Grukk Charrbone - The Pyremaster

[Dascombe 234]

 

 

Gruk Charrbone

Race: Orc

Age: 76 (Venerable)

Class: Pyremaster (Shaman)

Alleigance: The Horde / Independent

Languages: Orcish (Fluent), Ignan Kalimag (Fluent), Other dialects of Kalimag (adequate), Common (close to Fluent)

 

A Land Called Home

Charrbone was one of those Orcs that chose neither the path of the warrior and not nessecarrily that of the mystic. The clan he was part of, a minor one faded into obscurity and all but deceased, was one which made up the larger shadowmoon clan in Shadowmoon Valley on Draenor, one known for its shaman and mystics. Although he studied the mystic arts he was not destined to work with all four of the elements that made up the natural world, he was destined to become attuned to the elemental forces of fire as a Pyremaster.

The pyremaster undertook a rather unique yet important role in Orcish society... whilst many would choose their own way of entering their afterlife, many would opt for the act of cremation so that the spirit free of flesh can conquer the elements in the next life, the pyremaster facilitated that transformation from corpse into spirit through a complex series of rituals which became less a formality over the years and became far more communal, a ceremony where the relatives of the deceased and their entire clan would drink, dance and sing songs of their deeds of valor and their accomplishments.

Although an adult and a wise pyremaster by the time of the blood curse, his vision and clarity was not enough to prevent him from falling to the same affliction that befell the rest of the Orcish clans who, in their bloodfeud, put the Draenei race to the sword. During this time his skill with the flame were used to incinerate entire Draenei villages and settlements, sometimes even using his abilities for gruesome executions where Draenei vindicators were held in cages in arenas only to be set ablaze with blazegrease.

Years of this would continue, a sensation not unlike being trapped inside one's own body, his actions not his own and that of the fel coarsing through his veins.

 

Orcs vs Humans

Following the decimation of the Draenei population of Draenor, the Orcs turned their gaze to new worlds to conquer in the name of their demonic masters who had enslaved them. Gruk followed some of the later clans through the portal to learn the ways of this new world they sought to invade and despite the years of push-and-pull conflict they would find themselves bound in iron servitude and enslavement to their new human masters, trading the fel-blood for the pinkskin. Age had begun to unleash it's own curse on the now aging Charrbone who began to wrinkle and slow as the passage of time battered him physically.

During the internment period, a great many of the Orcish population withered away with many perishing and even more losing their identity and becoming shattered husks of the proud race once called 'Orcs'. It was in one of these internment camps that Gruk found himself becoming what was the equivalent of a human chaplin, he would tend not just the physical wounds of the Orcs but their spiritual ones, speaking great stories of their kind and of great hunts in Draenor and of their great shamanic heritage.

After the uprisings in the camps, which resulted in the Orcs gaining their freedom, Gruk made his way across the sea to the land of Kalimdor seeing himself less a part of this newly formed 'Horde' and simply one who tends to the spiritual needs of the Orcish people. Upon their arrival in Durotar he became something of a hermit, he did not follow the Horde in the vision of its new warchief Thrall but instead chose the life of a recluse in the mountains in order to better come to understand his connection with the elements that he lost whilst under the demonic blood haze. As he lived in the mountains of Durotar he dispensed wisdom to the next generation of shamans as they sought to acquire the blessings of the elementals of flame.

 

The Burning Crusade

When the call to Outland was announced, Gruk packed up his meager belongings and set out on the long and ardeous road to the Dark Portal along with young and fresh faced heroes of the Horde. Deep down he knew what he was going to find on the other side of that portal but the horror wasn't lessened by the stories he had heard.

Making his way to Shadowmoon Valley with the armies of the Horde he eventually came across the shattered remnants of his tribe's old settlement, only the faintest remains still marred the area with telltale signs of old tent positionings and family groupings from the position of carved stones, the tents having long since rotted or burned away even this close to where the coast once was and now only fragments of the valley's rocky floor broke off and floated into the nether where the sea should have been.

Close to the centre of the settlement he spotted old Kalimag markings on the floor and despite his age he managed to dig down finding a cache of ceramic flasks nestled in an old wicker basket. Recognizing it immediately as the fabled concoction known as 'Blazegrease' which is tribe brewed for the blademasters of the Burning Blade clan, he proceeded to make headway back to Kalimdor upon realizing that all that remained in Outland were sad memories and thoughts of shame from the blood curse.

Upon returning to Kalimdor, he left his life of being a hermit behind and became a close advisor to one of the Warsong Clan's riders, an Orc by the name of Dragor Bloodfury. During this time he managed to recreate the recipie for Blazegrease and from this a new generation of blademasters was formed under the banner of the Warsong! Little is written of the Gruk and Dragor's ventures, all that is known to others it that the two spent the year taking the fight to the Horde's enemies in Ashenvale and protecting the Warsong Clan's interests in the land of Kalimdor.

Though despite the war banners from Outland being stowed away in this tenuous peace, they were summoned forth once more.

 

Stranded

It has been a year since Gruk set sail for Northrend. Unlike his comrades who set sail upon the larger juggernaughts and Orcish warships, Gruk simply sought passage upon a small merchant vessel with barely any crew upon it for the sake of contemplation and peace so that he may meditate for the fight to come.

Though little did he know it he would never make it to Northrend, for across the great sea a horrific storm came from seemingly nowhere and threw the ship around as though it were a toy. The superstitious crew thought it the wrath of Neptulon himself visited upon them in the form of a monstrous kraken, Gruk however thought better and came to the realization that his strong affinity with the elements of the flame probably did not bode well with those of the Abyssal Maw and the lieutenants of the Duke Hydraxis.

The last thing he remembered was taking one final gasp of air as the split wreckage of the ship sunk beneath the waves, blackness filled his mind until he woke up upon a sandy shore, a rather irate beach crawler prodding him curiously with its claw before scuttering off sideways when realizing Gruk was awake.

Dusting the sand off his tattered robes he made his way inland on this jungle-covered island. Despite (or perhaps because of) his age he did everything in his power to survive against the wind, rain and tormenting heat of this new environment, fashioning a crude shelter and living off what animals didn't manage to outrun his feeble frame. On several occassions he even fashioned himself a raft or a crude vessel and attempted to leave the isles in the hopes of making his way back to Kalimdor or finding some rest in death on the ocean waves... but each time he found himself sailing towards the islands rather than away from them... all manner of incantations seemed hopeless in aiding his escape from this prison without walls.

For a whole year he would find himself secluded in the most isolated and hidden parts of the jungle, keeping himself far away from unwanted guests and returning to his long-forgotten life as a hermit, all the while meditating and worryingly finding himself severed from the elements, unable to hear their calls... that is until one day he woke to find his head filled with shrieks and screams in what was quite audibly Kalimag... they came from all around him in the campfire, the pond by his camp, the air around him and the earth beneath him.

 

Something very bad had upset the elementals in this world, so much so that it was noticible even in this land seemingly magically severed from the rest of the world.

 

But that wasn't the least of his problems.

 

Over the next several days he would notice a great many new survivors washing up on the beaches, appearing in freak portal accidents and all manner of strange happenings.

 

Something very strange is going on... and Gruk reckons the elements may provide the answers.

 

Appearance

Age is the first thing that comes to mind when this Orc is spotted, he has a large amount of wrinkles and sags around his face suggesting an age many may not have ever seen in an Orc before considering their warrior-orientated culture.

When the body looks aged, his clothes look doubly so. It is suggested that when he washed up on the isle his original robes of his position as a Pyremaster were lost to the waves and so he wears tattered rags and weaves from wherever he can find them making him look like a vagabond and an outcast.

When visible his arms appear to have various markings on them, some as permanant tattoos and others as temporary markings, all of them have the same thing in common in that they are all a form of Kalimag writing.