Better idea

The cave was dark, its vast walls swallowing the flickering torchlight and stretching into a shadowed abyss.

The air inside was heavy, stale, and tinged with the metallic scent of blood.

The horde of Orcs and Ogres had stumbled in, panting and injured, their massive frames huddled together in exhaustion.

Deep gashes marred their limbs, jagged wounds oozing thick blood that pooled slowly on the cold stone floor.

Every heavy breath they took echoed against the stone walls like low, mournful groans.

For a time, there was only silence—a crushing, oppressive silence—broken only by the faint whimpering of a wounded Orc who clutched his bleeding side.

A single torch was thrust into the ground, its flame sputtering weakly as if it, too, might die out at any moment.

Then, one of the larger Ogres stepped forward, his footsteps booming like distant thunder.