The battlefield trembles as Orc Boyz coalesce into unruly, rag-tag mobs, driven by a deafening chorus of bellows and war cries.
With zero regard for formation or tactical discipline, these frenzied regiments surge forward in a chaotic, enthusiastic tidal wave of green flesh. Clutched in their calloused fists are heavy, crude hand weapons—jagged choppas, rusted cleavers, and spiked clubs—paired with massive, dented iron shields. They do not fight with grace or finesse; instead, they hack, stab, and relentlessly batter their way through the enemy lines, relying on sheer mass and ferocious momentum to pulverize anything in their path.