Matuk son of two unknown orcs, he had never got the name of the duo from his caretaker. Raised within a tribe of a low reputation, he showed his vast skill with an axe at young, already besting orcs older than him in combat as he fought. It was a blessing, just like his blood red-eyes. For he was never left behind within a desert, never abandoned due to being too weak, freely showing off his prowess for the elders to see. But throughout all the eyes upon him within the tribe he didn’t care, the short lived battles around their camps when ever they roamed never filled that urge within the orc.
It was never enough.
And so he left. When others were resting, and it was his time to watch over a portion of the encampment he left in the night. Already a destination within his mind as he travelled. The Rexdom of Krugmar was where he was going to stake his claim in life. Throughout the journey he was given plenty of chances to show off the curse Iblees had placed upon his race. And soon he was arriving outside the San’Kala city not long later, he looked around at the bustling city, expectation remaining within his eyes as he sold off wares to the local merchants, hunted game from his travels easily sold for coin to afford the room within a mildly reputable inn.
He lived to fight. To be free to do as he pleased, coin was a valuable asset and one he was lacking in. And so he moved on, deeper into the city and eventually found work. His combat skills refined even further as he hunted out in the wilderness. His spoils from the hunts sold off to local merchants, coin slowly building up and with it came a better weapon, and the worries about being unable to pay for future rent to live within the inn disappearing as he successfully gathered more.
And yet he wasn’t content.
The city wasn’t what he wished for, the expectation from when he first arrived leaving him. It was a small part of Atlas, and so he wandered. Visiting other areas, being challenged even further, his axe always with him as he travelled. His grip never lessening on the handle.
”Adventure.”
Matuk’s gravely voice was swift in its reply, eyes glancing past the seemingly merchant and towards the bustling bazaar that had entered his view when the orc had stepped off the boat. A deep inhale filling his nostrils as a smile curled upon his lips. The man was ignored, any other words that were spoken to him ignored in favour of steps leading him towards the bazaar, eyes glancing around at the items on sale.
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