 |
| Marching towards doom again, eating only hard tack and goblin? Sure, why not? |
Orcs have a pretty sad lot in life. They're usually nasty, brutish creatures, pulled forth from the ether to act as cannon fodder for marauding bands of PCs looking for a quick gold fix. Quick to anger, none too tough and just dangerous enough to be scary, Orcs get used a lot. Most don't even get names, unless they are nasty bosses with names like Gutrender and Gorkus One-Eye. Sure, they get detailed in some campaign settings and recent books (Eberron even tried some sort of peaceful nature-orcs), but one gets the feeling that for every fleshed-out orc with a back-story there is a ravening horde of green-skinned monsters, waiting to die for the chance at a lucky stab at a player character.
So here's the deal. I have this orc here, and he needs a story:
 |
| Who am I again? |
Where's he from? Some cessspit under a gloomy mountain? The orcish zepplin fleet? New York City?
What makes him tick? Why does he get up in the morning? Where'd he get that awesome belly band?
Write me a quick history of John Doe Orc here, and stick it in the comments. I'll pick one and put him in my game and see if he gets killed.
There I was.... fist deep in a halfling midget.
ReplyDeleteNow... I know what you're thinking... a midget halfing... isn't that redude... refundant. And fist deep... can you even fit a fist in one? Well I'm telling you.. it happens and you can. Now... where was I?
"W-where you came from?" stutters out a horrified youth trapped in the corner booth of an otherwise ubiquitous tavern setting.
"Ahhh yes... Cabbage... stinking filthy fucking cabbage farmers. You'd think that living a pirates life is all fun and games. Arr me harties and sticking your sword in pretty girls... well let me tell you, As a peon youn'en... alls you get is piss. Piss to drink.. piss to clean... piss for pretties. All they give you is young boys to plug. "
The boys eyes take on a wild look... his eyes scream in desperation... save me... please someone... an act of charity... save me or kill me before this beast eats me.
"Serves em right... huh... fire in the night.. burning so bright... ha... listen to me.. Should ha'e been a bard singing girls teets out o' der clothes. So yeah... after I took the skiff away from the burning wreckage of my childhood I landed among the savages... with they're gleaming teeth and their savage tongues. Quoting their god filled book of the heavens with their godless tongues.
Courage wells up and demands the boy correct his statement... who knows where such idiocy comes from, however right now it's here and well, "Wait.. god book... tongues.. what?"
Silence pervades the tavern. Death himself lingers waiting for the horrifying actions to take place. The moment drags on until broken finally.
*Pffffrrt* "Ugh... that's been waiting to come out all night." The orc ignores the comment and choking that comes after and continues on without falter.
"So yeah... I land on some island of fucking missionaries. Apparently they came out to convert the previous savages their stupid religion... only to blight the bastards with some pox... HAr AH ha haha...
ohhhh it was hard to keep that in when they told me about it. The only thing harder was keeping yer bowels in check after eating all the cabbage and mangos they had cultivated on that wretched island.
I made it 3 more days till I turned that place into an inferno worthy of one of the nine hells. It could have been a bad mango... or looking at their perfect teeth... maybe some wayward comment about the niece of the nephew of the lord of cabbage. I don't know... something in me just snapped. I just know it was days later... when a freighter spotted the black spire of smoke and picked me up from that hell. Covered in soot and blood.
The best part was... I told them it was the pirates that did it. The Pirates of Pox Island...
Snodgrass was always a big boy. First a fat biscuit of an orc baby, then a thick young orc covered in flab, then a huge giant of an orc warrior. He could smash a goblin in one of his strong hands, and won the clan wagon pull many years in a row. But his real passion was food. Snodgrass pushed aside the yipping goblins who labored at the stew pots early in his life, and was the unofficial cook for his band by the time he was 12. He'd join in raids just to gather ingredients, from human's sea salt and herbs to kobold fungus spoors. When the old chief challenged him to a duel, the clan was swayed by his cooking to supporting Snodgrass (which was ultimately unimportant when Snodgrass killed the old chief with a frying pan). Now his band roves the land, fueled by delicious and exotic haut cuisine. They raid villages that refuse to donate their best ingredients, and throw lavish feasts in the countryside. Snodgrass has been welcomed to the court of at least 3 kings, but has returned each time to his wandering ways, travelling near and far with his band, searching for the perfect meal.
ReplyDeleteMy first memory was the dark. The second was the cold.
ReplyDeleteAfter I had learned to walk, the others from the band came and took me to the warrens where I lived with the other’s who had not yet grown their tusks. Here we trained: some with bow, others, with the club. Those of us with the most nimble fingers, namely the Orogs, took to the bow; my fingers were always too thick and stiff to draw the bowstring. I grew strong on bread and meat brought down from above and learned to swing my club hard enough to shatter a shield and the arm behind it. As my tusks grew, the others drew away from me in fear. I had many scars from battle.
One day the lords of the above called for me. He told me that Gruumsh had plans for me and if I did all that I was told I would live forever in Nishrek when my work for him was done. I was sent to a door, higher in the mountain than I had ever been before and told to stop all of those who were not of the band from crossing its threshold. I never learned where the door went. For ages I stood at one side of the door and at night I trained with my club. One day men came and tried to go through my door. I had never seen creatures like them before, but they were just meat like all the rest. I fought and one of them split my belly open with a gleaming sword. But I still smashed their swords, and shattered their bones.
When I awoke my belly was gird with a steel plate, riveted across my back. It holds by guts in better than my skin ever did. The lord offered me a gift of the blade that had split my belly and the armourer put a new hilt and pommel on to fit my hands. I was to be sent to the surface. I would see the sun.
The band followed me. They respected my scars and my swing. We left the mountain by night and brought back food and riches for the band. I split many men open with the sword of their brother. As we traveled farther, more orcs from below joined our raids. Soon all the orcs of the outside band followed me and only the lord of above tells me what to do. But he won’t for much longer.
Now everyday I see the light. I feel the warmth of the sun.