Place of Eagles
Raised amongst an Orcish tribe, Garuuk was no stranger to Bloodshed.
Son to an Orcish chieftain, challenges over tribe leadership were common, but few matched the ferocity and ruthlessness of the tribes’ leader. A young Garuuk witnessed countless challengers be cut down by his fathers’ great axe, their heads adorning his throne, with the exception of a few kept to be hung from his garb. Stray Female travellers were kept as his prizes, none lived long, but under his capture they welcomed death swiftly. The strongest were kept to adorn him a son, once Garuuk was born, his mother was considered expired, and was dealt with as such.
Garuuk was forced into intense training at a young age, to prepare him for combat and to earn his right to hold the title of the chieftains son. The trails suffered would have broken most, and in the case of a young Garuuk, this nearly came to fruition.
Convinced his son would never ascend to his approval, The chieftain would attempt again at a child. Garuuk was shunned by his father, their relationship so distant as if to be separated by the mountains and seas.
Garuuk joined the tribes hunters, and learned to live off the land, and how to survive in the harsh wilderness. Even with the short training he had received from his father, he quickly ascended the ranks of the tribes most experienced hunters. As a teenager, Garuuk became the tribes top hunter, facing bears and trolls with nary a blink. His garb, a collection of pelts from the many beasts he had slain.
Upon returning to the tribe with his fellow hunters, a mighty haul of meats and pelts were carried in tow. Upon passing, an intense glare was shared with Garuuk and his father, a possible threat was a constantly growing paranoia with the chieftain. His fathers’ presence was not what made Garuuk freeze in his tracks, but the shriek of an infant piercing the still air of the unusually silent camp.
The pelts he carried made a thud upon the ground, as Garuuk made his way to the captives’ tent to discover his next of kin. Anger, inadequecy and hatred fuelled Garuuks body as he ripped the tent cover open, but these emotions quickly turned unfamiliar. He gazed at the newborn babe, lying amongst thestraw and blood next to the mothers’ corpse, Garuuk had discovered a sense of purpose. The newborn was female.
Garuuk knew what would become of his half sister once she grew of age, he had seen what had happened to the human females brought to the camp, and a half-orc would prove no different. He contemplated snapping the infants neck at that very moment to spare her from the life that awaited, but Garuuks’ emotions once again burned in an inferno. Stepping out of the captives tent, he approached his father, letting nothing stop him along his way, upon reaching a blades- width apart he snarled “I’m ready…”
The chief knew of his goal, Garuuk knew this as well, But he reluctantly accepted. Years of gruelling training ensued, pushing him to the very brink of his physical ability, not even the chieftains bodyguards had to endure such trials. Nothing waned the half-orcs spirit, spitting his own blood in an opponents face before crushing his ribs.
Garuuk had begun to develop fame amongst the other tribesman, but they remained silent, for the chief began to feel an old familiar itch that once plauged him long ago…fear. Any orcs who outwardly expressed support for Garuuk were unknowingly banished and sold into slavery. The chief took priority over most of the tribes’ food supplies, maintaining his strength for the inevitable challenge that awaited. The tribe grew weak, malnourished, the once proud tribe now reflected the actions of a selfish, neglectful chief.
Garuuk hunted on his own, caring for the young half-orc under the cloak of night, aside from his faithful hunting partners, she was the closest to a family he will have. Grash-uraa was the name Garuuk had given her, he struck the name given to her by the chieftain from his tongue.
Garuuk gutted any orc that laid eyes of intent upon his half sister, the tribe quickly leaned that a gaze upon Grash-uraa was a potential death sentence.
Upon the cold morning light that illuminated the many orc skulls that adorned the camp, the day of challenge had arrived. Garuuk sat in his tent, tightening every strap that held his prized bear hide on his back. A grindstone cracked the silence of the morning, as Garuuk sharpened his hand axes, nothing short of perfection will suffice on this day. A still resting Grash-uraa lay next to him, as he prepared his meal, obsessing his mind of combat. As Garuuk glanced for only a moment at his half sister laying on the straw and hides, he reminded himself of what this was all built up towards, for he would give his life to the gods for her. Garuuk gnawed into the shank of an elk he had killed that morning, followed by several hearty gulps of mead from his Flaggon. The crisp cold of the morning nipped at his skin, he intertwined his love for his sister with the hatred for his father. He was ready.
A challenge was often celebrated; the air filled with the thunder of drums, the chorus of laughter, and mugs thumping on wooden tables. Tonight was no such occasion.
The silence was crippling, with only the crackle of torches and the sound of crickets in the distance. A lone drummer thumped as Garuuk approached his fathers tent. The arena was decorated of the skulls of the many that had fell before him, yet Garuuk’s mind remained unhindered. The chief stepped from his throne, discarding his pelt cape and taking up his great axe, the leather ground as he gripped. The silence was crippling..
The quiet stillness was crushed as both combatants shrieked and charged at one another; in a cloud of dust and dirt; they clashed, every muscle pulsing, every vein jutting, every tooth showing. The fight ensued, for what seemed like hours, in the midst of battle Garuuk knew something was wrong. The attacks he was faced with weren’t a threat to his life. An orc such as he knows when death is starring him in the face, but death was not present…
With a swift movement Garuuk struck the chieftains legs, crippling him to the ground, He greedily clasped his hands on his fathers head, and with a blood curdling roar, ripped his head from his shoulders, blood showered and bone snapped and fractured. His cry raged on grasping the head to the skies, of which he felt no god would be worthy to approve of his victory.
The echo of Garuuks’ cry echoed through a deadening tribe. What should have been cries of victory and celebration, were replaced with cries of pain and death. Slavers who lied dormant in the darkness sprang forth and orcish blood began gleaming off the torch light. throats were slit at every angle, the stench of blood and steel polluted the air. In this moment Garuuk quickly made sense of what was happening, his fathers’ death was a signal.
His father trained him to be a berserker for a powerful slaver collective, why else would he train him. His father would not kill him, but cripple him, to be sold as a powerful slave for a grand pile of gold; with the chief dead, the slavers to do what they chose with the weakened orcish tribe.
Grash-uraa was the only priority Garuuk had now, no dragon nor cave troll would stop him. The first slaver who charged him had the severed head of his father slammed into his face, killing him instantly, but was a kindness compared to the next who had his eyes pressed in and his spine stomped into dust. Garuuk was dreanched in fury, as fires raged throughout the camp, flesh and blood dressed him on the way to his tent.
A slaver towered over a frightened Grash-uraa, dagger in hand, tongue grazing the blade with sadistic intent, unaware of the giant that shadowed him. his hands gripped his jaw and snapped it open, ripping out his tounge and pummelling his skull into a flabby mess of flesh and crushed bone. Garuuk, short of breath, and Grash-uraa stricken with fear, took a moment to collect themselves. After the most brief of rests, Garuuk spoke “we must go”.
Garuuk ran, with Grash-uraa hugging his shoulder, severing heads and gutting any who block him. Upon finally reaching safety deep in the woods, blood dripping off them, he held her. Blood and tears soaked the ground; their tribe was dead.
Years had passed, Garuuk had raised Grash-uraa in the ways of the wild, she quickly became a strong and confident hunter. Garuuk became a bounty hunter, killing for gold, supplies and weapons. Over time when she came of age, Grash-uraa joined him. Collecting bounties was Grash-uraas only interaction with the “civilized” community, of whom she despised, finding them weak and unworthy of any form of respect. The pair became renowned killers, no matter what they got the job done.
Slumped at a backwater tavern, gulping multiple flagons of mead, revealing in the success of their most recent kill, a roast boar lay half eaten in front of them. The wood door creaked open, the cold wind extinguished nearby candle flames, a cloaked figure emerged with a deafening silence following him. He sat confidently at the orcs’ table, placing a large bag of gold on the mead stained table. His cowl hid his face, the faint gleam of the candlelight shone upon the eyes of a dark elf.
“Consider this an advance, when the target lies dead you will receive the rest”. Garuuk and his sister looked hard at each other, they knew this was know ordinary bounty; they were going to take from him every thing they could get. Garuuk stood slowly, his shadow loomed over an already shrouded figure.
“what is it exectly that you take us for…” He snarled, the wood table crackling under his weight. The dark elf gave a sly smirk, and dropped a second bag of gold on the table, then a smaller third. Garuuk slowly drew his eyes from the several bags to the dark elves’ eyes.
“Consider him a corpse”
A days journey ensued, through thick forests to a steep mountain side, the snow biting through their pelts. They had reached a small encampment on the mountain side, Garuuk made out figures in the distance, grand in number, but appeared weak and frail. They discussed their action plan, climbing amongst the rocks and snow, they emerged to spring their attack. But their plan did not go accordingly.
They were already dead, every one of them. some tied to posts, some hanging from their huts, entrails and limbs littered the camp. The sound of at least twenty bowstrings were heard at every angle. Dark elves revealed themselves behind the rocks, as if appearing from nowhere, their mark Garuuk knew quite well; slavers.
Their numbers too great, their tactical advantage superior, after the many moons that passed they still wanted the soldier promised to them.
Stripped of their weapons, clothes and supplies, they were dragged away to serve under their new masters. Garuuk bound in chains watched helplessly as his half sister was dragged away, at least seven slavers needed to hold him back, or risk tearing the chains from their foundations. Years of forced combat and cruelty ensued, slavers would throw “expired” slaves into an arena were Garuuk would be forced to slaughter them. He became their dog of war.
Day broke upon a small fishing village, that the slavers would pillage and pick clean. Garuuk was held in chains like an animal, whips lashing at his skin, they began their attack. But in the midst of the ensuing chaos, Garuuk found his opportunity. A “distracted” slaver holding one of his chains was launched into the air, his hands still gripping the chain. He used him as a makeshift weapon, swinging his crippled body into the other slavers, strangling the last with vicious anger. He sprinted into the neighbouring woods; he had escaped, but with a heavy heart, His sister still remained lost.
Garruk now drags himself through his life, searching for his sister, living off the land. A blazing rage burns constantly inside him, it is this that keeps him moving forward.
Garuuk tracked a group of suspicious dark elves venturing into the underground, he had the suspicion of slavers, though the garb they wore hid the collectives insignia, he pursued them regardless. Garuuk found himself quickly overwhelmed by dark elves and drow, they did not take kindly to the half-orc breaking their fellows necks.
Captured and left in a cell, he spent Days contemplating escape, but no opportunity presented itself, until a group of nine were forced into the prison. Maybe this was the chance he was waiting for…
Garuuk is currently presumed dead after defeated by Yorick in gladiatorial combat at The Great Tournament in Luskan.