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Zorku, of the Dragonmaw Clan Race: Orc Occupation: Warlock (Former shaman) Allegiances: Dragonmaw Clan, Grom'Goshar, Horde Languages known: Orcish, Common, Eredun Age: 32 (Image provided: 17) Another orc is born Zorku was born in Gorgrond, while most of the orcish clans had the blood curse in their veins. Despite the fel magics that permeated Draenor and his parents, he retained the characteristic gray skin and yellow eyes of what would later be known as the "Dragonmaw" clan, but the same could not be said for his rate of growth: even though he had not earned the green skin many other orcs carried, he did obtain the astounding rate of growth that many other orcish newborns carried, to fuel the war machine that was the Horde at the time. He went with his clan when it received the order to reach Azeroth through the Dark Portal, and there he first saw a thriving world, instead of the decaying one that was Draenor. War and peace He underwent the training any other orcish youngster would receive, but his call was not the one of a warrior. Although they had been overshadowed by the powerful energies of warlocks, there were still a few "rogue" shamans. And so, fascinated with the elements that thrived in Azeroth, he sought the training of one: he wanted to be a shaman of Earth and Water, to help his clan, protecting and healing. But his calling would not be heeded until after the second war: after Gul'Dan's betrayal while sieging Capital City, the Horde's loss forced the clans to scatter, and many orcs were captured. Zorku managed to escape to the Twilight Highlands with most of his clan, and him being around 10 years old, he began his training as a shaman, after a good part of the clan had forsook the teachings of warlocks and had begun to scorn and isolate them. Future Untold Isolated, the Dragonmaw Clan fended by themselves the Wildhammer Dwarves. They had lost their dragons in the aftermath of the Second War, and they'd been chased out of Grim Batol. The situation was dire, but they were orcs, and they were going to hold out until the very end, if need be. Years passed, and Zorku's connection with the elements deepened. His clan managed to fortify against the dwarves' attack, but so many years of fight had left a deep prejudice and mistrust against the stunted humans: if not all of his clan, Zorku developed one. But his world would eventually change completely one day. He was contacted by some of the few warlocks that his clan had left: they had chosen him to join them, soon after becoming 17. Although Zorku hadn't trusted them an ounce, whether it was truth or lies, they struck a deep wound within his heart: he would become a Warlock, but not to bring forth conquest: to protect his own people, as the demons were sure to come back one day. Waking up The fel had tainted him. He knew it. Perhaps not as much as others. Maybe it was his conviction, or maybe it had been the connection he'd previously felt with the elementals. It didn't matter. It was all gone now. The first days had been the worst, and from time to time, those days came back to him: a wracking feel of void where once the elemental powers were, that now only the fel and shadow energies could sate. His life had never been the same after that day, but his conviction remained clear. Most of the time, at least: he'd become a Warlock to protect his people, and protect them he would, even if he had to risk his life gathering materials or summoning demons. He'd learn Eredun, the demon's language. He'd learn to parlor and deal with demons. He'd learn to make them submit to him: that's why he'd become a warlock. He went to sleep after one of those days. He woke up elsewhere. A strange island in the middle of nowhere, where his magics didn't work properly. He felt less… void… He'd adapt and overcome.