Race: Dragonmaw Orc
Class: Warrior (Blademaster in training)
Appearance: The orc before you is rather odd, his body appears more slim and and aesthetic than your average grunt. His build is that of a runner, but don't let it fool you his muscle is still much more than even your average human warrior. But compared to your average orc he appears strange. His broad-shoulders don't bear the same thick resemblense as the hulking honor-guards of the warchief. He is lean, with muscle sculpted to perfection. He would almost be considered a 'pretty' orc were it not for his unnatural ways. His hair while normally a jet black color seems to have a red hue from the blood caked into it. His eyes likewise are the color crimson, he is tall and in many ways resembles the late Grommash Hellscream in build.
Alignment: Chaotic neutral
Psychology: Thorganar is blood craven, many believe that he was cursed by the blood of Mannaroth that his parents drank. It isn't that Thorganar goes insane and on rampages, but it intrigues him to an unhealthy point. In battle when carving into his enemies, he often loses himself to 'spirits' as he calls them. Most shaman have decided that demons are imbedded deep within his mind, and that blood brings them out...
Actual residence: Highlands
Thorganar grunted as he sat down at a Dragonmaw camp-fire for the younglings while the grown-ups discussed other things of importance at their own campfire. He let out a sigh as he looked at the other children telling stories of their parents or elder brothers and sisters. Thorganar on the other hand was the runt of the litter. He was six, lean, mean, and extremely agile. He listened to the conversation with a bored look as names were tossed about, but one caught his attention. "Thorgrim, that's a big orc!" stated Karshock a friend of Thorganar's, Thorgrim was Thorganar's eldest brother and the pride of his family Thorgrim was massive it is even said that were Blackhand alive, Thorgrim would have been taller and bigger. "Thorgrim, should be the Champion of the Dragonmaw!" stated Thorganar overzealous to take his brother's cause. "Even the Warlord knows Thorgrim is the bestest!" stated the young Thorganar matter-of-factly. The younglings then began arguing about who was the best warrior between their siblings and parents until the grown-ups were tired of the incessant squeaking of their high-pitched voices and sent them to their respective tents to sleep.
Thorganar recieved training from his father from a young age, learning to use his agility to attack and dodge. Often modeling his attacks after those of Thorgrim his eldest brother and hero.However Thorganar had a very different build from his brother and adapted to something else. Strike fast and hard then move out of range. It was obvious to the clan that he would be a very promising young warrior even at the age of nine when he could barely wield his father's sword.
He grew tall even by orcish standards at nearly eight feet in height with a shoulder width of three feet. But his arms were not as thick as those of his comrades, it was easy to see that Thorganar's body was lean and muscular like a wolf. When the warrior turned sixteen he was still enamored with his older brother who was now scarred and a veteran against dragons, wildhammers, and the Alliance. Thorganar stood out among his fellow orcs by being slim over the usual stocky, brawny mass that made up the orcish race. In combat he danced about his opponents revelling in every cut he made and roaring a warcry that even chilled the blood of his own people. But still he wasn't invincible he did his part in Wildhammer raids, continually fighting and getting a few kills.
He took parts of their armor and pieced together his own but left his upper body exposed aside from a harness and shoulder-guard. Thorganar taunted the dwarves by beating his bare-chest which had plenty of scars but showed none had pierced his heart. For a youngling the warrior had honor but was still little more than an overzealous grunt. "Here is your mark, dwarves!" He would shout over the cries of combat, "Make a name for yourself or die!" came his call.
Thorganar had taken his right of passage at sixteen slaying a dwarf and taking it a step further in bathing in the dwarfs blood. Covering his skin with it and drinking the rest the tale of his passage is one little spoken of with the insanity the clan seemed to believe it showed.
The warrior was a good fighter though and was usually able to take one or two dwarves down in every raid. Of course he suffered from their hammers and axes, even managing to break an arm in the process of a battle which then kept him from combat for some time. The healers eventually stated "If Thorganar doesn't fight, his body wont allow itself to heal." And so Thorganar returned to combat with his right arm good but his left arm in a cast of sorts. In time it healed and Thorganar stayed with his clan raiding, pillaging, and heading the call of his Chieftain.