GorlarmiSalami

Storig lives in the desert city of San'Raakh. He grew up roaming the lands with a small hunting party, killing beasts for meat, exploring the untamed wilds and fighting over the last barrel of grog! As a child he would fashion pretend horns to wear on his head like the Rex. He dreams of one day achieving such a status, often playing games and fighting with other younglings about who gets to pretend to be the Rex. Together they would get into all sorts of trouble from exploring dangerous ruins, cutting a finger or two off during spars or throwing rocks at things best left undisturbed. Stroig drew a line when the younglings started to pester the old grumpy shaman which often lead to scuffles. Spirits are beings he has a great respect for, an interest even but the call of battle and war were always too enticing. The glory, the blood shed, the spoils, they called to him like a chaotic symphony. His glutton for battle only grew with age, eventually he took lead of his own hunting party. One consisting of his childhood friends, eager to prove their worth. A little too eager. The newly found hunting party "The Ram's Fury" killed anything that moved. An average day for the group consists of them barely escaping the gnashing teeth of hungry wolves as Storig INSISTS its the perfect shortcut to their next destination or the two largest Orcs, Oguk and Igmut competing to see whos the strongest. They became something of local legends in the taverns they frequent, partly due to Storig's overexaggerating of their exploits. They were by no means the most organized or skilled hunting party but boy were their stories entertaining. Storig in his rush for glory bit off more than he can chew rallied his crew to take down a group of undead he heard about. Without a second thought they found and rushed into a horde of undead unprepared. The clashing of bones shattering against steel, cracking and splintering could be heard echoing through the barren wastelands. The group fought bravely but drastically underestimated the amount of undead. The sounds of cracking bones mixed with agonizing screams as one orc fell, then another, and another.. Storig held his dying friend in his arms, he watches the life drain from his eyes blood getting smeared down his chest as Igmut drags his hand from Storig's face. The battle was won but at the cost of half the party. Storig is not a man that dwells on the dead, death is a natural part of life one hes all to familiar with but this was different. These were skilled fighters, comrades, brothers that died because of his arrogance. In solidarity Storig paints his body with blue paint, a set for each dead by his actions. An eye mark for Igmut, a splattered pattern on his chest for Oguk and circles on his back for Urmog. Now-a-days you'll find Storig wandering the wastelands alone, honing his skills and waiting for the day where he may rise again, wiser and stronger than before. The Ram's Fury will never be sated. Storig with horns: :