Octovion

I appreciate the support and all the links. I'm reading them all right now. Thanks for the help!

Thanks for the support. My character knows the consequences of this as well, and he plans to remain quiet about his past. To be fair, he did murder an elderly couple of humans to escape. I wouldn't call that exactly passive. :grin: Plus, he was only a cub during the time of his capture.

I understand that this isn't my entire application, just the biography section. Are you saying that this is too long for the biography? If it is, I'm fine with making a shortened version.

I'm a new member to the LOTC community. I've been currently working hard at writing up my application. After a bit, I've finally finished it. Seeing as I'm applying as an Orc, I want some opinions and criticism from other Orcs on the biography section. Tell me what I could add, take out, grammatical mistakes, any lore I mixed up, all of those things. Those who aren't Orcs can feel free to comment as well, if you really want. Just a heads up, it's nearly 3,000 words. Edit - Just so you know, I understand this isn't the full application, just the biography section. I'm only looking for advice for I post the actual app to be reviewed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The cage door smashed shut, leaving darkness to the prisoners huddled in the cramped. It was that of an iron sealed carriage; a slaving caravan. Figures of all ethnicity were sitting on the slabs wood laid out for them. A dwarf, a human adult male and child, and a single Elf. The human male had the boy huddled next to him, with both of them wearing identical family pendants. The Elf had glowing white hair, and donned crimson robes. The Dwarf was a fat one, clad in a thick jacket around him. He had several odd insignia chains and other fancy jewelry, possibly representing a noble clan. However, there was one single creature that stood out. It was that of an Orc, merely a child. He had deep red skin, with piercing black eyes. No hair could be seen upon his scalp, nor could emotion be seen on his face, other than pure bloodlust and anger. He couldn’t have been more than 9 or so years of age. By this time he had already completed his childrearing. The captives could hardly speak in their bewilderment during the long, bumpy journey, still surprised they had been kidnapped. Days passed, with very little food distributed during the ride. They all moaned in starvation when finally the horse drawn cart came to a halt. Light stormed in to the now open cell. The five, all shackled in steel chains, were abruptly pulled out and thrown to the dirt ground. It was mid-day, with the sunset slowly dissolving in the distance. The five hurriedly scurried up, with some rough assistance by the bandits. They were at an old stone tower, probably an old ruin where slaves were sold. They were put in to a line and inspected. Each was asked their names. “You, Elf on the right. Step forward!” With that, the white haired Elf stepped forward, meekly. “Name!” No response from the Elf. “Fine then…”, the guard retorted, before hitting the butt of his sword on to the man’s left check. He fell like a stone, only to be dragged to an unknown location by the guards. A small trickle of blood streamed as he was carried off. “Human to the right, step forward and give your name!” Clearly the guard wanted to get this over with, as he was moving about uneasily. “I…I’m Jordan, of the…the Halen family. In line is my son…please…just….just let him go…”. “Ah, so I’m the one taking orders now? Josh, take this filth away. We can get a few hundred for him. Vance, take the boy. You know where to dump ‘em.” The son continued to cry, as he had been for some time. The father yelled, with tears beginning to form at his eyes. They were both dragged off, deep down in to the old building. For a brief interval, there was silence in the forest. It was soon broken. “Fat little Dwarf, step forward. You know the drill!” So he did, with a graceful step in him. “You’re an awful peppy one, aren’t ya? That’ll change.” He replied. “No, Sir! You see, I’m a wealthy man, with associates willing to pay for my release. I believe we can make a deal.” “I get what you’re saying. Jimmy, come take this bugger down to the cellar. I’ll speak with him personally. Get back here a.s.a.p.! I got some more duties for you!” A goliath of a man approached, roughly 6 and a half feet. An axe adorned in diamond ornaments hung from his back, specially smithed to fit his stature. Skulls dangled from his belt, clanking together as he walked. He pushed the Dwarf forward, never to be seen again. The original guard’s voice boomed again, “So, one last runt. You, red skin, get over here.” The Orc was compliant, and stepped forward. He stood tall for his young age. He wore a loincloth, held up by an iron belt, and disjointed leather armor, mostly ripped to shreds. A single skull of a Halfling was on his iron belt. His fists were clenched in a fiery rage, but he managed to contain it. “Name?” It took him a while, but he finally spoke up. “Mi beh Kanar, uv da War Uzg. Meh onley a kub, lat skahin bastard! Why latz take me from meh blarg?” “Smart talking me, are ‘ya, you damn Orc!” The guard quickly slapped Kanar on his face, leaving a slight mark. “You seem fit. A perfect ‘servant’. You’ll catch us a nifty amount of Minas. Come on then, you dirty little waste of life.” Kanar was clearly unhappy, and began to clench even harder. He had enough, and rushed at the guard, headfirst. The guard named Jimmy had returned and intervened. He jumped in front of the pack leader, and caught Kanar mid flight. One swift jaw punch knocked the Orc unconscious. Kanar awoke several hours later, still dazed and confused. He was locked in a small cell, with only a small wooden still and stone bed to be found. Several other cells adjourned the walls opposite of him. The human male from before sat sobbing, with his son nowhere to be found. The Dwarf also wasn’t in a cell, most likely set free by this time, or still negotiating his freedom. Days passed, and prisoners began to rotate in cells, the previous ones sold and new ones replacing their cells. However, Kanar remained. Whenever a potential buyer would pass, they were always afraid of his fearsome appearance, and well knowing the ferocity and war-like nature of the Orcs. Kanar had grown weaker in his time, though managed to maintain some of his muscle mass by doing pushups and other exercises. Two months had passed, and the groups of thieves were near the decision of just ‘disposing’ of the Orc. They said they would give it five days. On the third day’s auction Kanar’s savior arrived. A middle aged man approached the cell. He had dark brown hair and a goatee. His clothes were middle class, symbolizing the profession of an artisan or merchant. “So, they told me you’d be a good worker. That true, Orc?” Kanar muttered a near inaudible word. “Yub…” “The hell yub mean? Yes? Eh, whatever. You look fit. Guard, how much for it?” The guard, who had fallen asleep on his stool, suddenly awoke. “Um, eh, what was that? Oh, the price for that creature? Eh, yeah, one grand for the lot.” “That cheap for such a specimen? It’s a deal then, one thousand Minas.” The two walked up the stairs, likely to be discussing the payment. It was an hour before they returned, this time accompanied with three guards for protection. They hesitantly unlocked the cell, and two of them rushed forward and grabbed on to Kanar’s shoulders. They led him forward, once again in to a carriage. This one was far fancier, and iron bars were nonexistent. Kanar was led in, sat down, and the journey to his new life began. Unlike his original carriage ride, this one was far more lavish. His new master wanted to make the Orc comfortable, not wanting him to go in to a state of rage. It was an attempt to capture his trust, make him civil. Of course it’s not like an Orc to just accept and adjust to human culture, and Kanar was no different. He rejected any services other then meals and drink to sustain himself. Like any Orc, he had no need for sanitation, willingly pissing about the small room. By the time they reached a rural farm, Kanar’s private cell room reeked of urine. Strands of fruits and other edibles were scrambled all over the place. Kanar was led out, greeted by strands of grassland and a single farm home, with only two other neighboring farms visible in the distance. The plantation was relatively large, several miles in distance. Immediately after his arrival, his shackles and chains were unlocked. If he had run, there’d be little chance of escape. He’d probably starve before getting close to civilization, or shot by an arrow, which It seemed the majority of the family members had strewn about their backs. All of them stood by the gate, watching in surprise as their new Orcish worked emerged. They greeted him in compassion. Kanar, albeit confused, was keeping a cool head. He would contemplate escape later. He was introduced to the members of this family, a fairly wealthy family. They owned two plantations, one which was located where he would stay, up in the Oren hills, and another in the Normandor region. The father was also known for his mastery as a carpenter. The family was called the Baken family. They were made up of about eight people, all ranging in profession and age. Kanar was gently shown about the area, given his farming and labor duties, and assigned a cramped quarter. Seeing as night was already setting, he was given the day to rest. He had the free ability to move about as he pleased, as long as he didn’t steal or cause any other sort of ruckus. Knowing well what whitewash was, Kanar stayed as far away from his captives as possible, fearing he may become one himself. On the first night, he lay on his woven bed, thinking about what had occurred over the last several months. He woke up on his second day. He climbed his room’s ladder and went to the hall of the barn home. He spoke to no one, only nodding his head if asked a question. He grabbed the hoe from the shed wall, and paced himself out on to the field. The family owned four other slaves, three Elves and one Dwarf. The toiled away at their work, seemingly uncaring and depressed of their existence. And so Kanar joined them, and so he would join them for the next day as well. And so the cycle continued, with the harvest coming back each year. Escape became a distant though in Kanar’s mind. Years passed, Kanar grew older and so did the family. Kanar was now the age of 32, a fully grown Orc. The hard, manual labor had increased his strength and he was as fit as ever. By this time, he had grown accustomed to the tedious life, just like the other slaves. The War Nation was a distant memory, fading slowly day by day. He stayed strong however, knowing that one day he would finally be released from his captivity. This particular day, when Kanar awoke, was solemn. Not even the occasional squawk of a chicken could be heard. As was his routine, he climbed the ladder. The family was not to be found as they usually were around their dining table, enjoying their recourse. No, this time they were outside, shedding tears over a hole, soon to be a grave. Bauldry Baken, the father that originally purchased Kanar, was now dead. He had been of old age and ill for some time now. It came to no surprise to Kanar, who didn’t care much for the lot for them. What did come as a surprise was what would come of him next. The family was unwilling to just release a slave they had purchased with their hard earned money. However, with the death of their father, they couldn’t keep up with the demand that the plantations held. So they planned to demolish the two of them and sell the spare resources to foreign purchasers. As such, they had no need for the use of servants anymore. Instead of simply releasing Kanar and the other four to the fate of the lands, they decided to gift them to their long time neighbosr; In Kanar’s situation, it was Mrs. And Mr. Haskor. They were one of the other farm owners in this mountainous region, closest to the Baken’s. After a very short carriage ride, Kanar was dropped off and the family grieved as they drove off. Mr. Haskor approached him cautiously. He was elderly to an extent, perhaps about 60 or so of age. His hair was grey and he wore studded overalls. “You, you damn dirty Orc! Stand up proper when I speak to you! I’m your master for the creator’s sake! You dirty little red-skinned trash!” The old man was pointing at Kanar, seemingly unafraid of his size and muscularity. “Those fools at that run down Baken farm think they can just drop their trash here and act like it’s a gift! Ha! You’ll cause more harm then help! May be I should just kill ‘ya, send your big, dumb head back to your kin-folk! May be kill all of ‘em too! All you stupid beasts should burn in the damn ground. Understand, big man? No, course ya’ll don’t, too stupid and fat to understand what I said. You’re probably Inbreed, like all your kind! So why the nether are you just standing there? Get a move on!” A spark long since forgotten inside Kanar was rekindled once again. It was that of bloodlust. Kanar clenched his fists and grinded his teeth, trying with all his might to remain civil. His barbaric, Orcish nature had returned. He no longer could contain. No, he no longer wanted to contain it. He leaped, and in one motion was on top of the old man. He hollered at Kanar, pushing with what little strength he had. It was of no avail. Kanar, in his rage, began to bash the old man’s head in. Blood splattered across the ground. The face could no longer be distinguished, with all his facial features completely gone. Most of his brains lie next to his still and dead body. Kanar rose, and saw his wife on the porch of the home. She was screaming in terror. Kanar walked steadily, still in anger, and grabbed a torch hanging on a fence. He began to move and a run, trotting closer and closer to the home. His fist was jammed right dead center in to the woman’s face. Her nose was bloody and broken. Kanar dragged her in to the house, threw her on the ground, and then walked away. He quickly grabbed a satchel, threw all their pantry meals that he could carry in it, and then tied it to his back. He threw the torch within the home. It quickly took light and the house was soon ablaze. It was quite a spectacle during the night. Kanar went to their stables, to find a horse and carriage already prepared. Taking up the reigns, he started forward. He never learned the ways of steering a horse. He rode clumsily for a while, slowly learning the process the further he rode. During the time he only was going at a slow trot, which even then he would fall off every few minutes. Soon, he began to get the hang of it, falling off less and less. He continued his current pace and headed off, until finally reaching a cobble road on the second day. From this point on he used his sense of tracking and the wooden signs to reach the Cloud Sanctuary. His journey was finally at an end. Or was it? He had escaped from his captors, in the process gaining the racism against humans only an Orc could hold. During the process, he learned how cruel those not of his kind could be. During the process, he lost everything. His family, he had no idea what had happened to them. His name was forgotten, seeing as how many years had passed. Everything about him was gone. Now he stood at the deserts of Krugmar, staring diligently at the giant stone wall of the Orcish capitol. He could hear the laughter and friendly fighting amongst his brothers echoing in the streets. He was finally home. Home, something that he had no feasted his eyes upon for many moons. He held back his tears as he walked forward in to the city, ready to rejoin his culture and his family.