Kogash

Information

• Player: Delta

• Character Full Name: Kogash Skyrend

• Character In-Game Name: Kogash

• Nickname: Koge

• Associations: Swiftsoar (his mount), The Horde

• Race: Orc

• Class: Hunter (Wind Rider)

• Age: 41

• Sex: Male

• Hair: Coal black, loosely bound in tails for manageability.

• Eyes: Hazel

• Weight: 309lbs

• Height: 6'3”

• Skills and Abilities: Kogash's abilities are nothing outside of what you'd expect. He's skilled at riding a wyvern, and is partially adept at fighting from her back. His weapon of choice is a polearm when mounted, though he favours light, one-handed axes when grounded.

Appearance

Kogash looks fairly grizzled, with sunken eyes and a deeply age-creased face. His hair is flecked with silver here and there, but he's still more pepper than salt. He's a little smaller and less muscular than most of his kind.

He wears mostly furs of earthy tones, augmented with light mail. Fully clad, he still doesn't exceed three-hundred and fifty pounds.

Personality

Quiet and subdued, Kogash isn't the boisterous, proud youth he once was. Granted, he still has his pride, but he also has the wisdom years bring. Respectful and objective, he doesn't cling to senseless prejudices. He has a deep hatred of humans, and while he may not opt to kill on sight, he would not suffer one's presence for long.

History

The eldest son of three, Kogash was born to the revered Blackrock clan. He was but a child when his people began their decimation of the Draenei race, to which his father was a contributor. His understanding of events was minimal at best, so while his patron proudly pillaged, Kogash did his best to step up to the role of elder son and teach his brothers what it meant to be an orc. That he didn't really know himself didn't seem to hinder his tutelage.

A young man, he was led through the Dark Portal to taste the first true war he'd known. Bloodlust drove him, and victory arrived swiftly, passing just as fast in a hazy sense of elation. It went quick, too quick, and suddenly the Second War had begun. He was separated from his family, and believed them to have lost their lives in the skirmishes – which were short, sharp affairs, to say the least. He himself was captured close to the eponymous black mountain, without even so much as the wherewithal to swat away his assailants.

The camps were where he spent the next several years of his life in a stupor that shook his sense of shame to its very core. Some mornings he would look his wardens in the eye and vow to himself that he would tear them apart, as he had so many before them alongside his enraged brethren. Still, that was then, and this was now. Wouldn't it be alright? Would it be just fine to go and lay down for a while? The humans weren't going to go anywhere, after all. He could kill them any time he wished. The problem was, of course, that he didn't wish to. Not really.

That his entire family was gone, just like that, didn't even prick at his heart. Compliance became his way, and he couldn't even muster the enthusiasm to yelp in pain when his bored captors decided to brand the prisoners by way of keeping count (and so that they might identify the individual orcs by some other means than name). He was number twelve, or so the seared print on his upper arm decreed. It was in this way, that, subconsciously, Kogash learned to count. Entirely by accident, he learned quite a lot of human culture, and gained a firm grasp on their language. By the end of his imprisonment, Kogash understood their taunts and jeers… and they began to anger him.

Amongst the first of those to be freed, Kogash was stunned by what was being asked of him. Even so, he took a wooden splint that had broken off his former enclosure, and started to walk towards his freedom. As if some arcane knowledge had reignited in his mind, at the first resistance to his departure, he swung and struck a bewildered guard clean out of the way. Years of inactivity had atrophied his muscles, but even frail as he was, the humans in charge of imprisoning him and the others were unprepared to deal with the feral savagery both he and they had long forgotten.

Pledging himself to Thrall's plight in gratitude, Kogash served in that battalion and assisted in freeing many more of his brothers, with a rekindled spirit. With that fire reborn, however, the grief of the loss of his family also returned. With each encampment liberated, the man despaired as he realised his mother, father and brothers were nowhere to be found. Doomhammer's death grounded him – Kogash understood that at that time that there were more important matters at hand. Events culminated in the siege of Durnholde, and though he didn't understand his new leader's rationale entirely, nor why the death of a human girl struck such a chord of fury within him, he fought earnestly to grant liberty to those who remained in thrall, pun pardoned.

With that accomplished, he too travelled to Kalimdor when the time came. He ventured to Stonetalon to assist in the location of the mysterious Oracle described by Cairne Bloodhoof to his leader, but the party was at an impasse without any means to travel by air.

Kogash regretted wandering off on his own almost immediately, following the scuffles that allowed the wyverns to fly free once more. Dusty, red peaks towered all around him, the narrow valleys all looking rather the same to a weary traveler. Mercifully, he soon came unto a lake after dark had fallen, and quenched his thirst there. Reclining by the water's edge to recuperate, Kogash was startled by a shriek that rang out through the night. Before he had a chance to try and determine the sound's origin, several more rose up until the darkness was punctuated by a cacophony of discordant cries.

He took up his axe, and ventured off in the direction of the racket. Even though his surroundings were utterly black, Kogash's hazel eyes were not unused to the dark, and the figures that flitted within were visible enough for him to take a fierce swing when one drew close, aiming at what he thought to be beating wings. Its fragile figure cracked; he'd struck something, at least. As it fluttered drunkenly, screeching in pain, he recognized the cry as being a harpy's. Its sisters answered her cry with action, and Kogash roared out as a set of talons found purchase in the flesh of his back. Vision swimming, he lunged again, and again, struck true. Fractured howls pierced the night, but not just from the being he'd injured. There was a definite crunch elsewhere, and a low growl rumbled under the panicked cries of the avians.

In the confusion and chaos, they fled. Kogash might've done as much himself, injured as he was and unable to properly see, but it was the harpies themselves who hissed out the order to retreat. The sleep that took Kogash soon afterwards was more like a heavy drowsiness that crept over him in a wave than anything natural or lulling, but his last conscious memory was of something warm and enormous enveloping his body.

Pale, pink morning light shone clarity on the situation. Kogash blinked in it, groaning in a groggy realisation of pain. His chest felt tight and compressed, and breathing was a little hard. As he glanced down, he saw just why – the imposing countenance of a great, leonine beast was nestled on the broad of his chest. If he was entirely with himself, the orc might have thought to cry out in surprise, but all he could manage was a startled jolt. This was enough to wake his guardian, though, whose eyes fluttered open and beheld him. Graciously, its head slid and rose from Kogash, who quickly shuffled to a sitting position.

What sat before him, he recognised as being a wyvern. However, there was something not quite right about her. Her fur was disheveled and ruddy, her mane tangled and matted. More than this, she was littered with myriad sore-looking gashes, and more pressing yet, her tattered wing membranes looked to have been shredded to ribbons. Despite all this, though, she gazed down at Kogash with warmth to her eyes that he could swear was relief.

Picking himself up with a grunt, Kogash looked around at last night's battlefield – and a bloody stage it was. The ground was red, and the trees surrounding the copse were missing substantial portions of their branches, which instead lay scattered. The aerial scuffle had evidently been brought here when the wyvern could no longer fly, but even grounded, her massive jaws and sharp talons weren't to be underestimated – she had, at least, managed to take down one of her assailants as it'd unwittingly drawn too close, and its crunched body lay close by. It was then the morning's cool wind reminded him of where he was, and how warm the wyvern's mane had kept him throughout the night. He wrapped his arms around himself, and stiffly bowed to the behemoth. To his surprise, her broad head inclined, too.

Resolving to stay with her and help her recover, Stonetalon became Kogash's home. Comparatively, his own injuries were superficial and healed quickly. He did all that he could to assist in the wyvern's recuperation, once he could: He ventured out to recover Deepmoss spider silk, and stitched together the remnants of her wings. Climbing the treacherous peaks, he plucked what he imagined were herbs, and ground them into a fine salve to disinfect and speed the recovery of both of their injuries. Through trial and error, he came to discover which combinations helped the most.

By all rights, it was more than a year before the wyverness was fully recovered. In this time, Kogash learned the lay of the mountains, and how to sustain himself in an otherwise harsh environment. He learned a lot about the wyverns, as well, and how their society functioned. He saw no other beasts in the same condition as her, and it dawned on him that without the ability to fly, it was only a matter of time before one of the many dangers facing the proud riders of the wind took its life. She was not helpless, though, not by any stretch of the imagination. An adept hunter, she fed herself for the most part, and when her wings were strong enough to carry her through the air, her skill and agility truly shone.

Having parted ways with his company, Kogash was not present for the battles that were to come for his people. The winds carried news of great, glorious clashes to the north, but he had his duties here. It hadn't crossed his mind that he, and the wyvern he'd taken care of since his arrival, were anything other than debtors on equal footing, so he was nothing other than shocked when the behemoth fluttered to a halt beside him one day and urged him onto her back.

Kogash climbed aboard tentatively, his broad fingers winding their way into her mane. Already, he felt rather light – though, it was certainly the nervousness and a slight feeling of foreboding, knowing her intentions and that shortly, they would soon be airborne. She broke into a run before he had the chance to gather his thoughts, and as he sunk close to her shoulders, he felt her give one last kick off the cliff's precipice before they abruptly dropped.

The orc was more than terrified, and despite himself, broke a cry. As the ground rushed to meet them, the wyvern spread her forearms, as if to embrace it. Like a parachute, her wings fanned out either side of her, and their descent segued suddenly into a long glide. With a few terrific beats, they were level – and soaring many feet above the red valley. When Kogash had summoned the courage to open his eyes again, he gaped at the sight in front of him. Mountain peaks stood proud witness to their flight, the nearer scenery whizzing by in a blur. The wind joyously tousled his hair and buffeted his body as he began to straighten his back. Before he knew it, the orc was smiling and reveling in the journey.

“Swiftsoar,” he breathed, not quite certain from where or why it had formed on his lips. He thought the utterance lost to the wind, but Swiftsoar responded in kind with a high shriek, and banked towards a nearby peak.

For many years to come, Kogash continued to live with Swiftsoar in Stonetalon. They often flew together, and eventually, Kogash saved up enough coin from trading pelts to purchase both of them fitted armour. Training wasn't hard to come by – the harpies were an ever-present threat, and in time, Kogash was no less comfortable fighting from the back of his trusted partner than he had been at the sides of his brothers back in the war. This time, though, it wasn't bloodlust that drove his spear, but a desire to protect someone close to him from those who would hurt her and those like her, the magnificent Pridewings of Stonetalon.

Here he'd remain hitherto, until conflicts elsewhere managed finally to draw his attention. Even when he ventured from the place he'd come to look upon as home, he did not travel without his companion and dear friend.