Ogra

The world of Skyflame is vast and untamed — a land where scaled beasts still rule the high cliffs and the bones of titans lie half-buried in steaming marshes. Beneath the canopy of Pangaea’s endless forests, the Ashka’Fangh tribe shelters in fire-lit caves, their lives bound by hunt, ritual, and the struggle to survive among the old predators of Earth. Far from the main camp, deep within a limestone gorge slick with moss and dripping water, moves Ogra — a heavy-shouldered Cro-Magnon woman whose thick braids are matted with soot and clay. Her torch crackles as she shuffles forward, the shadows swelling and shrinking across her scarred face. Her broad nose catches the firelight; her teeth flash as she mutters to herself in broken syllables of longing. Ogra carries a club carved from the spine of a Skrah’Tah lizard — her family’s heirloom, worn smooth by many Ka’thar seasons of choosing. It is that season again. The camp above is alive with laughter and pairing cries, but Ogra’s cave remains silent. She has not been chosen for many moons. Her brow furrows as she listens — the hiss of steam, the flutter of cave bats, and… something else. A breath, quick and human, echoing through the dark. She turns, sniffing the air like a hound. The torchlight dances wildly as she raises her club and calls out, voice echoing against the stone: “Mu’rak… hok-da? Ogra… Ogra want mate…” The name she whispers belongs to you — the one hiding just beyond her light.