Gorag Mor'Uclanaxa the Chieftain of the Grinning Skulls

Role

Chapter 7

A low rumbling gurgle resounded throughout the cavernous depths of the village
underground. In truth, the two sat there arguing for what seemed like hours.
One making eloquent comments pertaining to the consumption of food and the
other mildly agreeing in a more simple and gruff manner. The entire time they
bickered, their stomach gnawed at itself. They wondered when it'd be time to
consume the feast that was saved within the girdle.

The two often quarreled with one another. The same arguments, the same
agreements, just different times. Sometimes one of them would have a good
idea, though rarely the ineloquent one, but others they'd both be questioning
the decisions that were made. Overall, all that mattered was the hunger and
chasing that ever full feeling of satiety that comes with a good and filling
meal. Each of them wanted that because they inherently remembered that full
feeling led to them growing and growing to them becoming powerful.

Neither one of them know where the second voice came from, nor who was the
first, with theories ranging from a parasitic twin, to demonic possession, to
a magical second mouth. When it comes to who was first, neither can decide
when the other showed up, if they were always together, or one just appeared
one day. To them, it feels like they've just naturally been this way. Gorag
(Gor) the Gluttonous and Mor'Uclanaxa (Mor) the Bottomless.

Role

Chapter 6

The rain flowed down in gluttonous runnels and the cacophony of sound, all
around, was near deafening. It splashed down across, the currents and deck
boards, upon rooftops and scoured the streets as it flowed towards the river.
Meanwhile, he trudged and tromped his way along, paying it little mind, after
all it was just another day. Delivering a swift kick, he urged his slave
onward. The non-clansman seemed far slower than usual today but had yet to
present a reason to be turned from beast of burden into simple meat, so far.

Disembarking along the river road, they made their way past a large
intersection, past the market square and along the holy road before entering
the hallowed confines. Their steps echoed off the crypts as they strode down
the narrow rows, he sneered, a slight smile turning up at the corners of his
face as the false turn came into view. As they entered the church proper, he
gave his slave a swift kick to the legs, ensuring they knelt in respect.
Several guttural words escaped his lips and he waited. Loud gurgling sounds
erupted from his bulbous belly and he prayed.

Although unanswered, a sense of recognition coursed through him and his sneer
became a wry grin. The two hulking orcs rose, turned, and headed away. Just
as they were about to depart the graveyard, he heard something. As the knife
missed his chest by mere inches, he evoked a furious cry! With swift blows
and powerful strikes he smashed into his attacker but just as the final blow
was prepared, he missed allowing their escape. It was then that the second
assassin, gone unheard in the battle, plunged their blade through his ribs.

Once the encounter was over, they exchanged a few pointed barbs with one
another. Each pointing out how the encounter was praise to the great
benefactor. It wasn't until after collecting his belongings and discovering a
favored cookie that he was saving had been taken, he pledged an undying grudge
against these assassins. After all, no one deserves the word "Gorag" in their
mouth unless he put it there. Ensuring he had the names correct, he beseeched
another of the shadows for help before committing them to memory.

Role

Chapter 5

The scent of rotting flesh and aged musk are the most prevalent allies and
companions of his during the pursuit of ever greater strength and a
perpetually unending smorgasbord that is life. All around remain those that
snicker and sneer, unable to recognize his growth... or simply unwilling to do
so. When he can bully, he does, when he needs cower, he does, all in the
pursuit of more. So many of these tasks he takes offense to. Why should he
need to swing and train and simply not eat more but that is exactly the crux
to being the berserker that he is. The taskmasters bay him train, run here,
lift that, but all that plagues his mind is consumption.

There are ample opportunities for him to exercise his plethora of talents as a
butcher and they yield steaks a plenty, foe after foe perishes to his newly
honed forms with a variety of weapons. He finds particular interest in how
the different ones yield differing body parts and how the flesh subtilely
changes flavor based on the type of attack. Be it a massive tenderizing
hammer, chopping slice of a pike, searing flames or so many others. They are
all, so good. He often finds himself engrosses in an internal struggle trying
to decide which is the better, fingers and brains, for the crunch and texture,
or arms and legs for the simple volume and meatiness.

As a side effect of his continual drive to destroy and devour, he has grown.
To other orcs he has developed a reputation of cunning and some fear but more
importantly he has increased both in bulk and strength, no longer possessing
the reputation of the runt-whelp. Furthermore, the great orcish shaman
Tremblefist even acknowledge his efforts and provided him the knowledge to
further adapt himself to combat. As such, he chose the path of those
gargantuan orcs that he idolized as a whelp, amongst the clans they're known
as the feared Mamlauk soldiers.

Role

Chapter 4

Constant and never-ending pain courses throughout. A feeling of emptiness,
partial fullness, or even fullness, nothing ever feels fulfilling. There is
this eternal, nagging sensation, almost as if there's an itch that's
impossible to scratch that embodies this life and existence. Consumption
helps, steaks, limbs, even yummy fingers provide only brief respites, yet the
yearning remains. Sometimes the surroundings change, the seasonings aren't
ever consistent, although they don't really even matter.

The home moves, hardly ever at rest. Causing a churning inside, sloshing and
disturbing the peace. Small chunks of the last meal slowly integrating,
breaking down and nourishing, empowering growth. Occasionally a hole, slash,
pain, bruising and shocks of all sorts are aggravating and annoying, each are
cause for problem. As if the constant moving and breaks between meals wasn't
enough, they're often associated with these pains.

The fool in charge seems like they never listen. Sitting here, grumbling ever
so often and hardly ever heard. At least the fool made their way towards the
church that calibrates consumption, that never-ending consumption that's
needed for growth. Maybe one day they can get recognized and acknowledge the
guiding principles within that will be responsible for making them big,
powerful, strong and driven to find the true meaning of consumption.. gluttony.

Role

Chapter 3

Adventuring is a name that the "Civilized" folk of snobby places like Galadon
and Hamsah call running around, killing, slaughtering, looting, pillaging, and
throwing in the occasional contracted job. Ever since the academy, Gorag has
absolutely loved his new situation, his life as an adventurer. Although he's
only spent a few years doing it, he wants to keep it up for as long as he can.
The massive amount of blood that he's spilled in just this short time feels
astonishing and that's not including the highest points, when he learned new
skills to enhance his size.

The first skill was forced marching. This is an incredible technique in that
he can go much further in search of food than he had been able to do in the
past. Sure, there are different pieces of armor that let him walk further but
being able to drive onwards, past the inherent limitations of his legs not
only made them stronger but helped him survive to be able to feast on many
more things. His favorites so far are much in line with others of the clan,
mostly dwarves and elves but he's not too picky. Elves though offer their own
hefty reward.

That reward being their very life blood! Through the skill as taught to him
by the goblin taskmaster, exsanguinate, his world was opened to a whole new
sensation. It both has effervescent qualities that regenerate his on very
important blood reserves but it provides a glorious sensation in his belly.
It leaves a sense of satiety and inner love that made him almost beam with
delight, the first time he tried it. The best part is that no matter how much
he drinks, there's always room for more!

Finally, his last talent that he prizes nearly as much as exsanguination is
butchering. It's simple and he can perform it just as easily with an axe as
with a sword or dagger. He hasn't tried a spear or pole-weapon yet but is
looking forward to it. And best of all, it yields yummy steaks! Yes,
sometimes they're still covered in muck and gore from the fighting but they're
ever so delicious, they're helping him put on even more bulk, and very simple
to lug around, after all, they don't even need preservation.

Skill List

Role

Chapter 2

It's because of this fear and awe that they exude that he's come to notice
that not a one of them ever seems to go hungry. They all get to eat as much
as they want, never having to scavenge, scrimp off of others, living off of
the rotten table scraps. He wants that, he wants to never feel as if he can't
eat, to eat and eat, and then eat some more. That's why his clansmen must
have gotten so big, because they can eat what they want and when they want.
His insight is that food leads to size and size to strength and strength to
power and domination and it all starts with eating.

Not long after his sixth season, the sow that birthed him kicked him out of
the pens to fend for himself so that she could focus her energy on the
stronger of the litter. After all of his observing and yearning, he knew what
to do and kept eating anything he could, kept growing, eventually beginning
life as a berserker himself. Learning those first few skills were disastrous.
Warbosses beating him, smacking him, correcting him, he loathed the process
but grinned inwardly as he felt the triumph of his labor, his struggle, his
way of life.

Soon after learning most of the basics, he departed to the local academy.
There he found tasty fleshy creatures that he could vent some of his inner
rage against and, of course, enjoy the soft bits that remained when he smashed
their heads and bodies. Nothing offered to him was off limits, no task or
treatment if it provided a way for him to consume and grow stronger. The
people there weren't as big and strong as his clansmen, with few exceptions
and he decided that they and their towns were best for pilfering, for the most
part.

Role

Chapter 1

Amongst the rancid, rancor of the Grinding Skull village is the homeland of
the orcish clan of its namesake. This is not a happy place for most, each
birth is one of life of hardship and often neglect. The strong and cunning
live and prosper while the weak of body and mind starve and act as festering
wounds to the clan. Almost like leeches, they bleed the clan and latch onto
the strong for survival. The strong in turn trample, enslave, and yoke the
weaker of the clan to grow ever stronger in a cycle of supremacy and
domination. Many a young whelp and half-starved youth has been birthed into
these muddy, fetid lands.

One such youth was Gorag, the youngest and smallest of a brood sow's litter.
He was always the ire of his sow mother's neglect and occasional rage. His
sire was said to be a large and powerful berserker and his bloodline should
have produced powerful offspring, and they did, all except him. His older
sisters and brothers were easily time and a half his size and strength. He
often observed them, seething with envy as they'd eat as much or as little as
they wished, while he'd have to sneak around for each scrap, often digging
small gobbets from the muck and mire of the pens.

Despite his meager existence and maybe in spite of, he has harbored a innate
desire to emulate the mightiest of berserkers that he's seen commanding both
fear and respect of others within the village. While skulking in the shadows
of the clan, he'd often watch their ferocious battles and feel enlivened. His
heart would pound with a strident longing to join and dominate their ranks.
These massive Orcs serve as his role models and his ideal of indomitable
strength and might.

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