Character Backgrounds

Orc Hunter - Gortak

I am Gortak, tamer of beasts, metal shot and part of the horde. As a hunter I am not going to weave a story about how I got my first whelp to tame, growing up alongside it, culminating into this magical friendship. No, my first tamed beast was a struggle. But let's start a bit earlier. My father was a beast tamer and he taught me much about the creatures roaming about. He wasn't a big believer in giving out stuff-everything needed to be earned. Still, I grew up acquiring the necessary knowledge.

On our first hunting trip, I came across a frenzied tigress, fearing for her still young son. She had to be put down. It was her life or mine. I did not freeze, I kept my calm, thanking my father for all the hard earned lessons. One shot was not enough, she raked my left shoulder with her claws. It's not easy to fire my rifle with one hand, but in close combat I was able to put another bullet where it mattered.

Her cub came at me, it's face contorted, it's fangs bared, in agony of it's mother's death. I barely managed to keep him at bay with the body of my rifle. He broke the handle, with his powerful maw, coming at my face. Straining, with all my strength, blood running down my hands, I held him back from going at my throat. We were locked in struggle for what felt like minutes. My strength began waning, but so did his. It was all about who had the will to win. I stared into his eyes, seeing anger, hurt and something else. I needed to win his respect, it's the way of the wild.

I knew in this moment, he would become my first tamed beast, to fight at my side. It gave me a surge of determination. Veins visible in my lower arms, I pulled every bit of strength into my hands and closed it's jaws shut. Still holding his head, I rammed a knee into his side, using my legs to topple him over. I pushed his head into the dirt. He looked up at me with one eye and I could see I had won. I did not have to speak any words. Words are useless. Actions count.

I heard the voice of my father. He was standing close by. I didn't look up to him.

"Well done, son!" my father said. I am pretty sure I heard pride in his voice, but I am not good at recognizing these things.

I let go of the tiger's head. It just lay there in front of me panting. Suddenly, it leapt up, moving back a stride. It looked wearily, but fully focused, at me. It's fangs red from my own blood. I collected the pieces of my rifle, turning my back to the tiger, showing him I did not fear an attack.

"Down the slope, there is a stream. Go, wash your wounds," my father said, moving over to the remains of the tigress. I just grunted in agreement and started walking, slowly. The tiger followed me, three strides distance. We arrived at the stream. I began washing my hands, cleaning the wound to my shoulder. Four deep gashes, still seeping blood. It hurt like hell. That was good. One learns best like that, my father always said. So far I had only small scars from the beasts in my father's den. These already taught me a lot. I was certain, my first real scars would teach me even more.

The tiger was standing at the stream as well, still apart from, glancing towards me from time to time, while drinking from the stream. Orcs are a strong people. Still, in a situation of losing everything, one might consider an orc to latch onto what's left. As for the tiger, I felt like he considered me superior to the beast he followed previously. I had earned it's respect. He was curious.

I moved closer to him. Sat down and collected a small pouch from my back. I opened it and got a package of dried meat out. It was enveloped in a thick layer of leaves to hide the smell. The moment I parted the leaves his head perked up. I began chewing on one piece of meat, threw another between us onto the ground, closer to me. The tiger still had pride left in him and remained at the stream for another moment, dipping his head into the cool waters again.

Then, continuously looking at me, he moved to the meat and began chewing on it. He didn't lay down yet. Still weary. We sat in silence, chewing, my wound throbbing.

Drisk grew up to be a powerful tiger, making me, his master, a powerful hunter. I wore my scars proudly. Mind you, I collected a few more, each a perfect learning experience. I also wear his mother's fang on a chain around my neck, proudly. My companion was a reliable beast, strong, quick, and deadly. We are a good team. Still, I never forget the possibility he might kill me in my sleep for killing his mother. This fear in the back of my head, whenever I lay down at night, is good. Fear teaches you a lot, as well. Fear keeps you sharp. Fear is good.