strong, he would be the strongest. He licked his lips in anticipation. He could almost taste it.