Goremak

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About Goremak

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  • Birthday 07/17/1983
  1. The two trolless 'waitresses' approached the Orc who had been sitting silently at one of the tables within the Filthy Animal, having not touched the now cold rack of ribs and the warm tankard of ale. The two lanky, tusked creatures stood on either side of Goremak, one clearing her throat while the other spoke up. "'Ey dere, joo bein' okay? Y'ain't touched ah bit o' yer meal. Ale done gone warm...Care fo' a refill, dah'ling?" Goremak was pulled from his thoughts rather abruptly by the voices that were so close. Those faded eyes looked up towards the Trolless that spoke then the other. "I'm fine.." He snatched the tankard and drank down a few quick gulps as the outspoken trolless shrugged to the other. "Ah well. If'n ya be needin' anyt'ing, joo be lettin' us know, ya?" Goremak nodded and both females left, heading to another table to wait on another patron. A deep breath followed by a long, deep sigh through his nose and the orc closed his eyes, crossing both meaty arms over his chest. --- A real orc, huh? Why can't I recall all of it? I remember the training, at the Citadel. By far, the most difficult time in my life thus far. If we even got one thing out of line, we were beat, conditioned to know just how to move, how to attack. To control ourselves. Control? Hah. That's rich, looking back on it. A month or so before the march through the portal, I had gotten my first taste of battle. My first TRUE taste, that is. A small encampment of the blasted goat people. Draenei, they were called. I remember marching into the camp, seeing the looks on their faces. Scared shitless. They weren't a warrior group, that was for sure. No weapons, children running around, women handling their daily chores. Pah. But the actual attack... Everything went red and when I came to...we were marching back to the Citadel, singing songs of battle, letting out warcries. In one hand, I held three heads, severed from their bodies, dripping crimson, entrails dangling behind sickeningly. I noticed that my flesh had been painted with blood, several markings. I noticed my comrades had done the same. Some on their faces, others on their bare chests. I never could understand why I just could NOT remember a single moment of that attack. And the thousands that would follow the following years. But the day finally came. The day we would step into OUR new world. One that was not dying like this blasted place was. A world full of life, game to hunt, land to explore. To finally start over. Right? Wrong. I would have been keen on staying in the swamps beyond. But Gul'dan wanted more. And who were we to object? We fought, tooth and nail. We conquered lands, we killed far more than I can count. Towns fell before our might. Humans begged for their lives when they saw our numbers marching towards them. Blood. Thunder. Death. And the battles themselves were always a flash. I do not remember a single one before the camps. All I knew was, we had succeeded then pushed forward. Cities were reduced to mere skeletons of their former selves as he tore down materials to fuel our army. We were unstoppable. Even MORE so when we controlled the Reds. Now THAT was glorious. Zuluhed and his Dragonmaw certainly knew what they were doing. If we were unstoppable before, we were invincible now! Death from above! Fires purging the lands before us, our soldiers picking off the stragglers. Glorious battles. Beautiful deaths. But all good things come to an end. A retreat was called. Back through the portal. I have no clue what had happened. My division was finishing our mission before we began to fall back. I had some how moved up ranks, but from the reactions of the retreating front lines, I doubt it mattered. I overhead a couple saying Gul'dan was killed by the hand of Doomhammer. It made no sense. All that mattered was that we get through the portal to regroup. Obviously, I didn't. Neither did my group. None of them lived. I would not speak a word. The humans KNEW I had information. My soldiers didn't. They thought them to be good sacrifices in hopes of getting something out of me. ...I only laughed as they killed all twenty of them right before me. They then shackled me, put an iron mask over my face and tossed me into the camps. I will never forget that smell...
  2. (Updated with History link.)
  3. You can add Remembering His Story to this list. It is more of a backstory/history on Gore'mak.
  4. The Filthy Animal was just same as it was any other night; patrons coming and going without a word, a couple usually tucked off into some dark corner giving into the sins of their flesh, others yelling just outside the doors, most of it nonsensical. The trolless bartenders made their rounds to the few that sat at the small tables, offering their wares and giving a small show with the sway of those hips. But nothing could snag the attention of the orc who sat with one leg crossed over the other, thick arms folded upon the edge of the table, dark eyes locked on an indefinable spot. His mind rolled in circles, almost literally, at the simple question he had been asked moments earlier. “So, what’s your story?” It was a plain, simple little question that had an unexpected reaction on him. A moment passed where he sat in silence before he muttered, “None yer business.” But as he sat in silence, overlooking the racks of ribs and mugs of ale upon the table in front of him, his mind was far from quiet. So very far. ‘My story?’ He thought to himself. ‘I do not even know where to begin.’ --- I have no childhood that I can recall. I remember vaguely, a time when we lived on Draenor, when all the clans had become one under Ner’zhul’s orders. When the lands that were once lush, according the stories, were dying. Resources were low, food was scarce. It was all I knew, though. And it was short lived. I remember when I turned nine years old, the giant stone archway in Hellfire was nearly complete. Hundreds upon thousands of orcs labored day in and day out, building this seemingly pointless structure at the far eastern end of Hellfire. On that day, was the first time I saw it. And I never knew what sort of staple it would hold in my life. Because of it, my world would change completely. Regardless, the trek north from Shadowmoon Valley had been long, and the citadel was in sight. Today, I would begin my training for the Horde. But once again, I never knew what was in store. Everything gets fuzzy, here. I remember a couple of the Shamans…well, Shamans who preferred the name Warlocks, now, took me to the coming of age ritual room. I will always remember the insane amount of power I felt just merely being within that room. Fetishes and skulls lined the small circular room, strange drawings, seemingly in blood, laced every inch of stone. Braziers lined the room, some glowing the comforting warm orange hues. Others a sickly green. I started to question before they told me to kneel in the center of the room, in the center of a large rune, as they called it. I never questioned my authority figures. Not once. But at a time like that, I wish I would have. Without a word of warning from the Warlocks, they began. It almost felt like every fiber of my being was being slaughtered, one by one, as their dark energies poured into my body. The blood soaked drawings upon the wall glowed sickly. Everything was distorted in my vision. But I felt as though my arms and legs were being ripped from their sockets. My flesh felt as though it were going to rip straight from the bone, leaving me a bloody mess upon the floor. My eyes ached, my lungs screamed. I screamed. Never in my short life had I felt so much pain, so much anguish. What little clothing I wore stretched then ripped from my expanding body, leaving my aching, trembling, bruised body upon the ground as the Warlocks continued. My muscles expanded, my feet grew. … And when it was over, I was a different orc. The same in blood, the same flesh, but different. They told me they shaved ten years off my life. Until I saw my reflection the next day in the water basin, I thought they were kidding. Nine years old, now nineteen, at least in body. My mind could not wrap around it. Merely twenty-four hours ago, I was short, malnourished slightly, though building muscle to one day fight for the Horde, looking forward to the years of training I would receive in the Citadel. And here I was, tall as any other adult orc, muscles bulging from every point, blood rushing wildly through my veins. But the warlocks did not care. They were under direct orders to do the job and push me out to the field for training. But not before I had a drink. And I thought the past twenty-four hours were rough and sudden. I forgot it all…when I took a drink of the blood from that crude tankard. Just one sip. Just enough to wet my throat. That day, I chose my fate without even knowing. That day, I became a real orc. (To be continued. Comments and criticisms welcome.)
  5. Full Name: Gore'mak Fleshrend Nicknames: Gore, Big Mak Date of Birth: 10 Years B.D.P. Age: ~37 Years old, appears older. Race: Orc Gender: Male Hair: Almost unnatural, deep red. Dyed? Skin: Green? Eyes: Nearly black Height: 6'5" Weight: Nearly 300 lbs Place of residence: Military Provided Bunk in Orgrimmar Place of Birth: Shadowmoon Valley Religion/Philosophy: Kill or be killed. No sense in hugging the trees if they would crush you when they fell, right? Occupation: Warrior (Ex-Kor'kron Guard, Wolf Rider division) Group/Guild affiliation: The Outriders Guild Rank: -- Enemies: Alliance Likes: Blood and Thunder! The thrill of battle. Favorite Foods: Anything with meat, the rarer the better. Favorite Drinks: Anything with a kick Favorite Colors: Red Weapons of Choice: A well balanced axe! Dislikes: Stupid people. Period. Physical Features: The orc stood tall, muscles well defined from years of extensive training and experience. Faint scars freckled his skin, along his face, neck, arms and back. Dark tattoos decorated his neck, the designs dipping down along his back and arms. His hair was styled into a single row, from forehead to the back of his neck, the sides of his scalp shaved clean. Positive Personality Traits: Helpful and Loyal once you break down the emotional wall. Negative Personality Traits: Easily angered, short tempered. Played by What Famous Person: To be determined. Theme Songs: To be determined. History: Remebering His Story (Work in Progress)