I tugged at the camel's reins.
We ascended to the peak of the dune and took a look below.
On a stretch of a barren terrain, around forty Orcs were battling against about twenty people who looked to be mercenaries and merchants.
The Orcs were at least two metres tall with brown skin and rippling muscles. Besides some dirty rags covering their important bits, the entirety of their attire consisted of clubs made out of wood or bones in their hands. That was about it.
Their physical prowess seemed over the top, too – when one of the Orcs took a swing with its bone club, a mercenary was flung away on his butt.
"Brown Orcs!" Damon cried out in shock before I could even say anything. "They belong to the upper tier of the Orc species, my lord. Although not as dangerous as the Red Orcs, they are still known to be quite vicious."
"Oh, really?"
I was about to summon a musket, but belatedly stopped myself.
We were in Aslan. A kingdom that legalised Necromancy.