Race: Half Orc
Lvl suggestion: 1-5
Where was he born?
Our half-orc was born south of The Broken Spine mountains in the Ba’rad (Bah-Rod) Plains. He belongs to a nomadic tribe of Humans that roam the eastern reaches of the plains. When the Dwarves gave the lands north of the Broken Spine to their human allies as thanks for their aid in the war of the ancients, some refused to go and maintained the old ways of their tribes in the south. He was born at night under a full moon which was a terrible omen to their people.
His tribe was a noble one. They never killed more than they needed, they never stayed anywhere too long where their presence would be a burden to the land. They were taught balance was the key to all things. He knew other clans would raid and plunder others but they were a peaceful people, who would only fight to defend.
It wasn’t long before he began to notice that he was different than everyone around him. He was always an inch or two taller than the other children. The two sharp tusks protruding from his lower jaw were a source of fear for most of the other kids at first. As he grew, they were the source of his shame.
Who are his parents?
He never knew who sired him as his mother refused to speak of his origins. As he grew in age he began to piece together that his clan must have roamed too close to the Orc controlled mountain range. He would listen on in awe of the tales of valor and loss when his people fought off the Orcish raiders over 8 grueling days. His enjoyment of the stories soured however, when he realized his mother must have been a different kind of casualty.
What was he doing before this adventure?
He was trying his best to fit into a clan that clearly did not want him. He would sometimes catch his mother looking at him from across the fields. Not in a loving or proud way. Her eyes would gloss over and seem to look beyond him, directly to the memory of what had happened to her.
He spent his days quietly trying to contribute what he could. Most people wouldn’t talk to him accept Dorren. Dorren was the runtiest human in the tribe and seemed to like being around for some reason.
Why did he leave his previous life?
He spent all day tracking a buck he spotted that morning. It was a clean kill by the end, the best he’s even done. As he placed his hand on the animals neck to say the words of his people, he had a vision, a terrible vision. Suddenly the fields behind and trees around were aflame. Demons he never imagined could exist roamed freely, shredding and tearing the world around him.
Between flashes of the horror he saw her face. It was beautiful. She had hair as black as the night sky and pale skin. In the final flash she spoke two whispered words, “Help me.” Her face was gone and visions of flame had gone. He was alone with the trees with his hands on his kill, bloody and trembling.
Before he stood he knew he had to find her, and soon. He would travel north, through the Pass of Dreams* and find this woman — *the “crack” in the mountain range that separates the eastern and western ranges and leads into the Northern Sanction.
What did he leave behind?
He never went back to his tribe. He never told them he was leaving or why. They would assume he left or died on the hunt which was not an entirely rare occurrence. They would most likely be happy.
He could fend for himself in the wilds and survive fine, it was the cities and towns of the Northern Sanction that frightened him. His elders who had once seen this strange race of humans from the north warned of their ways. They wore metal suits and could shoot fire from their hands like arrows from a bow. They were not to be trusted, ever.
What does he want?
He does not know why but he must find this woman. If there is any way she can prevent what he saw in his vision his path is clear. Find the girl, save the world.