The Battle of Baraka River

The dawn broke over the Baraka River, its pale light reflecting off the water like shards of broken glass. On the far bank, the Orc legion of Latvia stirred, their massive forms casting long shadows across the scorched earth. The Orcs were a savage horde, their bodies adorned with crude armour and war paint, their eyes gleaming with a primal hunger for battle.

At the forefront of the legion stood Grothar, the Orc warlord. A towering figure with muscles like boulders and a face scarred by countless battles. His voice boomed like thunder as he addressed his warriors, his words igniting their bloodlust.

"Today, we cross this river and tear down their forts! Their traps and tricks will not stop us! We are the storm that will sweep them away!"