Bagronk Sha the Annihilator of Villages

Role

Chapter 10

His eyes burned from not having blinked for what seemed like days as he
continued staring at the unholy gralikon of Zurcon, entranced by the shifting
images that wavered over its now grimy surface. He was no closer to unlocking
its secrets than he was the first day he stumbled upon the abyssal tunnels of
the Temple of Grynmear. Yet, he would not give in to the trickery of the Elven
Gods, he could not give up, for he felt his existence inexorably tied to the
demonic artifact. Ever since the first day he wrested it from the hands of the
incompetent acolyte, he could feel his rage becoming focused upon his own
destructive nature and of the impending cataclysm that would befall the wretched
land upon which he skulked.

He knew the end to be near and the time for the re-awakening of the Demon-God at
hand as he witnessed the disparaging, raging chaos that ravaged the world about
him. So bereft was the land of morals, that even those who despised his kind
and waged war with his village sought his assistance in devouring their
adversaries. Bagronk did not know much, but he knew that when one's convictions
had been tossed aside in desperation, that the soul was bankrupt and ripe for
the taking.

A wide, toothy grin overcame his greasy face as he noticed a demonic image
appear upon the gralikon, wreathed in unholy black flames, a tingling pulse
racing up his arms at the thoughts of the morally bereft. His body twitched as
he sniffed the air about him, a sense of impending doom rising up his twisted
spine. Quickly he shoved the gralikon into his belt as his simple, base
thoughts returned to the moment at hand. His own village stirred with dissent,
few Orcs remained and those that did were scarcely visible. Time and time again
he had been prodded by the Orcstress Rilizra to assume the mantle of Chieftain,
yet, he knew she was up to something, as all Orcs inexorably were. While he
trusted her as much as an Orc could trust anyone, he could not be sidetracked
with the task at hand. He must continue to trudge towards discovering the long
hidden secrets of the Elven Gods and their treacherous act, one grueling thought
at a time. For he knew that in the end, the Village of the Grinning skulls and
all others would eventually be consumed by the great Demon-God, his only role
would be to assure that it was sooner, rather than later.

Role

Chapter 9

Rubbing his grimy, soot-covered hand over the demonic gralikon of Zurcon, he
could feel his heart race and his brackish blood boil as an unholy force clawed
at his soul. He stared off into the endless darkness of the labyrinth of
tunnels beneath the Temple of Loch Grynmear, a place filled with the servants of
the Dark Lord, both demons and devils alike pouring forth from the depths below.
This was truly a place to behold, a chasm of pure demonic power, hidden beneath
a place of the holy acolytes of Grynmear. This either meant that they
unknowingly built their temple upon the ground, or intentionally set out to bury
something of great importance beneath. That of great importance, was a sealed
box that held within it the trapped Lord Zurcon. From what Bagronk had gathered
from the countless ikons scattered about, was that a band of Elven Gods must
have tricked the Demon God somehow, and imprisoned his essence within the Elvish
tomb. They had to have tricked him, because it would not be possible for the
Demon-God to be defeated, not one of such power and who controlled such a
demonic horde! Bagronk continued to rub his hand over the gralikon as he gazed
down at the corpse of the fallen alleged servant of Zurcon. "Ones soo weakses,"
snarled Bagronk, spitting upon the defiled corpse, "shuld nots posesses suchs
itemses o' powerses!" Surely, he thought, the Dark Lord would want a servant
more worthy, such as himself, to continue the unholy rituals that sought to
awaken his master.

Lurching to his feet, he carefully tucked the now grime-covered gralikon into
his belt, uttering a slurry of obscenities at the Elves who had taken his master
from him. As he grew within the ranks of the Orcs, Bagronk had become more
aware of his own existence and purpose for being. While his fear and loathing of
others had not diminished much, his desire to appease the demonic calling within
was insatiable. So great was it, that he looked past his Orc horde and out into
the world of other mortals, seeking anyone by any means that would help him grow
and fulfill the unholy prophecy of Zurcon. Disappearing into the murky depths
of the abyssal cavern, he grunted, "Nothin's stands in meh ways, Lords
Zurconses, Bagronks does whuts needs beh dones!"

Role

Chapter 8

Cursing loudly he threw the failed elixir across the room, the nauxious
concoction slamming into the head of a female Orc who whimpered pitifully as she
scampered off down the corridor. He uttered a few more profanities as he
grabbed another rotting organ and again attempted to perform the caustic ritual
of blood over the fleshy tissue, yielding yet another miserable failure. He
hurled the vile down upon the floor before him, a nauseating smell filling the
room and a cloud of soot rising into the air as he slammed his clenched fists
upon the table, a brooding rage flaring in his beady-red eyes. Looking at his
once soot-covered form, he threw up his hands, a look of disgust rolling from
his flaring nostrils as he trudged violently out into the village and down the
muddied path, snarling and extolling insults at all the Orcs and other brutes he
encountered upon his way towards the soon-to-be incinerated mountainside. In his
rage, it was entirely lost on him that it was perhaps the copious amounts of ash
and other grime falling from his hands into the mixtures that caused them to
fail. Bagronk, however, could not be bothered with such details, he had become
consumed with the adaptation he had undergone and the intoxicating sensation of
the demon venom coursing through his veins. The more he failed, the angrier he
became and the harder he worked towards feeding the beast that grew within.

A blood-chilling calm overcame him as the shrubs around him burst into flames,
flared violently for a few minutes then choked themselves out, leaving nothing
but a pile of soot and ash. Gleefully he picked up handful after handful of the
debris, mixed it with the blood and water he had at his side and caked it upon
every bit of his body he could reach. Looking satisfied, he spit upon the
ground, snarled a barrage of obsceneties at the bastardly mages who made brewing
elixirs look so easy, and lumbered back to begin anew on his bloody concoctions.

Role

Chapter 7

His breathing was laborous, his eyes filled with bloody rage and his hands
clenched as he stood before the mighty Tremblefist, Chief Shaman of the Grinning
Skull Clan. As he stood there brooding, his mind raced back with the
recollection of the last time he stood before the snarling Shaman Chief, the
Orcstress Rilizra at his side, as she began the ritual which would change her
life forever. It was a terrifying moment, uncertain as to whether Tremblefist
would see favor in her or decide to devour her instead. He knew her to be a
cunning and ferocious Orcstress and could not imagine one more worthy of taking
the next step in the Clan than her. Now it was his turn and he could only think
of the strange books and mystical tomes he'd come across on his journeys,
especially that of the apparently undead Kteng and the knowledge that must have
been acquired in the process. He'd spent a great deal of time in the wizard's
laboratory, attempting to gather what knowledge he could, even tho he hated to
read and despised those who wrote things down, as it seemed lazy to him not to
pass it from Orc to Orc via words and examples. Yet, through his many travels
and run-ins with all variety of magi, he began to accept that the knowledge was
so vast and seemingly limitless, one must put words to scroll, lest the
knowledge be lost for all eternity and have to be rediscovered over and over
again. A seemingly futile task given the variety of magicks to be harnessed.

A pain shot through his chest and blood began to pour from the corner of his
eyes, the acrid smoke in the air nearly suffocating him. Snapping back to what
was transpiring, he looked up to see Tremblefist brooding over him, a sinister
grin upon his face. "You no simple Orc," sneered the Shaman, "you spawn of
demonkind! You bastard spawn of demonic necromancers, despised and feared by all
of Thera." Slowly Tremblefist's arm raised, finger pointing at Bagronk, his
other hand pouring the remaining dust upon the sacred candle as he snarled, "Go,
demon in the woodpile, embrace hated ancestry. Take knowledge acquired from
magi and harness demonic powers within. Begin life anew as Mundunugu." Bagronk's
eyes were locked upon the sacred candle as it flared brightly, a wave of nausea
overwhelming him as blood ran freely from his pores and he collapsed upon the
fetid earth, darkness overtaking him and leaving his mind empty, save for the
images of demons clawing at his lifeless form, attempting to drag him down into
the shadowy depths of the unknown abyss...

Role

Chapter 6

As he continued to trudge, he began to realize more and more enemies were after
his scurvy hide, thus driving him into deeper and deeper regions of the land.
As he fled his would-be assailants, he managed to stumble into a dark and dismal
network of caverns, the smell of stale, suffocating air was all about him. As
he attempted to survey his surroundings, he realized that he was barely able to
see past his own nose, yet this did not deter him from plunging deeper into
their depths. Further he trudged into the abysmal subterranean hole, certain the
scurvy bastards that chased him would be unable or unwilling to follow him into
these expansive and hopefully forgotten caverns. Further and further he marched,
always attempting to survey the steps before him, yet to no avail as he stumbled
into a multitude of horrifying creatures unlike any he'd ever seen or heard of
above land. There even appeared to be several well-armed Drow within the depths
guarding something, or perhaps someone, yet Bagronk did not stick around long
enough to find out, for they were quick to plunge their sharpened mithril blades
into his hide the first chance they got.

He stumbled about for what seemed like countless days, a horde of ferocious
creatures on his trail and no matter what he did, he could not seem to discern
where he was going nor where it was he had been. The gutteral sound of a
ravenous beast arose behind him, the sound of claws dragging upon the cavern
walls as the noise grew closer and closer. In sheer desperation Bagronk
strained with all his might as he gazed about his surroundings when suddenly, as
if by divine intervention, his eyes opened wide and down the tunnel he could
see! Turning behind him he peered down the tunnel and to his horror, a
ferocious beast with more claws than a ravenous felar emerged, lumbering down
the darkened corridor towards him! Praising the Gods for his newfound
subterranean vision, he managed to scout his surroundings as carefully as
possible as he hurried out from the caverns and into the fresh air of the
overworld, the gut-wrenching roar of the beast shrieking through the air behind him
as its beady-red eyes peered forth from the cave, reluctant to pursue him into
the light above.

Role

Chapter 5

A strange place he had stumbled upon, an enclave of wizards both sinister and
holy, seemingly a place of pure knowledge for those who sought the mysteries of
the arcane. Not wanting to raise the ire of these magicians, Bagronk removed
his weapons before entering and grunted the words necessary to appease their
self-righteousness. Wandering through the many dwellings and shops within the
mysterious settlement, he stumbled upon tome after tome of snooty words and
other various pages of self-aggrandizement. The more he attempted to read of
the ancient texts, the angrier he became, furious at the snobbery these self-
righteous bastards seemed to place upon knowledge for knowledge's sake with no
mention of the trials and tribulations of the Orcs anywhere, not a single word
was spoken to their contributions upon the world as he knew it, nothing! This
and the fact that he hated to look at words upon paper, only exacerbated
Bagronk's anger to a point of frothing blindness until at last he could do
nothing but storm out of the tower and trudge to and fro, marching endlessly in
any direction, blind with rage and gobbling up whatever fleshy meat sack he
happened upon.

When Bagronk finally came to an abrupt stop, he realized he was nowhere near his
Orcish Village, yet his legs were strong, his energy seemingly boundless and the
ferocity within him a boundless fury of hatred for all the meaty blood sacks
that stood before him. While he was unable to formulate words to express the
newfound hatred coursing through his brackish blood, he emitted a gutteral howl,
a furious roar echoing through the valley as he marched onward, a violent spring
in his step and a frothing fury in his eyes.

PK Gank-O-Meter

Role

Chapter 4

As he struck out further and further from what he came to know as the Village of
the Grinning Skulls, Bagronk's aptitude for observing the lands about him and
cunning survival abilities began to increase ever-so-steadily. He'd even begun
to learn a few words here and there of the common tongue.

One such experience was a fortunate encounter with the nefarious Bandit
King, Imbessar. He had stumbled into a forest so green, it seemed to shine with
emeralds, a place laden with mystical pixies and brownies. Seeing the buffet of
succulent woodland creatures bounding about, his hunger overcame him as he set
about gorging himself on limbs and entrails. As he rounded a corner of a path
within the glimmering forest, the mysterious Imbessar approached him and made
him an offer he couldn't refuse. The Bandit King had apparently heard of his
deeds and was pleased, figured Bagronk, so he skeptically agreed to hear out the
foreboding figure. Imbessar first had him whisper, then speak, then shout a few
words, each more difficult than the last. For Bagronk, however, even the
seemingly simple words were quite difficult, but that did not discourage him
from attempting to please his newfound instructor. Run about and shout he did,
until at last the Bandit King was satisfied with the efforts and bestowed upon
the young Orc a few well-kept secrets about shouting a cry of war in battle to
intimidate even the fiercest of foes.

Pleased with his newfound abilities and his increasing prowess as a defiler of
all things needing to be defiled, Bagronk returned to the Village of the
Grinning skulls to discuss his conquests with the Savage known as Graag, the Orc
who had thus far taught him everything he knew about surviving and growing in
the seemingly endless world. So pleased was Graag with the stories Bagronk had
to tell, that he took him under his guidance that he might become more apt at
learning the ways of the wily and cunning Orc.

Role

Chapter 3

After fleeing for his life, Bagronk managed to stumble upon an enclave of Orcs
who paid him little to no heed as he lumbered about their midst. He was
uncertain as to whether or not these were the same fiends that flailed him
violently and chased after him when he was young, but they seemed to say nothing
nor look at him different than the other Orcs, so he continued to skulk about
the village as indiscreetly as possible, calling this newfound place home and
paying heed not to anger the shaman of the clan, Tremblefist.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Bagronk became more and
more familiar with his ability to function as a fledgling Orc. While he was
really proficient in nothing, he had gleamed an insight into how to do more than
just hurl dung at his enemies. He was still afraid of most things, especially
the other Orcs he'd stumbled upon, so he closed his mind to the outside world,
keeping to himself as much as he could and attempting to blend in and do as the
other Orcs did when he was around them.

Up until now, he'd spent most of his time feeding off the unsuspecting denizens
of the local docks and stealing what supplies he could, generally preferring the
strong drink from the boats that docked upon the busy seaport. Feeling a bit
taller and wanderlust growing in his brackish blood, he scampered off of the
docks and into the wilds beyond, hoping to put to use some of the new found
tricks that Graag the Savage had taught him, as well as to satiate the growing
hunger for new fleshy delicacies which to fill his bottomless pit of a stomach.

Role

Chapter 2

Shivering in the misty cold, bloodied and nearly whipped to death, the infant
Orc crawled his way deeper into the looming swamp until he could pull himself no
further. As he began to pass out from the pain and exhaustion, the only thing
that kept rolling through his brain was the word that they shouted after him,
"Bagronk sha," most likely an Orcish curse of some form, but to the young Orc,
he took it to be him that they were in fact shouting after. And so it came to
be, that the Orc, Bagronk Sha emerged from the fetid quagmire of an Orcish
birthing den and into the world of Thera, alone, addled and only one thing on
his mind...survival.

Role

Chapter 1

Blinding light pierced the narrow slits in his skull as his grimy black eyes
tried to peer forth, attempting to get a sense of what transpired. Throbbing
pain continued to rack is brain, his eyes blinking spasmodically, the light
wreaking havoc upon his bearings. Slowly he stood up from a crouched fetal
position, a gelatinous layer of some form of ooze covering him from head to toe.
Slowly the blinding light began to subside, the acrid smell of decay and general
refuse all around him. As his surroundings began to come into view, he could
see many other crude beings about him, all rising to their feet and clawing at
the ooze which covered their pockmarked, misshapen forms, each gasping for
breath as they coughed up the reddish mucus from their lungs.

A cold, rigid fear crept up his spine and overwhelmed him as it took over his
mucus-covered form. His addled mind could process one thing and one thing only,
take flight, run for all he was worth. Quickly a leg lunged forward as he
stumbled in the quagmire of fetid ooze, falling flat upon his face with a hard
thud and a loud slosh, the fetid ooze filling his nose, mouth, eyes and ears.
His limbs did not seem to want to cooperate, he knew he must move yet each
appendage lurched in a different direction if responding at all. He flailed
about, his muscles aching and tingling as tho they'd never been put to use,
which they hadn't. He paniced more, limbs flailing to and fro as he somehow
hopped to his feet only to come back down once again, falling squarely on his
back as what little breath he was able to muster was knocked out of his frail body.

A thunderous *CRACK* pierced the air as a searing pain lurched through his body,
a large gash tearing open across his chest, along his throat and stopping at his
cheek, a brackish blood pouring out of the wound. "Gotsa runner," shouted the
coarse voice, a brutish, dingy, spiked-armor-wearing figure looming over his
battered body. "Yous goes nowhere," snarled the voice as it glared down at him,
the sound of a whip whistling through the air. Before the whip could land upon
its mark a second time, the newly hatched Orc leapt to his feet and out of sheer
will to survive, hurtled his lanky, uncooperating body past the foreboding
figure and fell down a series of stairs, banging and bouncing all the way down
the darkened corridor. He could hear the snarling and the clang of feet and
weapons behind him, the loud shouting and cursing rising up and getting ever
closer as he pressed on, a faint, shadowy light emerging up ahead, the sound of
a whip cracking ever-so-close behind. Lunging for the misty crevice, he heard
only the cursing of the Orcs behind him, proclaiming, "Bagronk sha, tha filthy
maggot gots away!"

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