Born into the harsh mesa of Krug. His father was warrior hunter, his mother leaned more towards the spiritual side of things...and cooking. Compared to others in the tribe he was in, he was an oddity, he did enjoy battles, he learnt of spirits like the others did, but he was quite. He didn’t rush head-long into things, but choose carefully. When others ran after prey with their hunting spears, he waited and set traps.This infuriated his father, as he was only brash in his anger, like a wild animal, more importantly he wasn’t red, but by far from weak. His life generally nomadic, moving from hunting ground to Oasis, sometimes taking camp with other uruks to test strength and share lessons and stories.
Soon, it was time of the trials, the trials to become a proper Uruk of Krugmar, but this time, he favored the shamans as much as he favored the warriors. He learnt of the spirits and their tales as much as he did of how to properly klomp someone and kill a boar. Of course, he was no shaman, he did find their work fascinating. The night before the trial, he preformed in rituals of fire, water, earth, and wind, to ready himself. He took blessings from his mother and from his father. Instead of going with an axe, instead, he choose a spear. The fight was viscous, he eventually went to a knee, he was tired, but far from over. When his opponent raised his axe in a final blow, he suddenly charged forth with his spear, plunging it deep into his chest and falling on top of the surprised Uruk screaming as he head butted down, tearing him with fist and tusk. He raised up victorious, his father though, disapproved of his tactic.
His father didn’t enjoy the use of trickery, he could of just rose up and finished him then, why didn’t he? He worked on sharpening his son in the ways of Uruk-ness, much like a dulled sword, sometimes, having to beat it to fine form or sometimes...submission. His mother was kind though, much more thoughtful then her husband, it left him with conflict on what a true Uruk was. Towards his 20th birthday, his father finally fell, he rashly chose to challenge a superior Uruk and failed, he cheered yet cried, his father gone, but in a glorious way, but as the famous saying goes ‘The dead die alone boy, so make a friend or join them’ so in some ways, this was destiny. It is now, that he decided, was the time to travel, he knew little of the world outside of this harsh mesa, the place he called home, he wanted more, his father wanted him to be a proper Uruk, and he would be one, he would learn, and be tested. Perhaps to bring back glory for his clan.
