Medash the Warlord of the Grinning Skulls

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Role

Chapter 1

Landing upon the mosaic-tiled docks of Hamsah, Medash stepped from his
ragged raft and crawled upon a new world. Born from the Outlands, this
young alien stood in awe....clothes, laughter, strange
contraptions....all foreign to the wilds of the barbarian cults. Under
the sign of the Fell-crow, Medash only knew the wilds - savagery
incarnate and weened from the pack of Saraba he clearly stood out among
the civilized. As more eyes begun to stare, his stance became predatory
and defensive as he knew not what to expect....or what to do.

That's when the prophet came - covered in a dark moleskin cloak, soft as
sin, he quickly assessed the orc's origin and approached with a grin upon
his face. Taking the movement as always the worst intentioned, Medash
froze when the prophet barked in his home language. Confused yet still
reluctant, he followed the beckoning prophet along the river away from
society. Huddling beneath some small waterfalls, the prophet explained.

With the return of Saraba, more and more followers of the Marin had
approached the western continent seeking his favor - but none blended in
well and faced death to their counterparts. The prophet was a rare
survivor among the growing number of corpses. Medash would need to blend
in to survive initially, embracing the instinct of survival - a hard role
for an Outlands orc...but an orc's sly behavior was second to none and
as he learned the language he had integrated well despite his strange
appearance to others.

Role

Chapter 2

Black lightning rippled through the sky over the mausoleum, the howling
wind a foreboding white noise for the creature that broke through the
woods - Saraba the Great Wild Beast had come to see his follower.
Groveling as he tore at the ground with his savage weaponry, Medash had
no real clue how to approach the situation. In truth, the Fell-crow
demanded much from his flock - and orders always followed....Saraba was
more passive, sniffing the truth behind Medash's words. Even Joheem held
nothing before this one in strength and power. The time hiding among the
civilized and even his own home in the orc village had loosened his step
- and calmed his savagery.

"Meh make Saraba proud" was all he could muster before the great beast,
knowing a mistake of lies would lead to the devouring of his soul as the
Fell-crow had done to so many before. His accomplishments had been few,
but he was now given the order from the beast..."Happy Hunting" was the
thought that filled his mind, the growling echoed a language none besides
those of the Outlands could understand.

And hunt he would.