[CHAR] Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi - The Orcish Mercenary Saga

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Bio

Instructions

- Using the provided template, please create a character sheet.
- Post only character sheets here. All other talk goes to the OOC.

Character Sheet

Name:
Age: Orcs are fully mature by 14, and die at around 50-ish. 70 is considered ancient.
Sex: In tribal orcish society, females are subordinate. In the Company, it's a different story, though the old sexist attitudes do sometimes find expression.
Breed: The company accepts anything with orcish blood, including 'halfies.'

Appearance:

Skills/Abilities:- Please list with most potent skills first. 
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Equipment:- Typical company equipment includes half-plate, heavy, and chainmail with a helmet, either open-faced with a nasal or visored, a falchion and/or an axe (one or two handed) and some sort of dagger. The plate may involve spikes, fur, skulls and other 'decoration' keeping in with the orcish tradition and the helmets are often also embellished. Your characters, however, are elites within the organization, so the standards are different and they have a lot of discretion about what they carry/wear into battle.
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History:(You can invent a tribe, name regions and countries and cities and so forth to pull this one off, but most important is how they came to Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi and where they served in the unit.)


Personality and Psychological profile:Be sure to relate this to the character's history; the history ought to explain the character's outlook anyway.


Relationships and Acquaintances:Perhaps some of the characters know one another, list those acquaintances here. Talk to each other in the OOC about it.

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Bio

Name:: Dakgu Elf-Scalper
Age:: 24
Sex::Male
Breed:: Full-blooded orc, mother was an outcast from the Cha-yesh tribe, father unknown warrior of the Graldak.

Appearance: Flat-nosed and high forehead, green-gray skin. He wears his hair in a topknot, and otherwise remains dressed in a cuirass of leather with metal plates riveted the inside, though his is decorated with furs and spikes of bone, which serve a further purpose besides decoration. Most of the time, he goes bare-armed into the fight, while wearing a pair of ratty brown trousers and fur boots, not being much a worrier after fashion. Notably, Dakgu has a cleft palate, which makes him even less attractive to the humans. It splits his upper lip. His ears are the typical pointed and splayed-out arrangement of orcish ears, though he wears an intricately wrought golden ring through one-- that being a battlefield trophy of his most infamous hunt. Dakgu is of only average height and build for an orc.

Skills/Abilities:- Animal empathy, specifically with wargs – Dakgu was raised with a pack of wargs, and they consider him one of them and he considers them family; his pack is the part of the breeding stock for Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi . He might not speak tongues very well, but he can growlingly communicate with wargs.
- Tracking. Dakgu is an infamously talented tracker.
- Archery – as many a human with a price on their head, as well as the ranger Myrmith Tinuviel, found out, Dakgu is surprisingly good with a bow. See below for details
- Stealth and movement in the wild – Dakgu is a master of camouflage, able to paint himself or decorate himself with grasses, bark, mud and leaves. He crawls like a snake, climbs like a squirrel and...well, all that.
- Poultices, herbs and natural cures – He is the go-to veterinarian of the Company, as he knows ways to bring down swelling and cure fevers with natural remedies.
- Damn good forager – Dakgu learned to feed himself and a pack of hungry wargs with his bow. He knows lures, bait, traps and the whole shebang. Knowing what mushrooms can be eaten and which frogs aren't poisonous is always an asset among voracious eaters like orcs.
- Fletching – Dakgu learned a long time ago to make his own arrows. He's picky.
- Speech impediment – Dagku has a hard time speaking.
- Visible deformity – Cleft palate.


Equipment:- Leather with metal plates riveted to the inside of the armor. He wears padding under that to keep it from chafing. It has bone spikes attached to parts of it which allow him to attach strips of cloth or wildlife to it to further break himself up against the foliage.
- Longbow, orcish. That means it's thicker than a human or elven bow, with a considerable draw power. Most orcs are indifferent shots, but Dakgu is an exception to that rule. While some orcs consider bows to be 'fairy weapons' the Tuskers of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi are generally well trained...and that is partially due to the likes of Dakgu in the ranks.
- Axe; Dakgu prefers a bearded axe for fighting, something that can smash through shields or doors or whatever. A sword only has one use, but an axe has many.
- Knives; he keeps a couple of these handy.
- Belt pouches and the like; he wears a couple belts wrapped around his waist with his survival needs attached – dried food, fishhooks, rope, line, climbing claws, etc, etc. He manages to keep it fairly light, and doesn't tote around some silly backpack like others do.


History:Dakgu was born to Virda Wargkeeper of the Cha-Yesh, a tribe destroyed by the Graldak tribe some years ago. His mother bore him after the surviving the rape and being left for dead, and raised him among the pack of wargs she cared for. They made a living on the outskirts of human and orcish society as Virda plied her folk cures and skills with curing animals to those few humans that would let an orc near their livestock or orc tribes that would pay her a pittance for her considerable skills. She managed to scrape by on grit and her skills.

Dakgu was probably better off that way – he was born with a deformity, a cleft palate, that would have seen him killed in among the tribes of the orcs, whereas Virda raised him lovingly, for an orc, and the wargs didn't care if he couldn't speak the tongues very well. As he grew older, he became an accomplished hunter and trapper, supplementing his mother's gathering efforts, by bringing meat to the table as they moved from place to place. They tended not to stay in one area too long lest the locals decide that the local orcs and their unnatural monster-wolf pack were the cause of every deformed calf birth and bad crop in the area.

Despite these precautions, his mother was killed by humans bandits; they got her and her warg when they were foraging in the badlands between tribal lands of the Graldak and the city of Urkesh, a human settlement.

In Urkesh, no one was willing to bestir themselves for one dead orc wench and her monster-wolf, but they were willing to pay gold for the bandits, who were a plague on the area. Killing the bandits was vengeance and profit; Dakgu's first blood and his way into bounty hunting. While a fourteen year old human boy would be considered too young, at fourteen, an orc was all grown up. He spent several years hunting scalps and moving from place to place with the warg pack that he now cared for by himself – they assisted in trailing the quarry and were fed their horse, whereas he took their scalps and equipment and sold both back to humans in varying settlements. He was good at his job, able to track quarry, move silently and kill precisely, using his warg pack when it became necessary. As an orc, he always worked alone, for none would partner with him, a state of affairs that only honed his self-reliance. Despite his abilities, he was often mocked for his speech impediments and his employers often tried to cheat him, assuming him simple in the head. Betimes, he had to kill or maim a local mayor or sheriff to make his point about being paid fully for work done.

The most notorious bounty he ever pursued was no human, but the mad, renegade elven ranger Myrmith Tinuviel, a renowned archer and magic user of centuries worth of experience who had decided to wage war on the human towns of the Veldaron reach, starting with the killing of poachers but moving onto merchants, travelers and any that strayed into his range.

The hunt lasted three months wherein the two skirmished constantly; the ranger Myrmith would strike, and then Dakgu would track. Eventually, Dakgu gave up on chasing the man and laid bait of his own, trailing a caravan of loggers into the forests in secrecy, waiting for the elf to strike. 

But when the elf struck, he didn't trail him. He let the ranger and his animal companions strike, slaughter the human loggers and plunder them for supplies. He trailed the ranger from a distance, learning his habits and his methods and what he did when he wasn't waging a one-knife-ear war against anything that came into his forest. By the time Dakgu had a very good idea of how the elven ranger operated, the human baron of Veldaron added a considerable bounty onto the head of Myrmith Tinuviel. A number of hunters were drawn into the region.

Dakgu hired himself as a guide and took them into the forest. These men scorned the orc with the speech impediment, ignored his advice and were brash, all of which made them very good bait. When Myrmith came for them, Dakgu managed to disappear. Using his knowledge of the elf's methods, he tracked down the elf and fought a running battle where one might assume that the orc might get the worst of it, being a stupid orc. Days of moving, ambushing and fighting, of laying traps and killing the animals and spirits the elf sent against Dakgu and his pack were not enough to finish the fight. In the end, the Orc had to rely on something else: the unexpected.

The orcish bounty hunter surprised even the elf with the last possible ploy that any haughty knife-ear would expect from a brute orc – the orc used his intelligence and knowledge to get the better of the elf and trapped him in a snare, shot him through the chest thrice, and took his ears and scalp for proof, along with all his possessions. When he presented these things to the Baron of Veldaron, he was promptly paid and promptly banished, the typical attitude of haughty bunny lords toward hired orcish help.

But by then, Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi, along with many others, had heard of Dakgu Elf-Scalper.

He served in the pikes for a time, as all do, in order to learn the new way of war, but it came easily to Dakgu. He'd worked with his pack for so long that he understood that he had a job within a larger framework. It seemed surprising that a formerly independent, hardscrabble hunter-gatherer would easily integrate into the company, but he seemed to find a niche – he was quickly moved into the Wargs as the head keeper of the beasts, the one that knew their needs and habits the best of any in the company, and the one that a tusker had to answer to if there was anything amiss in the treatment of the warg. A couple times in the Pikes he was given shit for his deformity and speech problems, but a knife to the balls and a promise to take their scalps was enough to settle a couple of the young, dumb ones out.


Personality and Psychological profile:Dakgu doesn't have much use for society, but he was tired of being alone when old Radush Eye-Drinker sought him out as a recruit into the company; he joined in the first year and has been with the unit for for four years total. His experiences of civilization have left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and he considers himself an outcast, and the Company a band of such. But within the company, he tends to watch people carefully and say little, since he can't speak all that well anyway. As a result, he seems calm, but the reality is that he's easily as angry as any orc – but he burns cold and mean, taking bloody and final vengeance on things that mess with him or his wargs, who are what he considers his actual family. He puts his blankets in the pen with them every night and trims claws and digs out ticks. He relished being a bounty hunter, because he got paid to kill bunnies, and now he's part of a mercenary unit being paid even more gold to kill even more bunnies.
Relationships and Acquaintances:Dakgu's non-Wargish socializing is limited, and he somewhat prefers it that way.
Name: Koloch the Butcher, but most people just call him 'Drillmaster' and that title counts for something in the company.
Age: 34
Sex: Male
Breed: Half-Orc

Appearance: Koloch is a good near seven feet of muscle and fearsome power, with a flat nose, very little hair and dark skin. He has no idea what stock he is of, and there's some speculation in the camp about his orcish lineage. In most circumstances, he wears a very well-wrought suit of armor that is impossibly thick for a human to move well in, but like any tusker in these suits, he's alright with it. Outside the armor, he wears the padded underclothing that allows him to put on the armor.  

Skills/Abilities:- Human knight training - Koloch knows how to fight like the bunnies and mated his natural strength to the discipline of steel. 
- Halberds - Koloch's a specialist with the weapon and prefers it in a fight. As far as he's concerned a halberd will get you through in just about any situation, except on wargback...or even on wargback, when you get right down to it.
- Tourney Champion - Got a bunny that thinks real highly of himself and is flashing his sword around and issuing a poetic challenge to personal combat? Send Koloch. 
- Loud lungs - Koloch usually is quiet for an orc but he can send his voice across a battlefield's clash and clangor.


Equipment:- One suit of human-wrought armor, a rarity even in this company, to orcish size and strength. This was one he's had since he finished puberty, and it is painted a dark red over black lacquering, with the addition, over the years, of mythical monstrosities to the greaves and gauntlets,to the pauldron and gorget, and similar. Koloch walks into a fight with a gallery of gargoyles leering and medusae sneering, and a helmet that has horns atop it. He adds a spike here and there to keep in with the fashion of the company. 
- One company issue sword, big and cleaver-like, strapped to his belt by a hook on the pommel but left unsheathed.
- Sometimes a shield, a thick, scarred monstrosity.
- His halberd, with a scarred, studded, worn-smooth haft. Occasionally, he has to replace the haft with a likely candidate from the company stocks, but the company does its best to maintain a supply of extremely quality wood for that purpose, seeing as the company uses pikes, bows and halberds.


History:Whatever the circumstances of Koloch's family were, the long and short of it was that he was found somewhere by a human woman of noble birth. He was taken in as an oddity, a pet and even raised as a child by this woman in a castle, and she was a bit of a buffer between Koloch (that wasn't his name at the time) and the rest of the world, the cruelty of it toward orcs. 

That didn't mean it was precisely easy as he grew faster than other kids his age and was isolated from them. All the same, perhaps realizing what he was in for eventually, this human woman sent him to the castle's master of arms, a man named Sigmund. To the public that was Sigmund Shieldbreaker, one of the fiercest champions of his time, also known for breaking his charges. He didn't break Koloch, and molded him into a better fighter.

Needless to say, the young orc found a home and solace in the training of Sigmund. Meanwhile, his mother, a spinster, grew ill and he tended to her when he wasn't learning to fight.

It wasn't to last; his mother succumbed and the lands went to a distant relation that wanted nothing to do with Koloch. Koloch took service as a caravan guard and mercenary to eke a living as he could, though often paid less. In wartime, fighting as a free sword, he prospered from the plunder and his prowess. In peacetime, he sought out tourneys that would have him and fought ferociously. Ironically, being a 'bestial orc' made for an interesting matchup and his matches racked up gold from the novelty. That led to more tourneys being willing to consider the orc in the foot lists (he was no jouster).

Sigmund's training was thorough. He was a surprisingly analytic duelist, with an eye toward weakness that also gave him the appreciation for it on the battlefield. His attempts to reach out to other orcs in the tribal lands were somewhat disastrous. He found, quickly, that orcish society was not for him and he was a halfie besides.

In due time, Koloch attached himself to the warband of Radush Eyedrinker, who was already an orc of dark renown and a thinker under all that. Their conversations, along with the input of others, turned toward how to get the best use out of the positive attributes of orcs. Ferocity, raw strength, aggression. How to temper these things into a fighting formation that would work. Koloch, a veteran of battles, introduced the idea that they train them all as pikemen first, forced to rely upon one another and hold firm.

As the company built up, Koloch had more business as one of Radush's toughest drillmasters. It wasn't sufficient that the company could fight. They needed to be able to march, move together and otherwise work as a unit if they were to survive at all. They had to be better than the humans and, even then, they'd still have to continually fight and strive for what little they earned, with no guarantee that they'd be paid without forcing the matter.

When there is a fight, his place tends to be at Radush's right hands - Koloch has a loud set of lungs and a ferocious eye, and it means he's useful for relaying orders as well as keeping enemies off the Eyedrinker so the old warlord can keep giving those orders.


Personality and Psychological profile:Koloch is calm for an orc, but it's all a facade. He's dealt with years of bunnies not paying up and other employers betraying them. As a half human/half orc, he's learned the cruel lesson that both societies want little to do with him, and that's why the company is important to him. Without it, they are adrift and wanted by neither. He waits for the moment when he can cut loose, when he can just skewer some sniveling human on his halberd and give a good shake in the air that sends them flying. He's all too happy to burn down elven glades and have the wargs piss all over it. He wants to sell dwarven craftwork on the open market cheap and hear the lamentations of the women stumpies. War is his craft and his love. Koloch is fine with the idea that he will live out his life doing what he does now, and that someone else will certainly take command of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi when Radush is too old. They can count on Koloch to do what he does. He's found the closest thing to contentment that he will in this world, and it involves thumbing his nose at the rest of them. Since his strongest paternal influence was his arms master, he tends to think of himself as a paternal figure to a lot of tuskers in the company, seeing as he helped train a number of them.


Relationships and Acquaintances:Everyone knows Koloch.

Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Hank

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Bio

Name:Moordekrai, the Wailing Doom of Gash-Alsur. 
Age: 34.
Sex: Female.
Breed: Orc (with Elvish blood).

Appearance:

Tall, fierce and supremely physical, there is no doubt that Moordekrai is not your average female tribal Orc. She moves with the supple grace of a feline predator on long, formidable legs, supporting a body that is both curvaceous and muscular. She would be very attractive to any Orc if she wasn't so frightening (or perhaps that only makes it better), but her feminine wiles are probably wasted on the other races. She is possessed of an intense, piercing stare that feels like it peers effortlessly through every deception -- and indeed, it is useless to try to lie to her. 

Her dark hair is swept back and usually braided, which she gathers up and wears in a long ponytail for convenience. Unlike most of the orcs of the company, Moordekrai goes through daily life and into battle scarcely dressed, relying on her speed and powerful magic to slay her enemies. Her skin is the same shade of mottled green that most Orcs have, but her frequent bloodletting has resulted in an intricate network of scars that spiderweb across her otherwise unblemished form, especially on her arms, palms and legs. Because of her status in the Company, Moordekrai has extensive red bodypaint applied to all of her limbs in the traditional designs of her old tribe.

Skills/Abilities:- The Demon Inside: Using her indomitable will and powers of necromancy, Moordekrai has bound the incorporeal form of a demon of Hell to herself, sealed away with various invisible arcane runes (once drawn with blood) on her skin. She is at the apex of her power when she unleashes the demon; a raging, screaming monster that calls itself Ghrokesh, which takes over her body in a symbiotic half-possession that sets her form ablaze with supernatural hellfire, turns her gaze into a blinding, baleful glare that inspires terror in mortal souls (especially humans) and propels her body forward with superhuman strength and speed. When Ghrokesh is set loose, Moordekrai truly becomes the Wailing Doom, leaving only ashes in her wake. It is an extremely painful process, however, and puts Moordekrai at risk of becoming entirely possessed and consumed by Ghrokesh's power. As such, she uses it very sparingly.
- Sanguine Power: Instead, Moordekrai mostly uses blood magic in battle, a technique forbidden in most civilized societies... but Orcs have no qualms about working with someone who engages in such dark practices, entirely different from the elemental magic of the human mages or the psychokinetics and nature magic of the elves, even if it does scare the superstitious Orcs (which is almost all of them).  By spilling her own blood, she can inflict horrendous wounds on her enemies, resurrect fallen corpses to fight for her and even heal the injuries of her allies. Outside of mortal combat, she can use blood (not necessarily her own) to draw runes and diagrams with various supernatural powers; traps that turn the victim inside-out when triggered, hexes and curses that cast ill-fortune on her enemies in the battle to come and profane rituals that allow her to commune with the dead. Blood is power, and Moordekrai can revitalize herself by drinking the blood of slain enemies to sustain her use of blood magic in an extended engagement -- draining your own veins leads to fatigue, after all.
- Quick Edge: She is still an Orc, and Orcs are dangerous in close combat. Moordekrai does not wear heavy plate, nor does she carry a huge axe or a heavy blade into battle, but she is blessed with catlike reflexes (probably a result of the Elvish blood in her lineage) and is very handy with her twin daggers, used both for blood magic and simply to stab people in the face. 
- The Sight: As a hobby, she dabbles in fortune-telling with a set of small bones she carries with her wherever she goes. The accuracy of her predictions are up for debate.

Equipment:- Tribal Garb:  Moordekrai does not wear chainmail or plate armor, disliking how it restricts her movement, and she needs easy access to her skin at all times to perform blood magic in combat. As such, she is quite scantily dressed, usually wearing nothing more than a pair of boots, a fur-and-fabric top, underwear and an improvised belt of sorts around her waist. You can imagine she does not like cold weather.
- Twin Daggers: Unlike human mages who carry thick spellbooks with them wherever they go, Moordekrai only needs something with a sharp edge to perform her particular brand of magic. Her instruments of choice are a pair of long daggers, not as thick as the average Orc blade but easily as long as a human shortsword, sporting supremely sharp edges that can easily draw blood at the slightest touch. Moordekrai also uses these blades to slice her foes to death when there's no time for magic. She's skilled but outmatched against talented and experienced warriors. 
- Miscellaneous:  A pouch with a set of bones used in fortune-telling, a bag with some coins, a necklace with (what she believes to be) a protective charm made from bones and feathers, and whetting stones used to sharpen her daggers.

History:Moordekrai is last of a long line of Orc witches that lived with the Gash-Alsur tribe in the temperate southern human kingdoms. They were isolated, hiding away deep inside the wild forests and plains, and preferred to mind their own business. Moordekrai began learning her craft from her mother at a very young age, just like her grandmother had taught her mother before her, and so on, while her father ruled their tribe and remained distant. Moordekrai was gifted and took to her training immediately, despite its gruesome nature. Most Orcs are wary of magic and its practitioners but Moordekrai and her ancestors had played an important role in the tribe's history, helping defend them against human extermination campaigns and occasional skirmishes with neighboring elven conclaves. As a result, Moordekrai was raised to distrust humans and elves completely. 

When she was fifteen years old she had mastered everything her mother could teach her about blood magic but she hungered for more. The power Moordekrai wielded was like an addiction, a testament to her dangerous personality, and she sought out her grandmother who had already retired as the tribe's shaman and now lived in solitude deep in the forest. From her, Moordekrai learned even more; forbidden techniques, even by the Orcish tribes, that Moordekrai's mother was never taught. Her grandmother, however, saw the hungry spark in her grandchild's eyes and knew that Moordekrai would not rest until she knew everything she could. Wary at first, but with growing enthusiasm, she taught Moordekrai how to commune with Hell's demons and how to use their power for herself, curious to see in the twilight of her life what her grandchild could do with such power. This was much more difficult material than blood magic, however, and it took Moordekrai almost a decade of secret training (in between her other duties to the tribe) to finally master the necessary spells.

Not one for caution, Moordekrai found a secluded spot in the woods and began the ritual of binding, determined to steal a demon's power. She does not remember much of what happened, but the end result is that she successfully captured a demon's spirit and bound it to herself, using so much of her own blood to draw the corrupt runes that it almost killed her. The next thing she knew was that the forest was on fire all around her and the ground beneath her feet was charred to coal, as if a violent explosion had taken place. The inferno raged for days, hungrily making its way westwards on the summer winds towards the lands occupied by one of the human kingdoms. They suffered for it; a significant portion of their harvest was lost and several villages destroyed, displacing thousands of people. The human king was quick to pin the blame on the Gash-Alsur tribe, who they had begrudgingly tolerated, and the kingdom's armies marched out to destroy them.

It was a massacre. The tribe was completely unprepared for the assault and the humans put every Orc to the sword that they could find. Moordekrai, recovered from the ritual, joined the desperate defense and used Ghrokesh's power for the first time that day. She was a terror on the field, ablaze from head to toe in incandescent hellfire, sending humans running for their lives with so much as a glance, but the unnatural rage of the demon was almost impossible to control and Moordekrai found herself chasing a battalion of fleeing humans deep into the woods while the rest of the king's armies slaughtered her tribe behind her. 

And so the tribe of Gash-Alsur came to an end. Stories of the horrifying, screaming demon-orc spread far and wide, and Moordekrai came to be known to the humans of the southern kingdoms as the Wailing Doom. By the time she had regained control and sealed the demon away again she was lost and far away from home... a home that didn't exist anymore. She made her meandering way back in confusion and exhaustion only to find nothing but death and destruction. A human in her position would have felt immeasurable grief and sorrow, but Moordekrai was an Orc, and Orcs get angry instead. She knew she could not wage a one-woman war against the human kingdom and instead traveled north with a band of Orcs from another tribe. The human king had gained a taste for slaughtering Orcs and all the southern tribes were in such great danger that many migrated away from ancestral lands they had occupied for centuries. The Orcs she traveled with told her of a newly found Orcish mercenary company that would definitely take her on, Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi, and Moordekrai decided to follow their advice.

She has been with the company ever since, becoming one of its most valuable members, advising Radush Eye-Drinker on all things magical and channeling her simmering, sulphuric wrath into keeping the soldiers in line -- if there's something scary at the front, put something scarier at the back, and few things scared the Tuskers more than Moordekrai and her lethal blood magic. "Don't wake the demon" became a common saying among Pikers... for obvious reasons. When the Chosen were first formed Moordekrai became a founding member and, like the rest of the Company, she is eager to dive into battle against bunnies and knife-ears alike to prove her worth.

Personality and Psychological profile:Moordekrai is a dangerous, fierce and unpredictable sorceress that commands fear and respect in all those she meets. Her anger at having her whole tribe slaughtered and her inborn lust for power have combined to make her a terrifying she-Orc who never backs down from a challenge and does not take shit from anyone. One of the first things the Pikers often learn about discipline is not to insult Moordekrai for being a female, as doing so could be a potentially lethal mistake. 

She has deliberately cultivated that imago and takes pleasure in inspiring fear among the other Tuskers -- not to dominate them, but to make them stronger in battle. Once they fear her, bunny knights in full plate don't seem so bad at all. On the other hand, she has no close friends or companions. The closest thing is her advisory role to Radush Eye-Drinker, but even he is wary of the blood witch. Now that she's getting on in age, Moordekrai might begin to finally crave companionship after all. Not that she'd ever admit it.

Relationships and Acquaintances:Nothing yet.

Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Tybalt Capulet

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Tybalt Capulet

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Bio

Name: Shragatch "Old Shrag" Gorehook
Age: 45
Sex: Male
Breed: Full-Orc

Appearance: Smaller than the average orc, both in height and build. Barely six feet tall, in part due to a slightly hunched back. He also lacks the imposing bulk that most of his kinsmen have. Stringy black hair hangs in a rough knot at the back of his head, and his tusks are chipped and yellowed with age. One eye is slightly rheumy. Left hand was lost in combat, and has been replaced with a bladed hook, which is fastened on with leather straps wrapping to the elbow.

Skills/Abilities:
- Seasoned Veteran: Shragatch has been fighting since his youth, and carries with him a wealth of experience that makes up for his underwhelming stature and aging body. He's survived more fights than most Orcs will ever see, and it is by no accident that he is still fighting at his rather advanced age.
- Field-medic: While he generally uses this skill to care for himself, Shrag is well-versed in field-medicine, and can easily perform such tasks as splinting, setting, and cauterizing.
- Close-combat: While in his earlier years he fought with a pike, though having lost a hand, he now favors the combination of a sickle-like hook and dagger. The two weapons are used in tandem to disarm (hook) an opponent, then strike a weak point (dagger).
- Herbalism: While by no means an apothecary, Shrag knows his plants, and is perfectly capable of creating poultices to aid in his medicine, or poisons to clear out a chain of succession. His knife is treated with the latter.
- Nimbleness: While not significantly so, Shrag is lighter on his feet than could be reasonably expected, a misconception that he very much takes advantage of.

Equipment:
- Scale maile
- Hook prosthetic and poisoned dagger
- Simple metal helm with leather neck-guard
- Herbalist's bag
- Sling and stones

 
History:
Shragatch was born to the Gorehammers (Zor-Kokan), a nomadic Orc clan. Fought in the Pikes, like any other young Orc. In this position, he learned quickly the balance of inconspicuous survival. Never the strongest in a warband, yet also never weak enough to catch the eye of a warleader as a slacker or incompetent. Throughout his youth, he fought skillfully in the Pikes, and if not for his diminutive stature and distaste for leadership and authority figures, could very well have been picked for promotion.

Eventually, the unthinkable happened. On a routine maneuver, Shragatch lost his left hand to a Dwarven axe. As a Pikeorc, this made him incapable of wielding his primary weapon, and almost certainly destined him to serve with the Campers for the rest of his days. This was, in his eyes, not an acceptable option. At the first opportunity, he joined up with a small gang of mercenaries, and ran with them for a few years, biding his time and growing more capable with his one hand. His dagger eventually found its place in the squadleader's back when he decided that he was through with the small band, and he came to Radush Eye-Drinker's squad: Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi. His long years of experience, cunning nature, and passable skills as a field-medic didn't do much for rank in the company, but they made him an excellent candidate for the elite group.

Personality and Psychological profile:
If one word had to be used to describe Shragatch, it would be "cunning". He never gives more effort than is needed, but also keeps a constant vigil over those around him, assessing them, studying their strengths and weaknesses, judging how best to take advantage of his peers. This is his greatest strength, and has not grown weaker with age. He excels as an advisor, strategist, or simply at being underestimated just enough to strike at the opportune moment. 

Shrag also holds quite an elevated opinion of himself. He's sharper than the average Orc, and well aware of it, which has helped him to survive longer than most of his peers, and his constant efforts at manipulation give him an overinflated opinion of himself. He's nearly convinced that no other orc can rival his scheming, and he has plenty of little threads in place to keep him safe should emergency strike.

Relationships and Acquaintances:
To be established.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by vietmyke

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vietmyke

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vietmyke

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Source: Dmitry Prozorov

Name:Gormac the Bloodhound
Age:20
Sex:Male
Breed:Orcish

Appearance:
Gormac is smaller than most full-blooded orcs; he's thin with a rather lanky build- at least compared to orcish standards. Standing in at 6'4", Gormac possesses a lean and sinewy musculature with ashen green, almost gray skin. His black-gray hair is coarse and tough and pulled behind his head and kept in place by a band, and he wears a rough beard over his chin. He has three red streaks painted across his face, reminiscent of a claw mark or a gash from talons. Gormac forgoes chainmail in his armor, wearing a combination of hardened leather with metal plates affixed to it, and softer leather where his joints are. A warg pelt is draped over his shoulders, with the skull affixed to his left shoulder- which faces his enemy when he draws his bow.

Skills/Abilities:Tracking - Called the 'Bloodhound' for a reason, Gormac is a predator of predators. Rumored to be able to pinpoint the scent of a human from over a mile away, Gormac uses a combination of extremely keen senses, and predictive reasoning to root out his quarry. If the Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi need something or someone to be found, followed, and killed- Gormac's the one to turn to.
Archery - More than just marksmanship, but the ability to continually draw massive orcish bows and consistently hit targets. Through his years of training Gormac has considerable strength and endurance- and is regularly among the sharpest shooters in the company.
Trapping - A subset of tracking, but equally important, Gormac's keen eyes and hunter's training means he is capable of spotting and disarming traps meant for the company that some of the others may not see. With enough logic and deductive reasoning to disarm most traps, Gormac is generally able to at least estimate the general effective area of traps outside his skill level to disarm. He is also able, to an extent set up his own crude traps, for game and human alike- not that there's much difference between the two. His preferred traps are the simple but effective 'bear trap'.
Swordsmanship - Not unused to melee combat, and having had his training with the 'pikes, as well as other members of the Company, Gormac is fairly good with a sword. While he may not be the fastest, or strongest, or most clever melee combatant of the Company, he can still hold his own with the other members of the Chosen.
Fletching - Gormac fletches arrows in his own time- good busy work for the hands. He marks his arrows with bands of white on the shaft so he can collect them later.
First Aid - Armed with a variety of poultices, herbs, wraps, and other small supplies, Gormac isn't a surgeon but he can keep himself or others from dying from an wound or cut.


Equipment:
Leather Armor - Gormac forgoes noisy clinky chainmail for a thick set of tough leather with layers of metal plates woven between layers of leather. Not unlike a brigandine, but with more layers. Underneath the stiffer cuirass, Gormac wears softer padded cloth and leather for some means of protection. Draped over his shoulders as the fur of a Warg, with its skull on his left shoulder.
Falchion - More akin to a crude military cleaver than a man's sword, Gormac's falchion is heavy and tough piece of shit, meant to crush and cleave its way through armor and bone alike.
Recurved Longbow - A recurving longbow or orcish make, this bow is bigger than human equivalents by far, and at full draw delivers enough force to knock a man off his horse. With its considerable draw force, this bow can send even Gormac's heaviest arrows at blinding speeds.
Gormac's Quiver, 40 arrows - While Gormac will used arrows supplied to him by the Company in battle, he shows a preference for using his own arrows in small unit or individual actions. Gormac's personal arrows are heavier than most, sturdy wooden shafts with barbed arrowheads- the barbs at the end of the arrowhead make pulling the arrow out the way it came just as excruciating as pushing it all the way through. Gormac marks his arrows with white bands on the shaft so he can locate them and retrieve them later.
Kukri Knife - a weapon with an inward curving blade, this orcish weapon is closer in size to a shortsword than a dagger. There's a human saying that the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach, Gormac generally finds this statement to be true- and the curve of this blade makes that job all the more easier.
Supply Pack - A small pack affixed to the small of his back affords Gormac with much of what he needs in the field. Whetstones for maintaining weapons and arrows, a waterskin, a small knife for fletching, a roll of bandages and some poultices, some rations, rope, flint, and the like.
Bear Traps - Affixed to his pack are a pair of bear traps- crude circular things with rusty jagged teeth and a pressure plate in the middle. Gormac's first attempt at making these traps snapped a most mens' leg clean off- especially the skinny daisy-eating ones, no good for actually trapping the bastards, so Gormac has toned the strength of these traps down just a notch- broken bones are inevitable, but the leg will still be stuck.


History:
Gormac was born a member of a tribe of mountain orcs in the north- the Spine Mountains. The Spine Mountain orc tribes were rather peaceful peaceful ones by orcish standards- there weren't a lot of humans that wandered up the wilderness of the Spines so there wasn't much killing of 'civilized folk' to be had. Skirmishes with other tribes were fairly commonplace, and taking slaves were the general order of business. Gormac's family were among the lower rungs of the tribe's society, and so he did a lot of the grunt work- hunting, gathering, and securing food for the rest of the tribe while they did all the fighting. Gormac's family were slaves, they would fight for one tribe, be beaten and taken by another bigger, meaner tribe, and then fight for that tribe before they were beaten and taken by another, even bigger, even meaner tribe. Of his half dozen siblings, Gormac was the only one to make it to the age of 8.

As Gormac reached adulthood, life continued on as normal- he hunted, food, and at times fought other orc tribes. As humans and more civilized people began to move closer to the Spine Mountains, setting up small villages and townsteads, conflict with humans, elves, and more 'civilized' peoples became more commonplace. Hunters venturing into the rich forests of the Spine Mountains would come across Orc tribes, and would either shoot, or be shot at. Lumberjacks and farmers clearing land for farms would get spooked by the Orc tribes and flee screaming bloody murder. A small militia would occasionally in response venture into the mountains to root out the source of the Orcs. Occasionally they would beat back a small tribe or hunting party, but usually they got scared off after losing a few men.

Around the age of 14 is when Gormac's life experienced any noticeable change. Gormac's hunting party had strayed too far from the mountains tracking down prey, and came upon a mixed band of humans, elves and dwarves- self styled as 'adventurers'. These 'adventurers' took the Orc hunting party as their call to action, to save the nearby town of its scourge of raiders. After a short, but bloody conflict, the adventurers, armed with magic and steel, managed to defeat Gormac and his small hunting party. Left for dead, and covered in too much blood and gore to find his way anywhere, Gormac dragged himself aimlessly across the ground, somehow reaching the edge of the woods before losing consciousness. 

When he came too, Gormac found himself in tent belonging to the Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi. His wounds had for the most part been patched and treated. In that tent he found himself face to face Drillmaster Koloch "the Butcher", who noted that he had watched a bloody and beaten Gormac drag himself almost a mile along the edge of the woods before passing out. That sort of drive, and will to survive is something Koloch found worthy of saving, and honing into a tool of war for the Company. So, with little else to lose, and with a glowing recommendation as any from the Drillmaster himself, Gormac found himself dressed in plate and pike, and thrust into the center of the Pikes, the Company's training grounds.

Gormac would prove to be one of Koloch's favorites- that is favorites to beat down and ridicule. Sometimes with words, usually with fists, clubs, and the like. Gormac, like many orcs, proved to be particularly hard headed and resistant to the Company's strict and more regulated manners. After a few years of getting his skull bashed in, Gormac eventually found his stride and finished his tour in the Pikes. He was quickly moved to the Spikes due to his keen eye and original role as a hunter. 

Here Gormac really came into his own. He was excellent as part of the Spikes, he could shoot faster, more accurately, and for longer than most Spikes recruits, and his skill as a scout and woodsman became a defining trait of his- leading to him being named Koloch's Bloodhound (which was eventually shortened to just the Bloodhound). During his three years in the Spikes, Gormac was elevated to the role of subleader, under his Warleader, for his excellent tracking abilities, as well as sharp shooting skills. He would eventually be picked out by Koloch to join the ranks of the Chosen.

Having only been a part of the Chosen for a relatively small amount of time, Gormac is one of the newest members of the Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi's Chosen.


Personality and Psychological profile:
Sullen and brooding, Gormac isn't as loud as most orcs, and makes his presence known through sheer force of personality. Gormac is strong willed to the point of stubbornness, and in his earlier years in the Company had been beaten down more than once for refusing to obey orders. Experience and beatings have long since eroded any sense of insubordination, and while Gormac may doubt and question orders, he still carries them out to the fullest of his abilities. Gormac is fiercely loyal to both the Company, as well as Drillmaster Koloch in particular, whom he respects unconditionally. Though a bit of a grump, Gormac embodies the Company's esprit de corps and is more talkative in smaller settings or with those he's had more experience with. He views magic and sorcery with suspicion and unease, and is often visibly uncomfortable when magic is used in his vicinity.


Relationships and Acquaintances:TBA

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Byrd Man

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Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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Byrd Man

El Hombre Pájaro

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Bio

Character Sheet

Name: Bogugh aka "Boom Boom"
Age: 22
Sex: Male
Breed: Full blood Orc.

Appearance:

Source

Skills/Abilities:- Please list with most potent skills first. 

- Sapper - Boom Boom is skilled at building and destroying (mostly destroying) things in the heat of combat
- Orc-Fried Genius - With spit, dirt, and a strong curse word Boom Boom can rig improvised weapons and items. 
- Sneaky Sneaky - When not in actual battle, Boom Boom's preferred method of combat involves sneak attacks and dirty blows. 
- Four Finger Discount - Years of playing with fire and explosives has left Boom Boom lacking in the finger department.

Equipment:-  Boom Boom's combat attire is chainmail armor and pants. His helmet is open faced with a chinstrap and a single spike on top. The spike is the red. Scrawled across the helmet in red paint are the Orcish words for "Born to Die."
- For battle he carries a one-handed battle axe and shield, both with the ability to be strapped to his backpack. A dagger attached to his belt can be used for sneaky sneaky stuff.
- As a sapper, Boom Boom carries a very large rucksack filled with equipment and supplies that he needs for his kind of work.

History:Bogugh was the youngest son of his tribe's chieftain and grew up like royalty in his small tribe's social setting. But when he was six, Bogugh's family was betrayed by another Orc who wished to rule. The chief was slain while Bogugh, his mother, and his two brothers and sister were all sold into slavery. The men were sold to a fight promoter who soon had the sons fighting in gladiatorial combats across the world. Bogugh and his two brothers worked as a team and became something of an attraction on the fighting circuit. 

On the circuit Bogugh did something that was strictly forbidden by his master: he began to learn. Every night after the fights he would learn to spell and read from a grammar book he had smuggled on to his person. Eventually his master found it and punished him for it. His punishment was not to be a physical one. Instead, Bogugh was forced to fight his two brothers to the death. In the arena, the three Orcs were unable to turn their blades against each other and instead turned them instead on their master. After butchering him in front of stunned onlookers, the three brothers ran away and began to search for a place they could hide.

That was when they found Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi. The three brothers signed up with the group and became Pikers and fought side by side. Bogugh watched his oldest brother be cut down by an arrow in battle right beside him two months after they joined the company. The two remaining brothers continued as Pikers until Bogugh became a Sapper due to his reading abilities and intelligence. Shortly thereafter his brother became a warg rider. Working with the Sappers is where Boom Boom both acquired his nickname and began the process of losing his fingers. He showed his aptitude for building and destroying, especially for destroying, takes pride in his work.

Personality and Psychological profile:

The deaths and sufferings Boom Boom has witnessed in his time alive has made him cynical about society, life, and Orcs place in it. He deals with these feelings with a type of gallows humor that hides his own anger and sadness. In terms of his job, he knows that making things go boom is what he's here to do and it's what he's good at. Boom Boom is, above all else, fatalistic. His life thus far has showed him that an Orc's life is painful and brief. The point of the company is to make sure to give some of that pain back to the world before they all die. His love of destruction plays into that. The way Boom Boom sees it, setting a house on fire or destroying a city is just letting others take part in the Orcish experience.

Relationships and Acquaintances:
A brother who is also a member of the company as a warg rider. Potential PC connection.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Samdragonx

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Samdragonx The croo broom wielder

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Samdragonx

The croo broom wielder

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Name: Tendun, dead hard. 
Age: 22. 
Sex: Male
Breed: full-blooded orc.

Appearance:
Tendun possesses long, black hair, woven in dreadlocks. Combined with a small goatee.
His red eyes are smaller than most. He has no visible nose as he lost that during an ugly fight. The holes are still there. He has an underbite that accentuates his face and drives attention away from the rest of his scarred face. He’s rather large by Tusker standards and possesses next to no bodyfat.   
The left side of his armor plate is painted red. A fur pelt covers his right arm.  It is attached to his back by bunny skulls on spikes. The spikes, in turn, are adorned by the neckbones of the bunnies.  The tip of his spikes is still showing. Indicating room for more.

Skills/Abilities:- Battle hardened – the body of this tusker has received so many beatings, it doesn’t respond too severely when something tries to wound it. Skin that’s thick enough to grab hold of a flailing sword. Only the most severe wounds put him down(for a nap).
- Battle dancer – After his years of being shot at, Tendun has learned of the value of dodging piercing weapons, like arrows, by jumping and ducking.
- 3 out of 4 senses is good enough – having lost his nose, this orc has an absolute 20/20 vision.  
- Tasty tongue – having lost the ability to smell, this orc relies on his tongue to test if something is edible. Putting various things in his mouth has led him to better identify and harvest natural resources.
- Axe flinging – seeing a big orc can be intimidating. Seeing that big orc hurl a heavy axe at you can be just as intimidating. 
- Bleeding merchants coin – Looting is important. One of the riches Tendun and his tuskers have acquired was a coin that bled. Though he keeps it on his person, Tendun is not one to let his loot slide. After spilling blood on the object it reveals the location of the treasure of the (often)killed person. It helped him find many secrets. 

Equipment:- The falchion. Tenduns favorite curve. The blade he uses most frequently to chop his way through enemy armors. Being bigger than most really gave his blade the advantage of elevating a lot of heads from their bodies. That, in turn, caused plenty of his weapons to last longer. When he holds 2 skulls and the blade in his hand, cutting off bunny arms and heads are made to become a game. A game in where he’s the rule-maker and the winning player. (Standard issue.)
- a Macuahuitl. Even though the strange teeth on the blade are not custom among tuskers. This sword has some interesting additions to it that make it bloodier than most other orcish weapons. Like the thicker blade. The heavier tip and the curve on both ends. It was one of the more ancient and heretical relics from the church of Issad. But he mostly wears it for aesthetics and the executions of “prisoners” as it has very little impact against heavy armor. 
- Full plate body armor(heavy). Tendun might be tough, but he’s most certainly not invincible. The spikes on his armor make his hugs, punches and headbutts deadly to most. As he doesn’t care much for long ranged battles, his armor allows him to move forward easily, but making turns takes longer. Thick plates and the occasional plates sliding past one another make him a great shield for any orc standing behind him.   
- 8 axes. The axes are versatile. Though they are mainly used for combat, they could serve as tools for climbing. Only smaller orcs could hope to use them for this purpose. Tendun uses them for cutting through bushes and food, to disinfect wounds and  ultimately to throw at something he can’t reach. He might use them as a last resort to save an orc in danger, but more often than not to try and break ranks and enemy morale. They are often in need of replacement.  
- Drums. As a master of discipline, Tendun carries a specific set of drums that vibrantly bring battles to life. They contain of leather, wood and a few animal tendons. Tendun doesn’t start to play these until most of the armies have commenced in battle. It serves as a reminder of the sound of the drummers. He also serves as back-up in case any drummers fall in battle.  	
- Back-pouch. Tendun is well aware that taking down strongholds can be too great a task for one orc. When the time comes, either explosives, a smaller orc or an extra battering head will make their way to the frontlines with him.


History:The tribe of the ungracefull were often praised for their hardened upbringings and large posture. Tendun fit in just fine. Though he was born son of the chief, he had a hard time understanding what that meant. He received no extra privileges. In fact, it caused him more harm than good. His tribe was overthrown for control of the Angara desert. Even as a young grunt he received plenty of beatings and was sent to do various dangerous tasks. Often it resulted in blood loss and beatings. And when the tribe waged wars, he was often sent in first. First to take the arrows, first to reach the walls, first to fall, but always last to stand.

When he was old enough to make his own earnings, he was became a sell sword for various armies. Many of his earnings went to the employers for whom he worked. But blood and blade were not enough for him. He craved more. He craved a corpus greed. He wanted honor for himself. Loot he could keep. However, after word came out that he was as cunning an orc leader as he was a businessman, many people wanted him dead. 42 assassins in a year worth of time. Seeing how he was in danger by his 1 drop of blood business policy, he’d need to seek out help and could no longer solely rely on himself. To seek out proper training and someone to temporarily replace him. He stopped meddling with human affairs and he joined Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi. All of his small business funded part of Rudash riches. Though it’s share could barely be noticed.  

His time among the Pikes was harsh. As expected, Tendun received various beatings. Not only because he failed to meet expectations, but also because he’d been so used to being in command. His will was strong and took quite some time to break. When finally he accepted discipline, he would tolerate nothing less. Often speaking up against higher ranks, specifically to get beaten again. After many beatings, he lost feeling, sense, awareness and ultimately attachment to his nose. 
This is ultimately how he ended up as a low rank grunt between the blades for a few years. But it is how the chosen got to hear of him and gave him a few useful instructions the next time he’d charge into battle head-first.


Personality and Psychological profile:He doesn’t put his nose into other people’s business and doesn’t normally challenge his commanders. No matter how ridiculous their request might sound.
He keeps his head down and follows orders as best he can. When in control, he is brutal and harsh. Countless beatings have brought about an absolute zero-tolerance mentality. Failure is not an option, the command is law and order. Eye-drinker is highest priority. No matter how you were born, you’ve got to fight your way into earning it. Once you’re certain you can overthrow someone, get just 3 extra securities to ensure your victory over them. Tendun does not care about betrayal. After all, the loot is but one blood drop away. These sum up his creed, mentality and battle-prowess.


Relationships and Acquaintances:He knows orcs that know him. He knows command when spoken to.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Dead Cruiser

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Dead Cruiser Dishonour Before Death / Better You Than Me

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Dead Cruiser

Dishonour Before Death
Better You Than Me

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Name: Morgan, the Black Orc
Age: 21
Sex: Male
Breed: Full-blood

Appearance: Homely even by Orcish standards, Morgan's face is a mess of dark scar tissue, various features pushed out of place by his bones mending crookedly. His golden eyes are beady and deep-set in his face, his black hair is kept cropped closely to his head, and his skin is a pallid grey, rather than the healthy green hue of a common Orc. He can barely breathe through his nose from being broken and scarred-over so many times, and his wide ears are torn and ragged like a feral cat's. Morgan's terrifying appearance is only exaggerated by his size, as he stands a head taller than most of his Orcish comrades, and his build is as thick and sturdy as a cast-iron cannon.

Skills/Abilities:- Hideously strong, even for an Orc.
- Wields a greatsword with tremendous skill.
- Expert warg rider.
- Experienced in ambushes, hit and run tactics, and other forms of guerilla warfare.
- An utterly tenacious bastard.

Equipment:- Dokarish (Dragon's Death): Morgan's "greatsword," which in reality is more like a massive hunk of iron beaten into the general shape of a sword. Gained its name after Morgan heroically saved his company by slaying a dragon in single combat (read: killed an alligator while he was drunk).
- Armor: Morgan is one of the few among his company to wear a full suit of plate armor, patchwork though it may be. The entire suit is painted matte black (save for his right gauntlet, painted the company's signature red) with no further adornment, and is the origin of Morgan's epitet.
-  Tomahawks: Somewhere between utility and weapons, Morgan carries about a half-dozen small, light axes balanced for throwing. When the quarters are too close for him to swing his sword, he'll take one in each hand, or they can be chucked at enemies as last-ditch weapons.
- Garikka: Morgan's warg mount, a massive beast with black fur and yellow eyes. Her name means "frequent biter," and is also an Orcish vulgarity meaning "an unpleasant woman."

History:Like many in the Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi, Morgan has no rightful claim to any Orcish tribe or clan. Like fewer, though, he was not raised by Orcs, and never knew his true-blooded parents. A human mercenary company, known as the Black Raiders, had come across the aftermath of a forest ambush in their travels. A small band of refugee Orcs had seemingly been tracked down and slaughtered by bandits for what little wealth they had. Mostly women and children, there had been no survivors, and there was practically nothing left by the bandits to pick over. Just as they started to leave the scene, the wailing of an infant could be heard. Nestled under the corpse of a Orc woman that had died protecting him, a baby Orc was found; cold, malnourished, and caked in mud and his mother's blood. The Raiders' leader, Darian Black, thought nothing of it, but his favorite girl took a liking to the small, grey creature, as her own baby had been stillborn a month prior. Darian allowed her to keep the baby for herself, thinking that it would be dead before long and would cause him no further trouble.

Darian was unfortunately proven wrong, as the young Orc repeatedly proved to be utterly unwilling to die. Named Morgan by his adoptive mother, he clung to life voraciously throughout his first few years. His human mother died of dysentery when he was five years old, but Morgan still survived, and his care was left to Darian, who was embittered by the loss of his most treasured woman. Darian Black was not a man of restraint or great emotional temperament, and so frequently took out his frustrations on Morgan, usually in the form of vicious beatings. The Orc boy endured this silently; he knew that Darian thought he was worthless, but refused to prove him right by showing weakness. Even so, Darian refused to be burdened by the little monster that had been left to him. Morgan was given a sword, and Darian trained the boy himself. The training was harsh and brutal, leaving Morgan with many scars and bruises, but he continued to endure. This was his chance to prove his worth to his "father."

For years, Morgan served Black's Raiders as both an attendant to the soldiers, and as their whipping boy, serving Darian foremost in both. On some occasions, a soldier would offer up a few coins to Darian, and Morgan would be "theirs" for the night. When he was much younger, Morgan had a certain idea of what a warrior was like, mostly from stories his mother told him. As he grew up, it was clear to him that the Raiders were far from the shining knights of these childhood tales. A savage pack of criminals and scoundrels, the Raiders were scarcely better than a band of thieves or bandits. There was no job too dirty for them, and only the most desperate or unscrupulous of benefactors hired them. Before long, Morgan had joined his father and the other Raiders on the battlefield, one of Black's Raiders in his own right. A young Orc grows faster than a human, and is stronger as well. At first Morgan was given a short sword to fight with, but this was too light and flimsy for him. He eventually scavenged a claymore as long as he was tall, and swung it around with speed that unnerved the other Raiders.

Strong in body and trained by a veteran mercenary, Morgan was surprisingly mighty in battle, but he was still young and inexperienced. In a moment of laxity in combat, Morgan allowed an enemy soldier to strike from behind him. Darian, watching, leaped forward at took the blade meant for Morgan, perhaps merely out of reflex, perhaps out of a deep-buried protective instinct toward his adopted "son." Morgan carried Darian off the battlefield, alive, but at the cost of his sword arm. Resentment grew toward Morgan in the Raiders, seeing him as a bad omen that had killed his mother and crippled his father. This resentment spread to Darian, who in a drunken rage attacked Morgan in the dead of night. He swung wildly and furiously at Morgan, yelling about his secret desire for Morgan to have died in infancy, or died with his mother, or died on the battlefield, and his deep disappointment that he had lived through all of that. A rage overtook Morgan, who had previously been only defending against his father's blows, and he struck the man down.

Before the commotion could spread further in their camp, Morgan took off in the dead of night with only his sword and armor, and a stolen horse. In the years that followed, Morgan did all he could to survive. His only skill was to swing his greatsword around, and so he took work as a mercenary in the few companies that would hire an Orc. He was frequently cheated out of money, put into suicidal missions, or left for dead, but Morgan still refused to lay down and die. When work was scarce, he stole to live, usually holding up travelers and other bandits. To disguise the color of his skin at a distance, and keep him better hidden at night, Morgan painted his armor black. There may have been another, deeper reason, but Morgan did not like to think about it. Morgan's martial prowess grew as he matured, and he found that even a greatsword was too light a blade to make sufficient use of his strength. He found a smith to forge together several blades into a single, ugly mass, and then carried around this misshapen "sword" as equal parts blade, shield and bludgeon.

In a battle against the defending forces of Castle Loren, Morgan was thrust into single combat against a great warrior, the famous Red Knight of Loren. The living ideal of the shining knights Morgan dreamed of as a child, the Red Knight saw that he was just a boy, and gave him the chance to flee. Morgan was far past the point of fleeing, and drew his sword. Their duel lasted five strokes, as Morgan shattered the Red Knight's blade with his own. The final blow ripped Morgan's helmet off his head, but he caved in the Red Knight's skull. Warriors around this duel stopped fighting for a brief moment in awe, amazed that a young Orc in black armor had killed the great Red Knight. Such began the reputation of the Black Orc.

Fame alone did not keep Morgan's belly full. He was eventually driven to steal again, this time from what he thought to be a band of Orcish refugees. As he fled into the night after raiding one of their tents, he found that he was being pursued by what sounded like giant dogs. These had been no refugees; they were outriders of the Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi. Morgan could not outrun warg riders for long, and was eventually encircled. Determined to go down fighting, Morgan killed four mounted Orcs and took the arm off another one before being felled by a poisoned arrow. Removing his helmet to claim the head of a such a worthy foe, the outriders were shocked to find that he the Black Orc. They took him back to their camp to see if he would survive the poison, watching him curiously. After three days of agony, Morgan proved yet again that he was unwilling to die. Claiming that he owed them a debt in blood and food, Morgan was inducted into the Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi by the chief of the Warg Company.

Morgan did not spend long in the pikes, as he had been already trained to fight by humans, and the Warg Chief thought his skills were wasted among the recruits. Morgan earned a great deal of resentment from the other Orcs, partly from this blatant favoritism, partly for killing their comrades, but mostly because he was like a human among their ranks. He had never lived among Orcs, and he did not speak a lick of Orcish. When he joined the Warg Company, he was given the meanest bitch in the pack to be his mount, claiming that she was the only warg big enough to hold him and his heavy armor. Morgan steeled himself to prove his worth to his new comrades the only way he knew how: with blood and sweat. Morgan drilled with his warg for hours on end every day, determined to break the beast if it killed him. Hours not spent training with his warg or his blade were spent among his comrades, trying desperately to learn the language and heritage of his people. In time, his efforts paid off. He could speak Orcish reasonably (though with a hideous human accent), and after giving each other a dozen new scars, he had finally bonded with his warg (though she now answered to the vulgar "Garikka" instead of her normal name).

More used to fighting from horseback, Morgan took some time to adjust to fighting atop a warg, but he was already well-used to the ambush tactics used by the Warg Company. Despite their initial distrust and resentment of him, his fellow riders came to respect Morgan after several battles fought together. Even so, he remained something of a distant and unapproachable figure, his humanlike temperment unsettling to most of the tuskers. Even so, after only two years among the warg riders, Morgan was given leadership of his own warband. Morgan's own determination and mad courage kept them on the front lines, and volunteered them for the most dangerous tasks possible. This warband became known as "Morgan's Raiders," and was seen as a band of doomed riders by the rest of the Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi. They painted their armor black to emulate their leader, and took on roles other Orcs saw as being suicidal. It was not uncommon for Morgan to be the last survivor of these Raiders after a successful mission. Rumors continued to swirl around Morgan, thinking that perhaps some curse followed him, killing those around him but leaving him unable to die. Despite these rumors, Morgan's skill was unquestionable, leading to the disbandment of Morgan's Raiders and his induction into the Chosen.

Personality and Psychological profile:Morgan seems to carry a sort of inferiority complex, which drives many of his feeling and decisions. Having known nothing but the scorn and derision of those around him for most of his life, he feels a constant, pressing need to prove his worth to those around him. This fuels both his rash, aggressive nature, and his unshakable tenacity. If presented with a challenge, he will complete it no matter the difficulty or personal cost. He lives for the acceptance of others, but at the same time is withdrawn and unused to close or affectionate relationships. To an observer he seems stoic and humorless, but he is just clueless as to how to appropriately react to most social scenarios. This difficulty is exacerbated further by having been raised by humans, and now living among Orcs. Most distressing to Morgan is his difficulty in forming bonds; he can recognize others as being his comrades, but still cannot bring himself to open up to them, fearing the same betrayal he suffered from his father.

Relationships  and Acquaintances:I'll work on this when there are more characters if that's okay.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Lurking Krog

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Name: Nac’mrah Gromer 

Age: 18

Sex: Male

Breed: Pure-blood orc.

Appearance: 7’5” grey-green skin and weighs approximately 350 pounds, muscular build, maintains a shaved head except for a braid that goes from the top of his head down to his lower back, no facial hair, eyes are grey, always wears a leather strap around his neck that runs through twenty-three elf ears and fifteen human ears, both arms are painted red up to the middle of his upper arm. 

Wears rough spun breeches and a bear fur cloak when not in armor. 

His back and chest are crisscrossed scars from his time as a slave. He also bears a brand on the right side of his face shaped like a sickle and scythe also accompanied by a scar going from the left part of his forehead to the right side of his chin.

Abilities/skills:

Cleave: brings the axe head of the halberd down with such force it renders armor easily and is liable to remove limbs.

Hook ‘n Pull: Using the hook on the back of the halberd Nac’mrah can pull an man off a horse or off his feet to the ground.

Call to arms: Sounds his warhorn to call the other orcs to arms when battle is to be engaged. Can also be quite demoralizing especially when backed by the sounding drums.

Equipment: 

Halbred (ten foot long pole, axe head and the point at the tip are kept sharp.)

Heavy plate breastplate with underlying chainmail, chainmail greaves with plate fastened to the thighs and calfs. Fur boots with bits of metal plate secured to it. Visored helm adorned with a skull on top held in place with a spike. Chainmail sleeves are all the protect his arms. The plate armor he wears has red paint stripes over the chest piece and the back.

Elven dagger he stole from his master after killing him and most of his family. Uses it to cut the ears off to add to his collection.

Iron banded warhorn

History:

Nac’mrah was born a slave. His father originally was a free orc captured by a slaver attack on his mountain tribe. His mother was a born a slave as he was. He has a half sister, same mother, who is half elf as well. His father had beaten the mentality of blood is blood, more simply kin is kin, no matter what. With that he took to protecting his sister. 

His master was a human who had married an elf. Their children made up most of the overseers for the slaves and the house.

Life as a slave was brutal though not as bad as in tribal life, though the other male orcs slaves had constantly fought to establish dominance. Nac'mrah had been on the bottom until he was around the age of ten when he was final starting to get strong enough to fight back. By the age of twelve he had established himself as dominate over many of the other orcs.

Now outside of the male orcs trying to establish dominance their masters had often had the more defiant ones whipped, which was most of them. Nac’mrah was one of them, have earned many of his lashes from simply defying what he was told to do or running away. The whippings never did take, they simply made him hate whips and half elves/half humans. Around his thirteenth year his father had ran off after hearing of an orc mercenary band forming and sought to join them leaving his son behind though planning to return eventually to take him. He was brought back two days later and whipped in front of the others than hung to make an example. Nac’mrah had been begun to plan and organize an uprising that night. 

The next morning he walked up to where his father hung to cut him down. One of his master's sons confronted him and told him to return to the fields. Nac’mrah ignored him and cut the rope with the bill he carried. The half elf unfurled his whip and struck Nac’mrah across the face leaving one final scar. When the man brought the whip down again Nac’mrah grabbed the whip and pulled him down then strangled him with it. He took the horn from the corpse and blew it to signal the others to attack.

In the end only the wife and daughter of the former slave master were left alive. Both were missing their left ear, at the hand of Nac’mrah with the knife he took from his master after impaling him with the bill, bound to the oak tree in the center of the grove the mother maintained, and gagged to prevent them from using their knife ear magic. The grove was put to the torch and the rabble band of ex-slaves headed to the last known direction of the newly formed mercenary band driving cattle, sheep, and pigs they took from the farm as well as grain.

From there Nac’mrah had spent two years in the pikes having the discipline beaten into him. It was worse than the beatings he received as a slave. After his first year and a half he began to understand that it was to establish dominance as well. From then he started learning to use the halberd and has recently come up to the ranks of the Chosen.

Personality and Psychological profile:
Hates half human half elves, hates whips, likes to collect ears as trophies. Enjoys burning groves elfa made with the elfs tied to the burning trees.

Relationships and Acquaintances:
Sirhna tree talker (his sister), Koloch, fears Moordekrai.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by The Angry Goat

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Bio

Name: Aedyt Rain Hayne, heiress of Ceril
Age: 18
Sex: Female
Breed: Human (quarter dhampir)

Appearance:
Aedyt Hayne has the look of a woman who, until very recently, was able to (and perhaps had to) take great care in her physical appearance. She is a dainty 5’4” tall, weighing in somewhere around 120 lbs. Her legs are a comparatively small portion of her body, and her arms are also not particularly long. She has what can only be described as good birthing hips, for lack of a more dainty term :V , and is overall incredibly attractive: soft skin, etc.. She is also incredibly pale, and burns faster than you’d think was possible in the sun.  
Her face is round and full with a line of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the area underneath her eyes. These eyes are light hazel – actually, as you look longer… maybe they’re orange? Her eyebrows are still mostly controlled, though it is clear she hasn’t run into a mirror in quite a while. Her ears are round and her nose is average sized, suggesting a point at its zenith. Her very pale blond – almost silver – hair is incredibly long, it touches her rear, and reaches most of the way down her lower back when braided, which it always is. Her lips are full, and she’s managed to avoid losing any teeth to cavities thus far (though two on her lower left are developing ones – it’s where she usually chews). Her chin as also soft, and her jawbones aren’t at all defined, her face too wide and soft. Small burn scar on the palm of her left hand, which is also her dominant hand. 

Skills/Abilities:
- Stunningly charismatic: between her natural beauty, knowing her way around conversations, and understanding people in general, Aedyt is quite good at talking her way out of a situation. And if her natural charm doesn’t work well enough, she can always call upon her innate magical abilities to make herself seem even more amiable – and usefully, these boons can also be applied to others. 
- Quite charming: in addition to innate buffs, Aedyt is also capable of some aggressive mind affecting spells. For the most part these are simple things; touching someone to make them forget, making eye contact to convince someone to do something for her, slowly waving her hand across her body to encourage non-aggression. She can also call upon deeper, more…unseemly… heritage to force upon opponents more powerful hallucinations. These can range widely in theme: imagining her summoning demons or hellhounds, thinking that their bodies are beginning to rot and decay, or see themselves slowly dragged into the ground as if in quicksand. Over-use of these abilities will exhaust her, akin to performing a physical task (with stronger stuff being much harder), and all of them are capable of being resisted, especially by willful individuals. These same individuals are also probably not particularly appreciative of being fucked with if/when they figure out what’s going on :V
- Pick your battles: The royal court is a cutthroat business, especially when you’re a bastard and a girl who somehow ended up being heiress to the throne. Aedyt is extremely cautious and well trained in the twin acts of avoiding iffy areas and running the fuck away from danger. That being said, hanging out with a bunch of Orcs kinda means her “get out” alarm is going off 24/7.
- Untrained: A lady does not fight. Her magical abilities, while relatively well practiced, are not trained, as she was forced to hide them. Additionally; she was neither allowed to fight, nor was she ever had to do much exercise, instead forced into the usual “womanly” tasks. The possibility of latent magical or martial skills is likely, especially if she starts to really train one of these abilities. That being said, in her time in exile, she has started to learn how to fight with her dagger, and has discovered that she is rather decent at sneaking about. Gotta get past the guards every once in a while, you know. 

Equipment:
- Court Clothing: Aedyt is technically nobility, and she was able to keep around one of her favorite dresses – purple body with white sleeves. Lacks much poof, but is still long and drags behind her a tad bit. No shoes or any other accoutrements, but she can at least wear it to put on a relatively decent royal appearance. Most of her other dresses are far less flamboyant, and she has quite a few shirt/shirt combinations that are much more down to earth, and have more sturdy footwear. She would often wear these on days when she was only interacting with servants, or training with Jenkin, and has mostly brought them with her. Totally keeping the purple dress around though. Loves that one. 
- Dagger: 4 inches in length, plain design.  
- Princess’s Neckace: Aedyt still wears a necklace; iron chain around her neck, holding a solid gold, teardrop shaped holder with an inset emerald, also in a teardrop shape. She considers it her symbol.  

History:
To understand Aedyt, it is necessary to take a momentary step back to her grandmother. Aalid Hayne was… a character. Rebellious to a fault, she had no desire to end up with the marriage her family had set up with the mayor’s son (though this was the fuckin’ jackpot as far as they were concerned), and ended up running away with a few friends she had made. Thing is, these friends were more “friends,” mostly just interested in indoctrinating them into their apocalypse worshipping death cult, the basic tenant of which was that humanity needed to be ritualistically destroyed by a race of super-powerful human/vampire hybrid children. Naturally, they needed to attract women to their cult, which they did by promising a lot of freedoms. They were also pretty bad at making a convincing act, but Aalid was also kind of an idiot. 

Long story short, they somehow convinced her it would be a good idea to fuck a vampire. 2 months into her pregnancy the king of the time had to send in some elite forces to break up this cult since the vampires were becoming an issue. Unable to really reintegrate into society, she ended up in a nunnery, where she raised her daughter, Rain Hayne. Rain was much more intelligent – with a (supernatural?) ability to retain anything she was taught, and even find out about things she shouldn’t have known. She was also quite attractive, if a bit freakishly pale. Also her canines were quite long, and she was born with white hair. I guess the king was into that? Aalid was able to use some contacts with fellow nuns to get Rain a job as a servant in the King’s palace, where she eventually caught The king's eye (and boy was she always in the right place to be caught), and was able to get into his bed. Well, his mistress bed. Not bad for a commoner, regardless. 

Aedyt was born 9 months later, in the Fall. Her youth was relatively short, having to quickly learn how to navigate the social strata within the court, know who to avoid, and help her mother with knitting, and whatever else it is that low-rung nobility do in a king’s court. The king did take vague interest in his daughter, and did love Rain to some extent, but generally was wrapped up in being a king. He cared enough to secure her a life far better than her servant life before Aedyt’s birth, so there was that at least. Her mother taught her how to hide her own powers, as she had done with her own, and they generally kept a pretty low profile, something which seemed to make the commoners like them even more for some reason. Rain ended up getting more and more sick as Aedyt progressed past 16 years of age though, and eventually passed of unknown causes (liver cancer). Without his beloved mistress around to entertain him, Stephen more or less forgot about Aedyt, and she was eventually sent off to a manor outside of the city, where she got to be even more bored! Onora and Jenkin (her handmaiden and personal guard, respectively) helped to make life more bearable, and Jenkin helped teacher her some tricks with her dagger. 
Things started to get more worrying when her father died. Two weeks after the news of this came to her, Onora and Jenkin were recalled to the castle, and she has not heard from either of them since. In their place were the same rather impassionate guards of the estate on which she lived, all relatively old, and – as she began to notice – all without wedding rings. She started to spend more time getting to know the servants of the building, building up quite a few budding friendships to help put off the worries about her claim to the throne. Lord Arad visited a few times to talk business about protecting her claim, giving a suspicious amount of platitudes. She didn’t have any better than his word at the time, so she was forced to trust it, despite questioning why she couldn’t come back. The answer was always vague, something about distrusting members of the court, a chance of her throat being slit in her sleep, or poison dropped in her drink – the usual, he said. His guards would keep her safe until he could secure her safety at the throne, he said. Nothing could go wrong, he said. 
So when a bunch of orcs, bristling with weapons covered in fresh blood burst into her bedchamber, she was quite a surprised woman. So were they, as she talked them down, and they discovered that they might just have a mutual opponent. 

Personality and Psychological profile:
Aedyt has learned the importance of never letting ones outside betray the feelings within. She is at all times stoic, straight-backed, and ladylike, regardless of her exhaustion, regardless of her distaste for others, regardless of her excitement. This makes her incredibly hard to read, and somewhat unnerving, holding a surprisingly strong presence. That being said, she is externally a charmer, and is more than willing to make promises she cannot keep, listen to whatever is told to her, and keep quite when others are talking. But that’s external.
Internally, she is not as limited by the need to appear neutral and avoid conflicts. Internally, she can feel her seething rage at her father's lack of care and her uncle's conniving. Be excited about the little things, like a cute baby, the sunset, or a bee fumbling around in a flower. Internally, she can yell at these idiotic orcs who had to kill all those fucking guards and make her piss the bed – but they are useful, so she will forgive them. 

Overall, expect Aedyt to be conniving and self-serving, but to generally give a shit about people who have earned her trust and respect. She doesn’t see herself as wanting power for power’s sake, instead, just to ensure that she can protect herself and the citizens of Ceril. 

Relationships and Acquaintances:
First impression of the company was them trying to kill her, which wasn’t a great start, but the whole not killing her deal was a step in the right direction. Definitely still cautious – under usual circumstances, orcs have developed their reputation for a reason. As heiress to the throne, she has well developed opinions about many of the other big players in this game of many lives and a single chair. 

Lord Arad
Before this shameful attempt on her life, Aedyt was hopeful that the Lord would follow through on his word. Obviously this was not the case, though truth be told she didn’t particularly trust him before, either. 

Druskel family
Prefers Ren to Bant – Bant’s been consistently rude to her, and she thinks Ren tried to flirt with her once. 

Madjun family
Her father always wanted more independence – oversight just clutters everything up, and makes it impossible to make decisions. Give the other nobles more say, and they just argue and steal instead of doing anything of value. Aedyt’s mother, of more common stock, never had anything good to say about nobles, and after her years in the court and her current exile, Aedyt has moved into a similar opinion, but is unlikely to ever show it. Like it or not, the rich still have the influence – for now. If she could find a way to deepen the divisions in their alliance, she would.  

The Church of Issad 
Aedyt has no strong religious feelings, and her mother actually followed the church of Issad (albeit also rather disinterested), and therefore sees the church as a way to gain support, if needed. 

The Elves of Torceleblas
No real interest in elves aside from the usual vague hatred the majority of humans feel towards them. hanging around orcs is likely to make her hate them more though :V

The Dwarves of Thorazum
While Aedyt doesn’t particularly like that the dwarves are probably trading with Arad as she sits around, she’s also aware that it’s more out of convenience for them than anything else. That being said, when the time comes for dolling out vengeance, they could end up on her list. That’s too far in the future to be a real worry, though.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by DJAtomika

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Bio

Name: Karrush the Flagbearer
Age: 33
Sex: Female
Breed: Full blooded orc 

Appearance: Standing tall at six feet eight inches tall, Karrush is an imposing woman to even stare at. Muscles make up almost every fibre of her body, and her eyes are a rich, dark brown underneath a shock of short, military-style hair cut into a small mohawk. Her skin is a lighter shade of green mixed with a slate gray, with small tusks and a few small scars dotting her face and thin nose. Stripes of red run down her cheeks, and white war paint makes a crude but effective skull underneath that, making her countenance look like a weeping skull.

Where Moordekrai walks with all the grace of a stalking panther, Karrush carries herself like a walking tank, her size and strength more than telling of her role in the Company. Her arms are covered with scars, as well as painted on markings of tiny skulls on each of her knuckles. Her neck carries more war paint, in the form of mock scars and sutures that go around her neck as if to signify decapitation.

Skills/Abilities:
- All-Round Combat: Having been in frontline and back-line combat for years, Karrush has learned much about the ways of fighting, both with a weapon and without one. Her best weapon is her trusty pike, but throw anything into her hands and she'll turn it into a lethal weapon, including if nothing lands in them.
- Resilience: Nothing really fazes Karrush any more. Years of battle against greater foes have taught her the meaning of the words "be a wall". Her strength behind a shield extends to those around her; her own will and drive to succeed and push forward flows through her war cries and battle shouts, pushing the other pikemen forward against all odds.
- Loud: Her lungs are big and her voice is bigger, to better carry across a noisy battlefield.
- Cool Head: Most rookies fall to pieces during their first battle, and that's when Karrush drills them to always have a cool head, even when the fighting's at its worst. Having a calm, decisive mind in the heat of battle makes the difference between life and death that much bigger.
- Tracking: Having spent most of her life trying to hunt down the ruthless orcs that had shattered her life has given Karrush a rather keen eye and a sense of direction, and her tracking abilities are not the best, but amongst her brethren they do suffice.

Equipment:
- The Company Standard: A simple flag on a pole, the Company's standard never leaves her armour. The only time she doesn't carry the sign of their impending attack is when they're not at war. Other standard bearers don't treat the flags with the respect they deserve. She does. Her standard's pole is covered in notches and marks of battles past, though the flag is always clean and new for every battle. The tusks of the fallen adorn both the pole itself and her armour, and a single skull sits atop her flag.
- Medium Armour: A normal set of medium weight plate armour, enough to provide good all-round protection, but light enough for her to maneuver around a battlefield without getting weighed down. The tusks of her fallen tusker brethren adorn her shoulder pauldrons, cleaned of gore and nicks, and her shoulders are painted bright red, with white spikes in the corners.
- Buckler: The shield that goes onto her left arm. Notched and worn, but hardy and as resilient as she is, her shield has seen her through many battles and saved her life countless times.
- Landweaver's Razor: Her main weapon, for when things get too close for comfort. With her shield on her arm, flag in one hand and sword in the other, she makes for a deadly, if short-ranged warrior. The sword hilt is decorated with the tusks of her dead family and friends, wrapped in bandages for grip and is sharpened every other day when she has the time.
- Knife Pouch: A simple leather pouch that holds small, fine blades that are perfect for throwing. Normally she doesn't use much of these, but when an enemy is retreating and she isn't in the mood to take prisoners, a few blades to the back suffice.

History:
Karrush was once a simpler orc, part of the Landweavers, a tribe of farmers who resorted only to violence when their land was in danger. As a result, most of her early upbringing was peaceful, and she honed her innate strength in helping to till land, turning over fields and hauling lumber. Hunting and tending to animals came naturally, as did the messier skill of butchery. Coming out of this life and into one of soldiery was not easy, but the skills she learned and the body she'd honed over her early years helped her immensely.

One year, during a particularly bad famine, her village was raided by a rival band of Orcs. Stronger, possessing more powerful weapons and more men, they burnt the village to the ground, stealing all their food, livestock and killing as many as they could before running away.
 Rather distraught, but resolute in her revenge, she took up rudimentary arms and began the slow, slow process of hunting them down. Bloodied, bruised but unflinching, she pursued her foes for months, stopping only to rest and to feed herself off the land. By the time she'd gained ground, however, it'd been a year and the trail had gone cold. The orcs that had destroyed her home had vanished. Upped stakes and moved on to another region. It was the first time she'd given up on something.

It was around this time she ran into a party of training orcs from the Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi. Lost and in a daze, she was taken in by the Company and subsequently nursed back to health. She expressed interest in joining up with them since she had no more home to return to.
 Karrush was thrown rather unceremoniously into the Pikes, where she flourished. The long, heavy polearms were reminiscent of the hoes and plows she'd used back home, and she took to their use quickly. Training under the Drillmaster, it didn't take long for her to master the use of the Pikes. But when it came time for her to move on to another warband, she refused. The pike was her weapon and under her insistence, she stayed within the Pikes among the newer tuskers.

Her bravery during a campaign was how she became the Company's lead standard bearer; during a contracted skirmish against a hostile force,
 the original standard bearer fell in combat. Without hesitating, she took up the standard, planted it in her armour and took charge of the tuskers in her pike line, pushing them forward to repel their attackers. After the battle was won, she held onto the standard and has done so ever since. Her reputation of staying in the Pike line even though she's more than ripe for a promotion elsewhere has spread to other warbands, and others have learned not to ask her why she stays.


Personality and Psychological profile:
Karrush is an orc that often won't take no for an answer. The newbie tuskers under her in the pike line speak often of how they're shouted into submission by the angry flagbearer at the head of their line. Tough love is the name of her game, just like the Drillmaster she trained under. She is the type to grit her teeth and plunge headfirst into danger so that her warband and the rookie tuskers under her come out on top.

Underneath the stern, strong and fierce exterior is a rather broken individual; having lost all semblance of family, the Company is really all she has left, and though she's a tough orc, losing anyone puts a dent in her pride. She hates having to bury one of their own, and wears their tusks on her armour with all the pride she can muster.


Relationships and Acquaintances:
TBA

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Slamurai

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Name: Omaz, “The White Snake”
Age: 28
Sex: Male
Breed: Half-orc (human blood)

Appearance: 
Omaz just barely reaches six feet in stature, his human ancestry weighing him down at the low end of the orc average. He is neither bulky, by orc standards, but respectably built with strands of lean, whipcord muscle. His body has all the hallmarks of a soldier: calloused hands and feet, weatherworn skin, a helping of scars and a back used to stiffening. His facial features are undeniably orcish, affected only subtly by his human blood. Compared to many other orcs in the company, in fact, his visage has a predatory cast. He could be called handsome - if in a savage sort of way. Rather than the common mottled green skin of other orcs, Omaz is pale like white jade, only the faintest touch of green is noticeable.

Skills/Abilities:

“The Boogeyman”: Omaz has a reputation within the company as something of a phantom. His coming is usually unannounced, unexpected and unpredictable. He seems to tread without a sound, no matter the terrain underfoot. It’s a recurring joke to warn new recruits to “beware the ‘company ghost’,” only for Omaz to scare them out of their wits later on. This reputation has utility as well, for Omaz in an unparalleled cutthroat and has served the company in many high-profile missions where stealth is paramount.
“Kingslayer”: Although nobody can confirm it, it’s rumored that Omaz is responsible for the deaths of the company’s highest-profile targets. Enemy commanders, local lords, company rivals - nobody is safe from the “White Snake.” Whether by intentional assassination, happenstance on the battlefield or in single combat, important people have a habit of meeting their end at his hand.
“Historian”: While recordkeeping might be lost on some of the company’s more simple-minded individuals, Omaz collects and maintains the company’s history in a series of annals. Every great deed, every tusker, every battle is recorded in these annals. To Omaz, these are the company’s lifeblood - memories that immortalize its legacy.
“Venom”: It’s a mystery how Omaz accumulated such knowledge, but he can craft dozens of poisons with a variety of effects. Medicine and culinary art is lost on him, but when it comes to debilitating substances, he’s the tusker to see. New concoctions are tested on prisoners too lowly to be ransomed, and any unfortunate enough to have a bounty on their heads. He coats the edges of his weapons in poisons and toxins, ensuring even a slight cut can have lethal effect.
“Versatile”: Omaz might not be as accurate as a tusker that’s spent most of his life as a spiker, or as fast as a dedicated warg rider, or even as deadly in an upfront combat as a blade; however, he can do just about anything asked of him to a significant degree. Hours of cross-training have given him a broad understanding of different weapon styles and tusker roles - useful information both in the field and the war room.


Equipment:

When he’s not sneaking around and intends to fight more conventionally, Omaz dons a suit of orcish armor, complete with vicious trimmings and trophy racks. He wears a sweat-stained gambeson underneath the plates to prevent chafing.
Omaz carries a falcata-like sword typical of those used by other tuskers. This is often accompanied by a jagged shield strapped to the forearm that is just as much a weapon as it is a defensive tool.
Vials of poison are tucked into Omaz’s belt, should he ever need them.
The company annals span stacks of books and scrolls that are stored away in Omaz’s quarters. He keeps a pen and parchment handy if he needs to record details that will be added to them later.
Daggers, miscellaneous gear and situational weapons are carried from time to time.


History:
(You can invent a tribe, name regions and countries and cities and so forth to pull this one off, but most important is how they came to Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi and where they served in the unit.)

Personality and Psychological profile:
Be sure to relate this to the character's history; the history ought to explain the character's outlook anyway.

Relationships and Acquaintances:
Nearly every newbie hears the legends of the “company ghost” not long after getting broken in. Omaz is content to let seasoned tuskers amuse themselves with these jokes; he relishes the attention it's given him and knows that he’s given even these regulars ‘the spook’ at one time. His semi-official role as company historian has put him in good graces with the upper echelons and anyone curious about the unit’s past.

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Name: "Old Moon" Muzgrim.
Age: 49 (Soon to be 50, the old sod).
Sex: Male.
Breed: Full-blooded orc.

Appearance: 

Time is starting to wear on this old warrior, despite all of his attempts to fight it, and it shows. Once a huge, brooding Orc is now slumped over when at ease, his bones stiff and rigid when not in motion. His colossal legs serve only to support his now growing gut and barrel chest, but it's hard to deny the Orc has won his fair share of arm wrestling bouts among younger recruits even in his twilight years. His mouth is mismangled, full of protruding tusks and razor-esque teeth, missing almost entirely his lips. His brow is sloping, his eyes recessed, bloodshot and tired, and his forehead is cleaved from temple to jaw in massive keloid scars. One ear is missing almost entirely, whilst the other is pierced through with varying arrays of silver, gold and jeweled earrings.

He prefers to keep his hair shaved, but has managed to grow a beard (now distinguished) which is patchy in spots where scar tissue grows instead. He usually wears a dirtied blue bandana around his forehead to wick sweat from his eyes. Inkwork tattoos adorn his hands and forearms. Where available, he likes to paint his jaw red before entering battle. His armor consist of heavy banded plates, decorated with frilled leather for decoration, intimidation and to keep his joints flexible yet protected

Skills/Abilities:
 - Mano-a-Mano: Muzgrim is an expert fighter with decades of real experience - he especially excels in killing enemy champions, leaders; anyone with a big enough mouth to warrant being cut down a peg. He'd enjoy nothing more than showing a few bunnies what one Orc with a blade can inflict upon a whole army. 
 
 - Unstoppable Force, Immovable Object: A bit too poetic, but it stands to reason. As one of the Company's veteran Blades, Muzgrim cannot rely on shoulder-to-shoulder protection from his brothers, nor can he rely on a wall of points. He stands his ground, lest he bring a defeatist nature back into the ranks and hits just as hard as any young Greenling.

 - Nature of Warfare: Having been with the Company most of his life, Muzgrim isn't unused to the motions of battle. He is best used within ranks of junior Orcs, his commanding of battle exceedingly well versed. Every Orc lost inflcits a great pain on Muzgrim, albeit a necessary one. It's another lesson learned, another weak link broken and reforged. 

 - A Father to All: Muzgrim isn't unheard of in the Company. After the head honchos, he might be the first friendly face that exists that isn't out to knock you around the skull or cut you in another training lesson. Firm, but fair. 

 - Hell's Kitchen: Give him anything edible, if even that, and he'll give you some of the best grub you can get out there. In some cases, just don't ask what animal it came from. 

Equipment:
 - Full-plated suit: The ancient battlefield equivalent of a tank. No fresh recruit to the company, Muzgrim has had decades to build, forge and fight in his suit and it shows. Like a second skin, he moves as a living bulwark of harsh iron without hindrance. It is smooth, designed not to catch blades or hinder him, underlined with leather and fur and painted one half black, the other red. The helmet itself is half-face, the eyeslots allowing him peripheral vision that he sorely needs when fighting. Orcish fashion follows, with rough studded spikes across the "forehead" of the plate make for a brutal headbutt when the enemy finds himself closer than he'd like. 

 - Sword and Shield: A vicious combination. The sword looks more like a claymore in size, built for an Orc. Isn't curved like a lot of Orcish swords, instead straight-on, with a handguard, forged out of steel. The hilt is mangled from use, but the blade is forged new and sharp as ever. The shield extends from Muzgrim's shin to his shoulder, square in shape with jagged edges, with a hole cut-out in the center for a spear; Orcs are hard to kill, but cavalry charges are one way to do so easily. The front is emblazoned with the Company standard, as well as a kill-count.

 - Spear: Again, a creation designed for an Orc's use in mind. Longer than your usual (heh) bunny spear, it is pointed at the base, so that it can be wedged at an angle into the ground to take a horse charge or as a hold-out weapon. The spear is also covered in streaming cloths of various colours, some splattered with gore and tissue.  

 - Hatchet: What's an Orc without a big chopper? 

 - Backpack: Although left behind in battle, it holds the vast majority of his spare equipment and personal items. Food, pots, pans, personal trinkets, etc.

History:

People (see: Bunnies) always like to paint the everyday Orc as a creature of violence. As if day-in, day-out they think, do and achieve nothing but tribal warfare, carving each other up, roasting the corpses of babies over open fires - if that were even true, could you really do that all day, all week, all month, all year? For Muzgrim, he never experienced that. He enjoyed a relatively serene childhood in a mountain refuge he barely remembers, let alone the mother, father or community he was apart of before a lightning raid in the dead of night took him away from all that he had known, separated in the confusion and slaughter. He was seven, eight maybe? Maybe. Can't be sure.

For a few days, he wandered the mountain refuges and forests for a time, stumbling into a Human township. Eventually, he was taken in by a family of Humans, neither rich nor poor. The father, a man of quick anger and petty revenge named Armond, wanted to use him as a display piece. The wealth to afford an Orcish slave, he dressed him in the finest arrangements, paraded him at dinners, beat him in public, lashed out at him - the first man in the town with his very own Orc. The novelty wore off quick as more and more of the wealthy bought one Orc, then another, three, four, five...

His wife, Liana and their daughter Miri, were the other side of that coin. They taught him to read, write, let him play and grow whilst tending to his wounds. When he looks back, as he often does in his ancient years, he remembers them fondly. He grew into your... well, not very Orcish Orc. He was twelve, towering over even the men in the township, but dressed as them, spoke like them and acted like them. He was standing in the square, a market fair was on. It was ideal. No violence, not a cloud in the sky or a complaint to bare until he saw another of his own kid, an Orc who had his true name taken and replaced with "Armis" was struck in the face. 

This very point was when everything changed, as cliche as it is. They say you view people of authority and raw power as larger in your memories and to a young Muzgrim, Armis was a thousand foot beast. Rearing up, he struck back, taking the teeth off the noble woman who raised a hand to him. There was an intervening crowd, but they stood no chance - once the tide changed, one Orc became two, then three. The novelty pets they scolded and beat became rampant. A building was alight, embers in the air spreading the damage. It was a full blown revolt. 

In a panic, he returned home, although he wasn't the first of his kind to get there, nor did they share his intentions of safe refuge. Armis was there, made leader-elect of his adhoc mob. Armond was swaying in the trees, a limp corpse with a bloated face hanging from a noose, his wife struggling next to him as she fought for air. Miri was next, a blur of motion following as Muzgrim attempted to fight. Instead, they forced his hand - either kill her or die with her. Well, he's still alive today, so it's not hard to imagine what he chose, even if he wasn't proud. The orcs fought as a band of highwaymen for some time, before the Company in its burgeoning years enveloped them to their cause.

He grew from there, from a frightened twelve year old who barely spoke the Orcish tongue, into one of the Company's grizzled veterans, a warrior of countless battles, a champion of slaughter. Those Hangmen Orcs are no longer around anymore, leaving Muzgrim the last. Some died of battlefield injuries, unavoidable, disease or infection from their wounds, but some found that the boy they moulded and scarred for life never forgot the lessons they taught him, glad to return the favour. 

Personality and Psychological profile:
Muzgrim fears no mortal instrument, existing with the genuine belief that he might be the first of the Company to truly "die in his bed" from old age. That isn't to say he is without his fears. He is a haunted individual, terrified of being alone or without distraction from the thoughts that he isn't able to drown out with alcohol, violence or companionship, reminded of all the death, violence and pain he has been a party to. Superficially, this doesn't show. He is grandfatherly in nature, well known in the company for sharing a meal, teaching a lesson or defending a brother. 

He values fearlessness, integrity and, more importantly, intelligence. He believes there's no future for the next generation of Orcs if they're nothing but the stereotypes that they live up to in the eyes of the world, but he does realize this is the alotment they've been chosen. Among this, he also has no hate or anger towards Humans, nor Dwarves or Elves. Some within the Company see him as weak or frail, as he refuses to indulge in acts of cruelty or vengeance (at least anymore) nor does he believe in hiding his emotions, save for his existential fear of his own mind, an act that pains him. Within the Company, he is one of the first Orcs others meet outside of the head honchos, as he is always willing to give a Greenling a chance, just like they did for him. 

Relationships and Acquaintances:
Having been around for awhile, Muzgrim has formed an opinion about a few of the Orcs within the Company, whether based off their reputation or acts of battle he has seen with his own eyes, but has largely been removed from their lives for the most part.

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