Garrok Ironblood ground his heavy tusks together, the sound a low, grating vibration in the back of his throat.
He was a creature built entirely for the frontline. His massive, eight-foot-tall frame was thick with the dense, almost metallic muscle of the Orc lineage. The glowing, aetheric brand of the 4th Hero of the Sovereign Imperium was seared into his left pauldron, a permanent testament to his divine bond with the Forge Domain. He was a siege engine made of flesh and bone.
And currently, he was sitting entirely motionless on the wooden bench of a merchant wagon, wearing a suffocatingly heavy woolen cloak to hide his silhouette.
Four thousand tons, Garrok thought, his mind latching onto the macro-mathematics of the operation to keep himself grounded.
