Gurgand

Information

Player: Wujen

Character Full Name: Gurgand

Character In-Game Name: Gurgand

Nickname(s): The Daring, Tactician, The Godeater

Association(s): The Knights of the Ebon Blade

Race: Orc

Class: Death Knight

Age: Twenty

Sex: Male

Hair: None

Eyes: Cyan

Scale/Height: 1

Appearance

Usual Garments/Armour: Gurgand is adorned head to toe in the standard navy blue Saronite armour that most Death Knight's usually wear. Instead of crimson runes etched on his armour, there is only icy blue decals running throughout his armour. His stomach and crotch region have the image of a Laughing Skull with horns on, spewing out frost-fire from it's jagged maw in a fearsome manner. His helmet has two thick horns protruding from just above his temples, tufts of ancient hair guarding the base of it. His visor amplifies the frigid light that spews from his eyes like hell-fire, yet without the passion and anger to go along with it. The blade of Gurgand is a crude yet effective looking blade, appearing to have inspiration from Vrykul, Orcs and Ogre weaponry thrown into one heap of Saronite. The runes on it emit faint glows; verdant, crimson, azure. This is a weapon of a Death Knight no doubt. He has also been known to dual wield two axes as well, or even two maces. His repertoire of weapons only matches his resolve to bring death to enemies of himself; and by extension, everyone else...most of the time. Other: His skin is alabaster, and his eyes cyan.

Personality

Gurgand's body and mind have taken a shift over the years, yet he retains most of his wisdom and wit even in death. He is always quick to call out others who inflict themselves on any society, and is overall very hostile to those who purport ignorance or opinions in which Gurgand does not agree with. Despite this, he is very sombre when the subject of the Horde before Dark Portal is brought up, and usually keeps his mouth shut or leaves the area in which the exchange is occurring. For this reason, he never confronts or dares even speak to most Draenei. He is eager to teach those who are less intelligent than him but are still willing to learn from him. No matter what their race, profession or history he is always willing to teach those that will adhere to his advice, which is usually right in most situations. To most around him however, he appears hostile and even a bit egotistical. He is, somewhat.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

History

Gurgand was born from the Frostwolf Clan after they had settled in the Alterac Mountains after the First War occurred, yet his lineage supposedly involved more than one members of the Laughing Skull clan. For this reason, most of other members of the Frostwolfs approached him with slight caution; surely, treachery runs through the blood as well? Within the cold, frigid mountains of Alterac the Frostwolf clan held dearly to their teachings of Shamanism. Gurgand didn't pay as much attention to the teachings as he should have, however. He believed that one should not be so determined in something that will not grant hope back, yet he still upheld the traditions purported by Drek'Thar's shamanism. While he was content with being with his destiny as a Warrior, he most likely couldn't become a shaman if he tried to and it were possible. Gurgand was never one for patience and discipline in things other than combat, so he decided to focus only on becoming a warrior and nothing more. Surely, the wisdom would come later? While the hairy inhabitants of the mountains were violent, they posed no threat outside of of nuisances. Yet the Frostwolfs were not in their usual prime, they spent nearly two decades trying their best to carve out a living from such an inhospitable waste, as they had done in the days before the genocide. Yet it was relatively peaceful, a life without being slaves to the humans they slaughtered. Gurgand was content with himself, presuming that the world beyond the the mountains was as desolate as the world that was within the mountains. Gurgand never concerned himself with leadership, presuming all those who'd actually want to lead the Frostwolves wouldn't lead them to damnation. And then Thrall came into the picture.

After learning shamanism from the mighty Drek'thar and becoming the first shaman in decades, Thrall urged the Frostwolfs to join him in reuniting the Horde and to go across the sea. Thrall was Durotan's son, surely he would not lead anyone to damnation? Gurgand pondered. Thrall was a great leader no doubt, so young yet so powerful. Someone who did not believe Demon Blood was a viable tactic in combat; Someone who'd lead soldiers to lands beyond the Humans in search of a better home. Plus, surely there would be a cold place around there to hole up? He eagerly threw his lot in with Thrall's Horde. He went across the sea with Thrall's new Horde, in search of a home without masters. They chanced upon the Barrens, moving further inland to obtain the help of abnormal bull-men after defeating large swathes of strange horse man. Throughout these months, Gurgand's hopes and honour were as strong as the horns of a Clefthoof. Yet he maintained his grunt position all the same, accompanying Thrall with almost blind devotion. The blind devotion stopped when news of Grommash's treachery reached the mass. But surely, it was for the greater good? Tales circulated of the Warsong besting a god of nature and gaining the scorn of mighty warrior women. Yet Gurgand still kept to his goals, even with the shattering of his idealistic Horde. He aided in pushing through the base of the Chaos Orcs, and him along with his battle brothers allowed Thrall and Jaina Proudmoore to purge Grommash of his corruption. What followed was his brave sacrifice to relieve the Orcs on Azeroth's blood haze for good, and to prevent any further meddling in the long run from the vile Legion and their chunky scaled Annihilans. The only task left against the Legion was defending Hyjal, which Gurgand had a minuscule part in. He was on an outpost at the outer edges of Hyjal with a few other like-minded grunts. They defended against vile, walking corpses who tirelessly tore into their defences. In the end they prevailed with only minor loses, yet loses none the less. This posed a question, 'Could these things be redeemed like Grommash and the others that drunk from the well?'. A most interesting question beyond what most shamans would probably consider, thought Gurgand. At it happens, fate smiled upon him and gave him an answer.

As the Legion were defeated and the Champion of the Horde's exploits came to fruition, so to did the period of...relative peace. The Horde gained a strong foothold in the Eastern Kingdoms, thanks to a group known as the Forsaken. They were slain and raised into the service of the Scourge, the Undead Legion that attacked the Nordrassil in conjunction with the Burning Legion. Yet some were freed, and flocked under the banner of Sylvanas, a 'Banshee Queen'. The similarities were startling between the Orcs and Forsaken, making it clear why Thrall allowed them into the Horde. While others of the Horde were hesitant to the idea of being with Undead, Lordaeronian's no less, Gurgand was among the first grunts to go over to Lordaeron to aid the Forsaken in their plight against fanatical zealots, Scourge and others who would defy their new allies. Along with this, this added the possibility of him aiding the Frostwolves in the Alterac Valley. Gurgand however was sentenced to stand at the Bulwark, aiding in the defence of the Tirisfal Glades from the Scourge. A boring, yet pleasant job. He even got used to the rancid stench of the Forsaken. The abominations that came on patrol every now and then were a different story. But still Gurgand persisted; the dark humour of the Forsaken mixed with their undying determination kept Gurgand going sane in the bleakest part of Azeroth. One day, before the Scourge struck against the world again Gurgand and a band of other like-minded servants of the Horde were sent out towards the Eastern Plaguelands. The objective they had been given involved a large tower near the Ghostlands being scouted out to be another foothold in the Eastern Plaguelands that the newly recruited Blood Elves may use for whatever purposes helped the Horde. The point of it was rather vague, yet it made some semblance of sense. They ventured through peril after peril in Unholy Lands, before finally meeting their demise near the tower they so dearly fought hard to find. On the roads, a conglomerate of the most vile things on Azeroth charged at them with ungodly fervour. Their crude flesh met the might of warm blood and steel. For the next five minutes, a brutal and bloody battle was fought. The horrid Undead were being lead by a hideous thing adorned in purple robes that only something as repugnant as a Warlock or Necrolyte would wear. For he did not use steel, he used the cold touch of the void. As Gurgand's companions deteriorated into a bloody mess or pile of bones, so to did he return the gesture to the Scourge. It did not matter, as not matter how hard he fought it would not matter. After yanking his weapon out of the skull of an unlucky ghoul, he turned around only to see the horrific shapes dancing deeper into madness. He did not see the darkness, but he felt the cold.

When the world came back to him, he was different. His soul was loosely attached to his body now, and his mind was an extension of the Lich King's influence. He re-emerged into Undeath on a Necropolis, specifically Acherus: The Ebon Hold. His superiors ordered him to do many things; Kill the unworthy, kill the Scarlets, kill kill -KILL-. A meaningless tool, a husk he was. And a husk he stayed. His individuality for having skin like snow brought nothing but nothing. Gurgand proved himself in Undeath however, and his once undying perseverance in life had now truly become undying. A monster, yet still without individuality. The things he did, the innocents he slew, the ancestors he defiled meant nothing. He had become what he most feared, a slave to anything but himself. Had this been what Thrall had worked so hard for? It didn't matter, nothing would matter ever again. Murder, kill, gouge, ice...ice, cold, death, Frost! His realisation came to him at the most bleak of times; The Battle of Light's Hope. Tirion Fordring had single handedly halted the attack with odds innumerable stacked against him. Darion Mograine, the leader of the Death Knight's knelt before him. The Lich King himself appeared, scolded the Death Knights for being nothing but slaves. Yet, Gurgand's mind became clearer. The urge to cause pain beyond pain began to take a backseat to something he thought he would never feel again. Hope. As the Highlord flung his blade to Tirion, the blade radiated dazzling light. Not even the Lich King could withstand something so holy and divine as this. The thoughts clouded his head. "Frost, Frost, Lone, Frost, Wolf; Frostwolf." That is what he once was, part of the clan that aided Thrall in becoming the greatest Warchief of recent memory. The clan that would scorn him for being a dae'mon, a twisted, vile rider of the cold. It mattered. The guilt and shadows would have driven him mad without the Lich King's iron grip, but the image of Darion pledging to slay the Lich King rung true in his ears. Had we another Grommash? Could it be true?

He stayed in the Ebon Blade, hoping to dedicate his unlife to bringing down the Jailor of the Damned rather than squabble with the Alliance. There was only one objective; Kill, gouge, murder, obliterate. His undying addiction was directed towards the Scourge this time rather than insipid 'crusaders' holding onto relics of a bygone age. He also ate small shaving of Saronite, and the pain of getting it out was excruciating, earning him the nickname Godeater as mostly a tease to those who know the true origins, but fear to those who were unaware. His rage didn't die down even after the Lichfall, which he played no small part it; He killed a few skeletons at the entrance while the real adventurer's ascended to glory. Well, at least he helped in some way. The Ebon Blade could finally go back to their relative peace. Except, there would never be piece. There would have to be evils in world for them to test their steel against otherwise they would devolve into what they most hate; slaves to their addiction. The Cataclysm was both a relief and burden, with all new enemies rising up in the world to strike against the forces for good; Gurgand at least wouldn't be out of work for a long time yet, maybe one day rejoining the Horde when the hunger requires so. He now spends his time sating his hunger, defeating those who would oppose him in his quest for satisfaction. But for how long?