Drumgar

Player name: Drumgar

Character Full-Name: Drumgar Bloodhowl

Character In-Game Name: Drumgar

Nickname(s): N/A

Associations: His axe.

Race: Orc

Class: Warrior

Age: 37

Sex: Male

Hair:It's black, he has a lot of it, mostly on his chin. Stubble that he doesn't bother to shave. He also styles his hair up into a mohawk with pig grease.

Eyes: Red

Height: 6' 11'(Hunched.)

Weight: 356 lbs.

Appearance Besides towering hulk of muscle wrapped in green, leathery skin, he's your average orc. Broad, rough, deep rivets of definition, muscles, scars, the whole bit. Things to note; he has the Warsong Banner tattoo'd to the front of his torso, the lower jaw framing his hips, just above his waistline, the top jaw coming just under where his ribcage ends, an eye on each of his pectorals.

Beyond that he has the Horde's crest inked onto his left shoulder.

His left eye is a milky white color, a deep gash on the edge of his face, framing it, the skin around the phantom wound looks sickly as the eye it's paired with.

Personality

Drumgar for the most part is a ruffian, a rogue, a barbaric, loose cannon with too much time on his hands after the war in Northrend. Drumgar is effectively the product of a indomitable mindset confronted with lose, yet unwilling to accept consequences, unflinching in his life choices.

He's brash, uncouth, and what some in the Horde's culture see as dishonorable. Drumgar considers life to be nothing but violence and a test of an individual's strength and endurance, so long as you're the one left breathing, you're the one who gets to live on and kill more poor fools. If you die? Well, sort of were asking for it if you couldn't hold your own.

The constant warfare the Horde has engaged in since the orcs were freed from the internment camps has done little to temper the fire in Drumgar's heart, years of watching people's lives snuffed pointlessly or due to their pride has hardly put a dent in his perception, most who know him just assume he'll die young and without purpose.

History

Drumgar was born beyond the Dark Portal, upon Draenor to a Raider whom had to drown two of his previous sons at birth due to defects, or being simply too small. Drumgar was healthy enough, and was raised accordingly, his father often using it to criticize the boy when he'd fail, pondering if sparing him was wise or not, a thing that often only drove the young orc to try doubly hard.

However this relationship was to be cut short, his father slain when the Warsong clan was charging out of the Dark Portal to escape the collapsing world. Drumgar orphaned found family in the Warsong Clan as they fought their way through Azeroth, evading the humans and the interment camps. The pride of being a free orc invested in the young gruntling as he grew in a fierce environment, living in the harsh wilderness.

He greatly admired the Chieftain, watching his constant struggle with the withdraw from the Pitlord's blood, taking the example in silence, doing his best to fight it as much as possible, because to give in to it, would be to be weak, and to be weak, is to die. By no means was this easy, the lethargy and pain wracked the growing orc for years, only in his maturing did the burden ease, a stronger body fighting through the magic strain afflicting all orcs.

Drumgar watching as the rest of the clan was slowly eroding because of the withdraw, things were bleak, on the edge of oblivion, until... Orgrim Doomhammer and the Frostwolves had reunited with the Warsong, soon, they would tear across Lordaeron, obliterating the internment camps and setting their brothers free.

Orgrim Doomhammer fell, but the young Frostwolf Thrall was a shimmer of hope for the Orc's future, their freedom taking them to Kalimdor where Drumgar had been stationed in Ashenvale forest. Tasting battle, true battle, war ,against the indigenous Night Elves. Even more so, he tasted the tainted blood of Mannaroth like his ancestors before, fueled by the daemonic power, along with his Warsong brothers, he'd feasted on the thrill of combat that his father before him had likely felt during the wars of old before the orc's lethargy.

He watched their Chieftain kill the Elves demi-god Cenarius and joined his brothers in the violent throng, all before Thrall had appeared to quel the Warsong's rage. Lifting the blood haze long enough for Grom to sacrifice himself in felling Mannaroth. That power gone from Drumgar, it's absence bitter sweet...

Drumgar had been deeply effected by all the things he had seen, he was uncertain if anything was "the way it used to be" as Thrall suggested when he lead the Horde to shamanism and peace. After all, this blood lust, was born into him, these symbols he had decorated himself with were the product of a race devoted to war, and he was not a warrior? His place was to kill and be killed, Drumgar left peace to the shamans and citizens.

Grown mostly now Drumgar had begun his life, that he viewed as somewhat monotonous but, his burden.

He'd survived the War in Outland, on the front lines when they charged through the portal. His left had been erupted in violence once again, demonic limbs floating through the air as his allies overwhelmed the Burning Legion's force, the death howls of his allies when the Legion retaliated and rained hell upon them.

Over all, at the end of the conflict Drumgar had managed to be inducted into the Kor'kron, Sons of the Horde, veteran status awarded to him, guarding Shadowmoon Keep for the remainder of the war while the heroes marched into Black Temple and ended the war with Illidan's head on a spike.

He returned home, restless in Orgrimmar with the peace, and still haunted with desires for the ecstasy of battle. His secret prayers were answered when the Scourge attacked Orgrimmar and Garrosh, his father's son, sparked a new flame, a fire to melt Icecrown in the name of the Horde.

Another fantasy of gore as the Horde stormed the beaches and fought tooth and nail to claim Warsong keep as their own, a piece of perpetual spit in Arthas's eye as it stained his continent. Drumgar, as a member of the Kor'kron, was sent to Wrathgate, he expected blood and fire, which came, but only after disease and death. The battle had been spoiled by the Apothecary Putress. Several of his brothers faces melted off as he was knocked safely away from the poison previously by one of the Scourge.

Death, death without purpose, without glory. The scars of Wrathgate joined the road-map of wounds that Drumgar had carried with him to this point, all the way to Icecrown where he'd been put in charge of leading Infantry to the gates of Ymirheim, constant Vrykul attacks on their ascent. His first excursion to the peak leaving the orc himself bleeding out in the snow, and the four other warriors he was entrusted to lead, as cold as the ice they were buried in.

He'd completed their mission, and was thusly acknowledged, but Drumgar stepped down from the Kor'kron, wracked with a burden of guilty from the deaths of warrior who had trusted him to lead them to victory. The warrior instead wandering into the frigid expanse of Icecrown to repent for what he viewed as his personal failing, seeking death, to only find that the Scourge had been defeated days previously.

This time, Drumgar returned to Orgrimmar, a humbled orc, lost in regret, and prone to self-destructive habits, waiting for the next battle to throw himself into.