Gazruk

==Description==
 
Name: Gaz'ruk 
Race: Orc 
Class: Warlock 
Professions: Scribe, Tailor 
Age: 46
Height: 7'6"
Weight: 242 lbs. 
Birthplace: Nagrand 
Current Residence: Wanderer 
Specialization: Shadow, Fire, and Demonic magic 
Affiliation: Stormreaver Clan 
Alignment: Neutral Evil 
Appearance: An orc of average height and light/medium build; he has pallid green skin, and jet black hair with grey streaks starting at his temples, as well as grey in his close-cropped beard on either side of his chin. His eyes burn with demonic fire; they flare up when he's agitated. His face is haggard; his cheeks are sunken, and there are dark rings around his fiery eyes. He is left-handed. The Stormreaver insignia is tattooed on the inside of his left forearm, faintly glowing with dark energy; he generally keeps this concealed, for obvious reasons.
== Background==
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Early Life
Like many an orc warlock, Gaz'ruk started off as a shaman. He came from a long line of seers, but was a bit of a disappointment to his clan. He was born enfeebled, and originally not expected to live. When he survived infancy, his scrawny physique and insolent attitude clashed with his stern father, the shaman Rez'gul. Determined to have an honorable son, Rez pushed him into shamanic training, despite his son's protests.
He was always argumentative towards his mentors. He could not understand why they were always asking permission of the spirits to use their power; Gaz'ruk wanted only to command, and be obeyed. If the instructors in Shadowmoon Valley had taken more time with him, he would maybe have walked a more heroic path; however, he was frequently mocked by his tutors and ostracized by most of his peers. Embittered, he was prepared to abandon society until he came upon a follower of Gul'dan. The fel powers this acolyte wielded, along with his dismissive and scornful attitude towards shamanism, was all Gaz'ruk needed to change his mind. He renounced his clan and began his mystic training anew as a Stormreaver.
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Internment and Exile
Gaz'ruk was a fledgling warlock when the Horde was shattered and the surviving orcs rounded up into internment camps. As he was but a neophyte at the time, he had been left behind when Gul'dan took his followers on his ill-fated journey to the Tomb of Sargeras. He and the other captured warlocks again found themselves ostracized by their fellow Hordelings; under cover of night, he kept up with his training under the tutelage of an old Stormreaver who had been left behind due to his advanced age. It was during this time that he earned his surname...
As Thrall taught the orcs to fight again, and their lethargy began to fade, a brutish warrior picked a fight with Gaz'ruk during mealtime. The hulking orc threw the warlock to the ground, disparaging his thin frame and fel practices. At this point, Gaz'ruk had become a capable warlock; capable, and cruel. As the proud warrior stood over him, Gaz'ruk unleashed a coil of shadowy energy at his assailant. It wasn't just an attack on the body, however, but on the mind as well. Horrific images filled the brute's mind and he stumbled backwards, terrified. This was not enough to sate Gaz'ruk's rage, however. Conjuring up demon fire in his left hand, Gaz'ruk launched it at the fearful orc, scorching not only his chest but his very soul. Right before the internment camp guards dragged the warlock away to solitary confinement, a shaman scolded him.
"You didn't need to scorn his soul like that; you'd already made your point. He may have been a bullying fool, but he didn't deserve that."
As rough hands seized Gaz'ruk's arms, he looked at the shaman with a wicked grin.
"'Deserve' has nothing to do with it."
The week played out and Gaz'ruk endured countless beatings, both from the guards and from fellow orcs who bribed their way into his cell for a chance at retribution. He was due to be executed at week's end, but fate spared him. Thrall attacked the camp, and in the chaos that ensued, the warlock made his escape. He managed to find his teacher, and they set out to escape together. Right before they cleared the wall, however, Gaz'ruk stopped. His mentor looked at him, puzzled. "Hurry, whelp, we haven't time to dawdle."
"Unfinished business, old one. I won't be a minute. Just need to drive home a point."
A short time later, Gaz'ruk returned, a self-satisfied expression on his face.
"Let's go. I'm sated."
When the human reinforcements arrived, they found an orc dressed in shamanic garb lying face up in the middle of the wrecked camp. He appeared middle-aged, but his hair was white. His eyes stared up, unseeing, his mouth agape, drool running down from the corners. Physically, he appeared in good health, but he was completely unresponsive to every shout, poke, and prod.
The two orcs stole a boat and kept to the fringes of the Horde fleet. In a horrible storm, they became separated from the other ships and washed up on a tiny, deserted island. Nothing of note was found, except for a few ruins that seemed to give the old orc a chill. They built a small camp and discussed their plans. The elder warlock was content to live in isolation; Gaz'ruk desired something more of life. One night as the aged orc slept, Gaz'ruk crept into his shanty and plunged a ritual dagger into his chest. As the blood spilled over his former master's chest and his eyes widened with shock and pain, Gaz'ruk drained the decrepit soul from its dying owner's body. While its taste was marred with its heavy fel taint, the power within was delightful.
Gaz'ruk constructed a new boat and left his teacher's corpse behind to the gulls and the insects. He was thirsty now in a way he had never been before, and he would be satisfied.
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Return to the Fold
Gaz'ruk reached land a week later. He wandered the wilds, practicing his skills and murdering the occasional lone traveler. He dined on the souls of many a newly discovered humanoid; pigmen, horsemen, birdwomen. He bulked up some, made tough by his life in the wild and strong by his consumption of souls. The weeks turned into months turned into years.
One day, much to his shock, Gaz'ruk came upon an orc. Even more surprising was the orc's mastery of elemental magic. Hiding his fel inclinations, Gaz'ruk hailed his would-be kinsmen. "Throm-ka, orc. Where is it you come from? I've been wandering lost for so long..."
"Throm-ka! I come from our great city of Orgrimmar!"
This was most interesting news. An orc city? Might there be a future for the Horde in this new land? Gaz'ruk was determined to find out, but on his own terms. How he despised shaman...
"How is it you do not know, brother? How is it you have survived out here for so long, in such isolation?"
A gruesome smile began to spread across Gaz'ruk's face as his eyes turned to fire. He spoke:
"I can't tell you, but I can show you..."
A few weeks later, an orc with a healthy body but haggard face arrived in Orgrimmar. He came into the city a bearer of bad news; a promising young shaman had been ambushed by quillboar out on the road, and try as he might, he could not save him. The orc was a little odd; acted familiar but asked many questions, questions that any youngling could have answered, questions about recent Horde history. He never mentioned his name and very little of his past. No one ever seemed to run into him outside the city. Overall, though, he made a good, if unmemorable impression as he claimed undying loyalty to the venerated young Warchief. As time went by he spent more and more time either in the shadowy corners of Orgrimmar or out somewhere in the greater world, just another orc in the Horde.
Category:Horde
Category:Orc
Category:Warlock