Fitz: Mystic
River: Ranger
Me: Blade'lock
So nothing super tanky, sword and board should be ok. I will try get my character stats up later this week, but for now..
[SBLOCK=ORC]
You are frightened of my appearance? Most are, they see only the orc half and seldom the human half. Yes I am a viscous fighter, but so are many humans, and like any humans I tried to settle in peace and raise children - I had earned my peace and my land. Twelve of us settled with our mates to raise crops and children, and we did for a time. Then the rumours started of a tide of undead sweeping through all the lands. We paid it no heed, there is always an undead horde, a plague, barbarians, tyrants but then it came to us, an uncountable mass of tortured men, dwarvs, elves, and more.
Fight did not even cross our mind, we gathered our children and fled with the clothes on our back and ran, but they followed, untiring. We ran until our children cried, then we carried them as we ran, but the untiring horde followed. We ran until our women wailed, we harangued them and we ran, but still they followed un-slowing. We ran until our men collapsed. To my shame I was the first, as we headed towards the mountains, hoping the close, treacherous terrain might slow them. As we neared a pass I could go no farther, the world darkened around me as I watched my people continue their flight until it all ended with a crash.
I awoke, not much later – it could not have been – to see a horned creature standing over me. “Do we have deal?” he asked offering me an axe. I vaguely recalled him offering me a great weapon and the vitality to wield it in exchange for something – I don’t remember. “What good is an axe?” I remember thinking, but I could hear the moaning of the undead, closer and closer. I was shamed and there was nothing else I could do to wash away that shame but die in battle.
So I nodded, yes, I did not care what he cost was, I would be dead soon. Touching the axe invigorated me. Not far from where I had fallen the pas narrowed, and I retreated there – ready – willing; here I would fight until I died, I would not slow them, but that did not matter. There I fought. I fought, the great axe cleaving bodies as though they were wheat. I fought, every slain enemy seeming to make me stronger. I fought, costing them a dozen dead for every step they took.
I fought until a great wave of heat blasted the damned things from in front of me and a great rock slide closed the pass. How long for I do not know, but I looked behind me to see a dozen men-at-arms staring at me in awe, I have never seen men look at an orc that way before or since. Their leader stepped forth. The pass lead to a valley, where thousands of refugees sought safety from the horde of undead, but as more refugees and more came, more and more undead pursued them. They could no longer hold the passes, their soldier weary, their wizards exhausted. They were closing the passes and fleeing. This group had been sent to hold this pass, but the undead never came, held back by me they said, but what pursued me could not be stopped, barely slowed.
I followed them to the camps, now emptying, to see streams of living heading away. My family, I hope were among them, I cannot join them, for I am shamed, but I pray to any god that will listen that they are safe – somewhere – but I cannot know. So now I fight, I fight to take back what should be ours and I will fight until I am dead.[/SBLOCK]
I wrote that on the flight home last night, but it doesn't quite fit with your world background, so I'll have to adjust it slightly, but something very similar.
