Rusdah Kroompst

Race: Orc

Weapons: whip for forcing modivation, scyth for beheading, and a great bow for death when they are least expecting it.

Age: 38 (average age in orcs)

Gender: Male

Kingdom: Northern Kingdom

Appearance: Black eyes, pale skin, 7 feet tall, muscular arms as upper body (he skipped leg day), bald, black armour covering chest, shoulders , and legs. Mean expression as if constantly chaffing.

Personality: He feels as if he was chosen to be in this great army and does not want to be in it, nessesarily. He does not feel the devotion to his leader as other orcs do. Also, he can feel happiness, as most of his kind cannot.

Weaknesses: Does not like to lead, but will lead well if he puts his mind to it. He is deathly afraid of napkins, and the very sight of one using or even holding one will send him into a ball, wanting his creator to destroy the napkin. Also, he is immune to fire, but cannot stand the cold. I mere chill will make him scream in agony.

History: (In one of Rusdah's dreams. These are becoming more frequent)

"The bubbling has almost gone down. It was excruciating. The way they pulled me out of the mud was with pikes and scythes, ripping any excess skin and growths off my body. However, I can see that some like me enjoy it. The way the blades run along their backs, how some of the pikes are dull and punch their skin. Not for me. The pikes thwacked me and bruised me more than anything. My birth is something that I will never forget. Right now, I am not sure where I am, but here is a short description: fire everywhere, many orcs being harvested, birthing mud covering the ground as far as the eye can see."

"From a high superior, I am told that I am a part of a great purpose. To create an army. I was born of the leader's soil, so that is what is expected of me. Of course, I do not think I am ready for this position of authority. Next to me, another officer has been born directly after me. Oddly, he looks scared and confused. I clasp his shoulder to console him. Moaning is filling our ears and blocking out anything we could possibly say to each other. As he is much taller than I, so he looks down and grimaces - what passes for smiling down here. Pushed, we stagger and catch ourselves, stumbling toward a stairway that seems to lead through a hole in the dirt roof, at least fifty feet above our heads. I suppose it has to. This is a giant incubation chamber that has many levels. It is shaped like a funnel downward, so that the lackeys are at the top and have the most surface area to work with. Only the darkest, evilest creatures are born in the bottom levels, which are also the darkest."

*wakes up* 

These moments have been burned into my skull for all my life these 38 years. I would like to think they are not true, but, always, there is the voice saying they are real, that they happened. Now a Captain in His Honor Xamoa's army, I am trusted with the lives of over thirty grunts, as we call them, and their group leaders, constantly battling for the land that is rightfully ours, and the blood of our enemies that we deserve and strive to taste every minute of every day. This was my superior's closing remark before we were sent out directly after leader training was finished. I do not think this way. I like to think that these beings that we so skillfully slaughter are our superiors, and are to be trusted. I am now trying my best to loose my leadership role and escape so that I may meet these beings with my own eyes and with friendly intentions. This is where my story begins.