Role

Chapter 4

Size equates to strength, strength equates to power, power equates to being
able to satisfy one's innermost hunger and ego. Giagrob has come to learn this
and incorporate it as his guiding principle and because of his painful trials
as the runt orc and as an underwhelming berserker, it is etched deeply within
his psyche. Most times he's hesitant and gives in to his cowardly orcish
nature when it comes to picking his opponents but there have been some
victories and losses along his tumultuous ascension.

Not so long ago he found that he'd finally begun to rise above some of the
fetid squalor of the Grinning Skull orcs and earned, through pain and hardship,
the opportunity to undergo the rites of adaptation. Though most of it seems a
bit hazy, like waking from a passing dream, he still recalls the ashen smell of
soot that shaman, Tremblefist used as he invoked the ancient ritual. After
explaining to him his desire for strength and power, holding silent the rage
for so many that drives the pursuit of them, he felt a newfound invigoration
rising up from deep inside.

As the smoke penetrated to the pit of his lungs, he felt those lanky limbs that
had served him so well flowed full of twitching power, tendons and ligaments
pulled their sinewy ties tautly stiffening and bulging across his spine and
rippling beneath the mottled array of filthy armor. This sensation made him
loose a howl like he'd never done before and for the first time in his life, he
thought he may have an understanding for what the great Orcs and Gobs feel
like, maybe even Rotwang himself.