Ognor

Information

Player: Quantumlegacy

Character Full Name: Ognor the Mountain

Character In-Game Name: Ognor

Nickname(s): Mountain, Fishcrusher

Association(s): None

Race: Orc

Class: Brawler

Age: 35

Sex: Male

Skin Color: Olive Drab

Hair: Short matted black, but with a bluish hue.

Eyes: Hazel

Weight: 425 pounds

Height: 6 feet 10 inches

Appearance

Usual Garments/Armor: Tattered brown canvas shirt, worn cloth pants, and he doesn't wear shoes.

Other: He rarely wears armor. And if he is seen wearing armor, something big is going down. The same could be said for a weapon other then his massive fists. Though in his days of combat he has been forced to use a weapon by his overseer's to make the fight seem fair. His favored was that of a one handed axe or a spiked club. He has short tusks that protrude from his lower jaw giving him the appearance of an overbite. His skin is a light shade of olive drab. Ognor is well toned even for most orcs. He trains every day without fail and tends to make even the simplest task a grueling workout if possible.

Personality

Ognor the Mountain grew up fiercely believing in the fundamentals of honor, loyalty, respect, though he spent most of his young life in the internment camps. Even today he holds fast to these values as they have brought him comfort and strength in his times of need. He has forsaken the Horde and become a neutral entity for the sake of pounding on all the races of Azeroth equally. He has been known to show respect his is fellow gladiators and combatants no matter their backgrounds. So long as they can last more then a few minutes. His years of brawling has sharpened him both in mind and body. He has learned to control his inherent blood lust, only drawing on its power in battle.

However, he has been known to be cruel and can often be over aggressive and bullheaded. Since traveling with certain gladatorial rings has even landed him in the heart of Alliance territory before, he has proven that he can control himself when things are serious.

History

Born -5 of the WoW time line. Ognor was still but a child when the horde left Draenor and invaded the world he would come to know as Azeroth. He was too young to participate in the following wars, and inevitable defeat of the horde. During the first war he spent his time with his mother, Ogra helping her with things that he could. When the warriors returned from the great ransacking of Stormwind, he was there cheering them on from his mother's side. He could smell the scent of war lingering on them. The sight of them instilled fear and hope within him, it was a magical feeling. It was then he made up his mind to become a grunt. Which would affect his life drastically in the future. Unfortunately he was still to young when the Warchief Orgrim began the second war. The day they left he watched as his father, the true Ognor the Mountain, walked out of his small hovel for the last time.

He was one of the first from his village grabbed when the humans poured in. Ransacking their homes and killing those that fought back. They imprisoned all that they had not murdered and took them away to internment camps. For the next ten years he would grow up in one such camp. His mother died after only four years in the camps from the heartache of her husband dying, and then being imprisoned by the foul humans. It might also have been from the lack of Fel magic. He too fell ill and weak for a while, but struggled on and eventually he grew strong again.

It was while he was in the camp that he met an older Orc by the name of Kraalo. He had been a grunt when he was younger and had fought in many wars. Even some of the civil wars back on Draenor. The two of them became fast friends and Ognor learned much from Kraalo about himself, their people, and the humans. One day he had heard rumors of an Orc named Thrall, who had escaped from the clutches of the humans and was freeing Orcs from these internment camps. He knew it to be true when the humans grew scared and increased protection around the camp.

One night while he was fast asleep in his tent he awoke sharply to the sound of screams and battle. He leaped out of bed and peered out of the tent, there were Orcs running around some in armor wielding weapons and others with sticks and stones. They were battling the humans. It had finally come, he was to be free. With a more then an enthusiastic cry of rage he would join the fray. It was not long after that he and the rest of the Orcs Thrall had mustered together were put on boats and sent across the great ocean. It was a long journey and Ognor was beginning to think he had liked it better on the ground. In a great storm many of the ships were scattered or destroyed, his particular ship crashed on the coast of the Durator, near the Darkspear trolls and what would soon be his home known as the Valley of Trials. It was not long till the horde had regrouped and began to build the great city of Orgrimmar. He had stayed to help with the building the only way he could, manual labor. But almost as soon as it was constructed, then it was off to war once again for the newly assembled Horde.

Still just barely to young to participate he went with the other Orcs and settled in the Valley of Trials where he spent his time training to become a grunt. He made three friends while living there. Orcs named Ruulg, Brart, and Erogrug. The four of them had their sights on becoming grunts, and spent every waking hour hunting, training and brawling with each other.

During this time he took the trial of Om'riggor having the urge to prove to himself that he was even worthy of becoming a grunt. He set out and on this trial determined to use all the knowledge and skill he had gained to this point in proving to everyone he could do it. It took him three days to track down the he had been tasked with slaying. after a brief but intense fight he managed to kill the creature. As per the customs he bathed his face in the blood of the creature and headed back to the clan. Once there he would have to wait as one of the Elder Shamans tasted the blood to verify he had not just killed some other creature.

With a sense of victory he raised his stone axe high in the air as the shaman announced it was indeed the correct blood. Letting out a guttural cry of victory he roared, "Lok'tar Ogar!" He noticed though in the cheering crowds that one of the elders looked angry. He left before the celebrations had even begun. Ognor dismissed this though as he reveled in the congratulations of his fellow Orcs. It was but a few days later that he resumed his training with his friends.

The day finally came and all four of them were sent to be tested. Each had their own quest they were supposed to complete alone and unaided. His task had come from an Elder named Grimnak. He thought it strange that his task wasn't assigned to him in the same way the others were at the opening ceremony. But he was determined to complete it none the less. Ognor was to venture from the Valley and find and kill a certain Quilboar known as Pricklemane. It was on this journey that he happened across Ruulg. Ruulg was injured pretty bad and told him that he had been tasked with killing Pricklemane but had failed. Immediately anger flashed across Ognor's face as he knew something had gone horribly wrong already. He knew the consequences of failing this and knew that not only would Ruulg become a peon but he would be shamed out of his families long line of grunts. Gripping his self-made stone ax in anger, though he was masking it, he put his other on his injured friends shoulder.

"Fear not my friend. I know your plight and will honor our friendship. Though someone has set us against one another and I plan to tear them apart for it one day."

With that he set forth into the cave that Pricklemane resided in. A fierce battle ensued between he and the beast. But it was not long before Ognor emerged with the head of the beast. It was currently he did something, that he still wonders about to this day. Coming to Ruulg, he threw the beasts head down to him. "Take it, go back and say you slayed him yourself."

"But! Ognor, why? You know what will become of you. And I have already shamed myself by failing, let me fail."

"No, Ruulg. You have shown me such friendship in the time I have known you. You have a family and honor to think of. I have only myself and my pride. Take it, and do what you were meant to do. One day I will come to you and you will remember this."

Reluctantly the Orc took the head and the two of them headed back to the Valley. Ognor watched as Ruulg presented his trophy and was accepted for initial Gruntship. While he was scorned for returning empty handed and cast in shame. Grimnak had not liked him for a reason he did not know and had gone through a great deal of trouble that day to shame him. Little did Ognor know but long ago his father had crossed Grimnak's family when he proved the cowardice that ran in the corrupted blood-line of warlocks. It was lucky for him that Grimnak hadn't been a shaman or he would have stopped him during the Om'riggor.

With delight he denied having given Ognor the task to kill Pricklemane, and with him having returned empty handed it didn't matter. Grimnak took advantage of the moment casting Ognor as a coward for returning empty handed. Ruulg was going to speak out against this injustice but a glare from Ognor stopped him. He took the redicule still unaware to why Grimnak was doing this but instead of residing himself to a life of shame he stormed out, turning his back on the clan. Though this did not help his case he never cared.

Ognor left the Valley that day, never to return. Though he would occasionally curse Grimnak for his casting out, he had also come to terms for the most part. Believing that if it had not happened he would not have turned out the way he did. Later he would take solace in his ability as a true warrior fighting for pride and honor amongst other brawlers that he would meet throughout the land.

During his travels he also found solace in the quiet, laziness of fishing. Though it took a stern eye and quick wit to catch some of the more elusive creatures. He found that he really enjoyed the task. He earned the name Fishcrusher from a fellow fisherman one day when he'd grown frustrated with a certain Zangar trout. As it tugged at his line and he was beginning to tire, he instinctively jumped in the water and wrestled the thing out onto the shore. Where he pounded it to death with his massive fists. Not necessarily the best way to go about it but it was hilarious enough to earn him the name. Though many mistake the nickname for his skill in fishing and the sheer scourge he had become to them.