Name: "Old Moon" Muzgrim.
Age: 49 (Soon to be 50, the old sod).
Breed: Full-blooded orc.
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
: 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.
- 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.
: 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.
: What's an Orc without a big chopper?
: Although left behind in battle, it holds the vast majority of his spare equipment and personal items. Food, pots, pans, personal trinkets, etc.
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.