Character Info - Gortusk (friends just call him Tusk or The Tusk)
The orc that would become known as Gortusk was born in the shadow of Blackrock Mountain in the fortress known today as Blackrock Stronghold just before the outbreak of the Second War. His father, Klarr the Merciless, had been a Chieftan in the army of Blackhand the Destroyer before his betrayal by Orgrim Doomhammer. While Klarr was initially distrustful of the "backstabber", as Orgrim was then known, Doomhammer convinced the powerful Chieftan that Blackhand had been in league with the Shadow Council and thus - the Burning Legion. Eventually convinced that Orgrim Doomhammer would lead the Orcs to a greater glory free of slavery, Klarr threw his full support and that of his legions behind the new Warchief.
Soon after this, Klarr found that one of his wives, Shahai, was with child. Convinced the baby would be a male, he was filled with pride and happiness as he dreamed of raising his boy under the banner of Orgrim Doomhammer's Horde. They decided the boy's eventual name and began making plans for their lives after the war... but it was not to be. Shortly before the boy was to be born, Anduin Lothar led his massive army from Stormwind into the Burning Steppes and to the gates of Blackrock Spire. Klarr rode forth with his legion against overwhelming odds, knowing he would likely never return. It is not known where or how Klarr fell, but it was likely near the massive monument of Anduin Lothar that stands today in the Burning Steppes, forever raising a sword in defiance of Blackrock Spire. During the battle that claimed his father's life - and all prospects of victory for the Horde- the baby was born in an inner chamber of Blackrock Stronghold. His time with his mother was short, as Alliance soldiers overran the fortress within hours of the battle's end. What became of his mother, he does not know but it is likely she died in bondage within many of the "internment camps" set up by the victorious Alliance.
The child himself was taken to Hammerfall, in the Arathi Highlands where he was raised with a dozen other Orc children much as a farmer raises pigs. The boy grew up never really knowing what he was or from where he came... he knew only pain, humiliation, and back-breaking labor under the whips of his Human masters. As the months and then years passed, the boy began to see that he was different from the orcs with whom he labored. While they cringed under the threat of the whip, he laughed at the Humans, letting the hate and anger soak slowly into his very bones as they beat him for his insolence. Rumors grew of a band of orcs in the wild that were attacking camps like Hammerfall and freeing the orcs. The young orc began to prepare himself for the day when this band might appear outside the gates of Hammerfall. Within a year, it happened. During the dark of the night, a band of 40 Orcs led by a massive warrior in dark armor wielding a massive hammer along with a young Orc wielding magic from ages past scaled the walls of the palisade and within mintues, chaos reigned. The youth, waking quickly upon hearing sounds of battle, quickly throttled his jailor and began urging the orcs of the camp to fight.
In truth, Orgrim Doomhammer and Thrall had met little resistance in the four previous camps they had assaulted since their reunion after Thrall's escape from Durnholde nearly a year previous. Hammerfall was different for some reason. Perhaps it was the unusual cruelty with which the orcs here had been treated, perhaps not... but whatever the cause, it quickly became apparent that the majority of them weren't going to fight. Many of them fell to the ground in fear as the Human defenders began to emerge from their barracks and the fighting escalated. Thrall became separated from Doomhammer and struggled to maintain order in his warband as the Humans attacked from all sides. Summoning the magic of his ancestors, Thrall brought fire and lightning down upon his assailants, killing scores of men in seconds. The Human defenders of Hammerfall began to flee into the Highlands that surrounded the palisade and the orcs were finally free... but not without great cost. Orgrim Doomhammer, Warchief of the Horde since the First War, was dying. In quiet conversation that few heard, he used his last moments to confer the mantle of Warchief to the young shaman Thrall who had been so intrumental in the battle.
The young orc heard the old warrior whispering something to the one he had seen wielding fire from the sky. Hiding in the shadows of his barrack, the hidden figure struggled to grasp what had just happened. When none of the orcs who bunked near him would fight, though he had called them cowards and screamed in frustration, he had determined to fight alone if he must. As he had attempted to exit the building, a group of five guards had confronted him but he was not to be stopped this night and he would die if he must to not sleep another night in Hammerfall. After squeezing the life from the last of the guards, the young orc let the body drop to the floor when he was shocked into silence by the awesome display of power from the massive orc in the middle of the marching grounds outside. Now, as he crouched in shadow... what would he do?
He never made a decision for in a moment, it was made for him. "You there... Orc" he heard a deep voice intone. He need not look up... for he knew who spoke and that they spoke to him. "Who are you?" the voice asked. "I don't know" he replied simply and without emotion... but in his heart, the words hit home. "Well, whoever you are, you certainly handled those guards" the shaman said, hiding a hint of amusement as he gestured to the mangled bodes that were just visible beyond the door. "Who are YOU" the young orc managed to ask, hoping he did not invoke the wrath of this powerful shaman. "I am Thrall...Warchief of the Horde" the massive warrior replied, his voice trailing off as if he did not believe the last words himself. "But" he added "I am not so much more certain of things than you". A long silence passed before Thrall, who had picked up the mighty Doomhammer of the fallen Warchief, added "How do you intend to find yourself young one? Will you accompany me... will you allow me to aid you? I have lost several warriors here tonight" he gestured to the bodies of a handful of fallen orcs. The warriors who had survived huddled around the commanders of Hammerfall, rolling dice over who would take their armor and weapons. "Will you accompany me?" Thall asked plainly, all pretense aside. After a long moment, the young orc finally met the eyes of the Warchief. "No" he said simply. "I do not think I shall ever find who I was meant to be, but I shall find meaning in my actions from this moment on." Thrall looked surprised but nodded. "And what actions will you take, young one"? he asked. "I will begin by tracking down those that fled from here... my vengeance is far from sated... Warchief" he spoke grimly, feeling the lashings of the whips he had stored in his bones slowly seeping outward. "So be it Hunter" Thrall spoke solemnly. "Perhaps... perhaps after you have forged yourself anew... perhaps then you will find me a worthy master". "Perhaps I won't live out the night" the young orc answered back grimly. Thrall grinned "I don't think those Humans are going to have much fight in them after the display they witnessed tonight... especially when they realize that they are being tracked in the darkness by... you."
The young orc strode into the wild. For weeks he tracked down those that had escaped... fashioning a bow from the branches of a yew tree, he ambushed them from the distance, picking them off as they slept or ate their breakfast. He had no knowledge of honor, or bravery, or a desire for the worms to know their killer... he only wanted them dead. And soon enough... dead they were. He found the last of them in the Redridge Mountains, not far from his birthplace, though he didn't know it. Deep in his heart, he knew he came from greatness... that had things been different somehow, he would not be here alone in the wilderness living on the meat of the wild boars that roamed the Redridge foothills. But he accepted his fate. One evening as he ate, it occured to him that he and the boars shared much in common. Boars are generally unwanted creatures... forced to eek out an existenc on the fringes of civilization. They are not tamed and docile like common pigs (he thought back to the orcs he had been raised with in Hammerfall)... no, nobody wants them but the accept this... they grow fierce and wild and take what they must to survive. Thus it was, that the nameless orc took on the name of the boar he had grown to admire... the Gortusk.
A few years later, his wanderings somewhat aimless... he thought back on the young Shaman Thrall who had so impressed him yet let him choose his own path. As the months passed, he had yeard rumors of Thrall, of the founding of a new Horde that embraced the wild spirit of their forefathers. Perhaps there WAS a place after all for him. So it was that one day, Gortusk ventured to Menethil Harbor, killed every Human on board and sailed an Alliance vessel until he crashed it into the shores of Durotar. From there, he ventured to a place known as the Valley of Trials, where he was ordered to hunt and kill... boars. "Yep... I can do this" he thought.
(though Gortusk maintains an air of outright stupidity, he is in actuality quite bright, but hates the idea of people wanting to talk to him about it. He has learned something of his family in the years since his arrival in the Horde. He hates above all the Legions of Blackrock and the mockery Rend and Nefarion have made of his father's tribe. He will go there at any time with anyone to kill and kill again).
