Orcish Female Bandit Chief (Fantasy Creatures)
From Create Your Own Story
Your name is Ishma Blood-Bringer. You're quite tall, especially compared to humans. You stand at the Amazonian height of seven-foot-six, a size that dwarfs even a large number of males of your species. You have long, black hair threaded into thick dreadlocks. Over the years since you took charge of the Blood-Bringers, you've garnered strength, respect, fear and dread. You've managed to achieve half of that with your beastly shape alone, and the rest through your equally beastly actions. Your body is quite chiselled, and rather brutish. You've also got a nice collection of scars across it, pale green against your dark-green skin. You wear armour befitting your rank among your peers, steel plate with painted swirls of blood red. It makes you look like some sort of a knight, though you're anything but. In fact, the knight who once owned the armour was slain by none other than yourself.
You sit upon a throne of sorts, in a large opening within a cave. You own everything around you, from the ground beneath your feet to the mighty ogre Sammy to your left. Even your fellow bandits may as well belong to you. Even the mightiest orcs among you wouldn't dare to challenge your ruthless leadership. You brought the Blood-Bringers to glory and riches, to fame and notoriety. Not to mention, your ten-foot pet ogre would rip them to pieces if they laid so much as a finger on you.
Before you is a young elven woman. She's bound in chains, and kneeling at your feet. Her captors inform you that she was the sole survivor of a caravan raid of theirs. They want your permission to keep her as a trophy. As you're about to give them your verdict, the woman spits at you.
"I'd rather die!" she screeches.
One of her captors, a fellow orc, yanks her chain, pulling on her wrists painfully. He smiles, clearly enjoying it. She scowls back at him. You wipe her spittle from your armoured chest.
Do you…
