Koringar

Player: Spiky

Character Full Name: Koringar Ragehoof

Character In-Game Name: Koringar

Nickname(s): Kor

Association(s): Thunder Bluff, The Ragehoof, The Horde.

Race: Tauren

Class: Warrior [Bone Crusher]

Skills and Abilities: Tough as a rock: - Koringar’s long, extensive physical training has hardened his body to a point where his body is able to withstand a lot of punishment before it shows signs of damage.

Strength perfected: - Through almost an entire lifetime of training his muscles to peak condition, Koringar has reached a point where he can lift things weighing far above his own weight, or objects roughly the same, with ease or without showing too much strain. He can pack a punch.

Brawn over Brain: - Koringar is more likely to think bluntly, and pass over the more complex questions or plans, simply following, instead of leading. He is easy manipulated or convinced with words. Hard to break: - Koringar can withstand extensive physical abuse before he begins to tire, as his hard and long training has toughened his endurance and pain tolerance.

Age: 28

Sex: Male

Hair: Grey

Eyes: Amber

Weight: 1095 lbs.

Height: 9´2

Usual Garments/Armor: Self-crafted heavy plated armor engraved with symbolic runes, some representing his heritage and totemic animals. Between his fur and the armor is a thin layer of treated leather, serving as a cushion and protection against blunt blows as well as weather.

Other: His upper body is covered in tattoos, again depicting various runic symbols with no other purpose than cosmetic and personal reasoning / belief. The tattoos were self-requested upon completing events in his life.

Personality:

Koringar is best described as a time bomb. At times he can be quiet, never saying much, until the moment someone says the one thing that will spark his attention, in which he will join the conversation or charge into a fight if he was insulted, or a friend of his was threatened.

Koringar is highly protective of his friends and family, often taking such threats and insults personally, and taking it upon his shoulders to defend their honor / his own.

Due to his long secluded training, Koringar is more often than not awkward in social situations, preferring solitude or less populated areas over largely populated areas. He will act shyly around women, or impulsive, as he chose to reject that part of growing up for perfecting his training.

He is highly aware of himself, and does not take any comment on what he does lightly. His pride often gets the better of him, and so does his ignorance.

History:

Born into the strong and mighty Ragehoof tribe, known for raising some of the Tauren race most brutal and strong warriors, Koringar was deeply affected by such martial dominance that he too did indeed pick up the sword and began training with the young warriors of the tribe whenever there was time for such between moving from site to site, never staying in one place for more than a month, as the common philosophy amongst the tribe elders were that a hardened, well-travelled warrior would fight even more effectively.

Nomadic life does not come without perils or enemies, and it was already at a young age that Koringar would face his first foe. Mere days from their destination of their campsite-to-be, a group of centaur raiders struck their caravan. All able bodied warriors, young and old alike, were more than eager to pick up arms against this, if somewhat small, raiding force of horsemen so set on their destruction and claiming their resources for themselves.

Never one for standing idle by, Koringar ignored his mother’s pleas, that he was still a year too young, and yet too small to make any difference in the battle, he joined his older brothers, a long and far too large for his still small frame- Tauren spear in hand. As he didn’t get too far away from the caravan itself, he did not see any sign of centaur, that is, until one leapt over the wagon behind him, fleeing from the arrows that, judging by the sounds, all struck the side of the wagon. Surprised and wrecked with adrenalin, Koringar turned around, and through sheer luck, and out of fear more than anything else, he’d skewered the creature, straight through its chest. Shaking, Koringar stood there, until the raid was over, the centaur fleeing as they spat curse upon curse after the Tauren.

He was found by two of his brothers, still standing still, staring at the dead body of his first kill. He was no longer shaking, more so confused as to how he had accomplished such a feat, when he, in his own eyes, should’ve been dead. The fear he’d felt was overwhelming, yet it was what drove him. This was unlike anything he’d heard the fellow warriors of the tribe speak off during their many tales of conquest and battle against their ever-present enemy; the Centaur. This changed his view on what could act as motivation, and he sought to use it, if not to his own advantage, but also against his enemies. A good challenge was never denied.

Months after the raid, Koringar had finally reached his age of adulthood. He was finally one to be initiated into the tribe as a fully fledged adult, a warrior of the tribe, in every sense of the word. Yet, he had not grown much, and his fellow tribe brothers, the ones whom he’d grown up with from birth, had all grown at least a foot taller than he, all standing at 8 feet, give or take a few inches in each individual. Frustrated and embarrassed by this, Koringar sought out the tribe elders, for surely they would know why it was that he had yet to grow large, something that was expected of most Ragehoof males, lest they become Shaman or Druid, something he did not want, for his was the destiny of the sword, of iron and steel. It was the will of his father, and his forefathers.

Their words did nothing, for they could only tell him to be patient, to accept that his place might not be the one he so expected. Angry, in denial, Koringar secluded himself from the others during their training. He would wander off a few hundred yards from their encampments, and practice alone. But this was nothing, this was routine, everyone did it, and Koringar was trying to be something more, something the others could not be. Something out of the ordinary.

Instead of doing the standard warm-ups and weapon routines, Koringar instead started to challenge himself and his still small frame. He would run a set distance at first, until he could run no more, this however, soon become apparent that this would have no other effect than to exhaust him; he did his share of running and walking each time they moved camps. No, what he needed was something that would challenge him even greater on a physical level.

It was then, that Koringar took up heavy labor; he’d take the tasks that normally required a large male to do it, claiming stubbornly that he too could do such a task, often leaving him to drag his load behind him, much to the others enjoyment. He used this, their mocking, their remarks and laughter to fuel his determination. He would work with heavy objects whenever he had the time for it; lifting small stones, then soon bigger stones, food barrels, rotten tree trunks, anything he could find that would suit his need as a weight.

Slowly, but surely, Koringar gained a formidable physique of bulging muscles, much to his brothers astonishment and envy, yet, they still had their size to shove in his face, often lifting whatever he’d want out of his reach, until he’d throw punches at their stomachs or beat them down otherwise, claiming what would most often be food as his.

But something the others and he, Koringar, had not noticed, mostly due to his growing muscles, was the fact that he WAS growing taller, slowly. And over the course of two years, Koringar saw a growth spurt that to this day still leaves his elders astonished and in dumbstruck. He, once the smallest of the tribe, had grown to be more than 9 feet tall. Topping off at 9’4, Koringar was now a towering hulk of grey fur and bulging muscles, called upon to steer the stubborn bull kodos into line, to lift the totems onto the wagons, all of this helping him maintain his powerful physique, all of it keeping him toned, ready.

He had the body, but he still needed the training, the experience of a true warrior. For while he had been working on his physique, the others had gained knowledge in how to fight with different kinds of weapons, how to protect against certain attacks, and how to execute proper battle tactics. All Koringar knew so far was to hit things, and hit them until they stayed down, for such was the easiest way to put his massive frame to good use on the battlefield.

As the tribe continued it’s journeys across the lands, their numbers dwindling, with no other positive news from any of the other tribes they encountered, nor on the gatherings as years went by. All this while Koringar saw the loss of friends, old and young, family and friends. He kept training, with sword, spear and fist, fueled by his rage for the loss of those he held dear. And so when word of their saviors reached his ears, he gladly sought out these Orcs who would, as they claimed, lead them to better lands, and ensure their survival.

As the united forces of Tauren and Orc reclaimed more and more territory from their most hated enemy, the Ragehoof, along with many other tribes, took up a permanent living in the new city of Thunderbluff, where they would hope to increase their numbers again, ensuring that the strong beliefs and ways of the Ragehoof was kept alive, ensuring many future warriors.

Koringar would stay here, where this new gathering of the people woud bring many new, great warriors from all tribes to the city. Warriors whom Koringar could observer, study, and learn from. And so he spent his years, maintaining his physique by doing what heavy labor there was, which at first was a lot, as the entire city had to be built, huge tree trunks being carried up, via the Great Lifts, and then manufactured into their large tents and huts. This life, in Koringar’s eyes, was dull, and he felt, no he knew that there was something greater to do out there, but he knew not what or where he would go, and so he stayed, his great hulking frame reduced to that of a beast of burden, or a brainless student performing weapon routines and exercises with warriors much younger than he.

It was then, that Koringar was saved, when word of a dire threat reached the rise of Thunder Bluff; The vile insects in the south, The Qiraji. Word was that all the races of Azeroth was gathering, for if they failed, all would surely fall under this insectoid dominion. Koringar arrived in the southern dessert of Silithus, his eyes had never seen such spectacular sights; the Elves, such arrogant yet wise creatures with their knowledge of mostly any aspect of what was to see, and the humans, short lived, yet so curious. Gnomes, the pests, small, barely avoidable as he now had to think where he sat hoof. Dwarves and other races, Koringar had trouble adjusting to it all, but he coped, and survived this conflict through his training and endurance, and a whole lot of fellowship with the united forces of the Horde, and the Alliance.

Having seen his share of diversity for the time being, Koringar refused to step through the Dark Portal, remaining on the other side to protect Azeroth from possible invaders that got through. He regretted this decision soon after the conflict in Outland ended, the tales of what had occurred on the other side made him whine with regret and hate of his decision of not going. This, however, was the spark that sent him flying the moment word of Northrend reached Thunder Bluff, immediately he was ready, signing up and leaving for the cold continent of Northrend. Here he would join the many others to defend against and defeat the Lich King. Thus, when the conflict was over, Koringar is now left, wandering the continents again, in need of purpose or cause, other than maintaining his physique and knowledge in combat.