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Ghâsh-ash

Original Characters
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    Gothic

About Ghâsh-ash

  • Age
    89
  • Height
    5'9
  • Avatar Credit
    none
  • About

    A respected (and feared) Captain of Orcs who has committed many sins in the Dark Lord's name. Slowly but surely, he has been having nightmares of the time before his ancestors were orcs when they were elves and graced by the light of the two trees. He did his best to hide it from the orcs in his group although soon found that he could no longer stomach killing, nor pillaging or causing harm to other people. He began to recognise this. 

    Memories of the past and shame for his past drove him away from his clan. Now he lives as a lone wanderer, cloaked and hidden from view, and trying desparately to seek redemption for his past actions. 

Recent Posts

  1. Ghâsh-ash
    He thought he had nothing left to lose. 
    "I heard a voice that I did not know yet," He placed his hand on his own heart, "I knew here. She told me that our kind were broken, tortured, torn from our grace, mutilated so much that even our children will forever be marked by our suffering. My ancestors were taken and refused to give any pardon or sway. They were cursed with potions, images," He said, growled in frustration and a raging feeling of helplessness.
    The voice was silent in his mind. 
    "We changed. Morphed... forever spoiled and doomed to do to others what happened to us." 
  2. Ghâsh-ash
    He had seen handshakes before. It was a strange gesture. The orc was careful not to dig his claws into Maddox's hand. Once he removed his hand, he paused and stared down at it. Flexing his fingers. That was good.... a sign of friendship. Companionship..... Do not be scared. 
    He nodded and hesitated when he saw the woods. There were strange beings who did not like his kind who resided here but the forest had also been a place of refuge. Safety. Peace, even when he had none. Still.... 
    "Over a year ago, my life was normal... I was the leader of my clan and would lead raids, took slaves and sacrificed captives to the dark gods," He said, shame in his voice and lowered his head. Both feeling shame for his actions and for the shame itself. These things were normal for his kind. "I was with Clawash, my mate, she," He smiled with love, affection and respect. "She is ferocious. We were talking about what camps to raid during the summer. The Dread Master was sending out his emissaries to bring all the clans under his command." He said, at this he growled and continued. "Clawash said, "Keep your faluke worduk avo yourukelf, flagit beaumn.  Kulknej ayh noav kneeleruk.  Tell your maukavas kulknej nauk-jecav naj-ri uavaverpak!"
    Again, he smiled at the memory with love and pride, and then the reminder of what was lost. Then remembered there was a chance he would not be understood. 
    "Essentially, stop lying me down believe you. Our clan does not obey and we want nothing to do with him. And, some other, less than polite things....." He smiled, or tried to but instead the smile made it look like more of a sneer. 
    "We rested and then I had a strange dream. That dream changed everything for me."






    * Keep your false words to yourself, foul being. We are not kneelers. Tell your Master we reject him utterly. I will decorate my house with your spine, castrate you and slaughter your family. 
  3. Ghâsh-ash
    Friend? 
    He did not realise that he had been bleeding. His hand reached up and touched his bottom lip, looked at the dark coloured blood and rubbed it between his fingertips. The sight of blood was strange now. How much had he spilled in the past? Deep down he felt like a fool. He had been driven from his clan, loss his station, and now even petty little farmers required him to be defended by a stranger. 
    It is the right thing to do.
    "Yeah, yeah, yeah...." They grumbled, frowned but the magic had caused them enough concern to slowly back away. Muttering curses and threats under their breath of what would happen if they returned. All empty threats. Finally, the last of the farmers turned around to leave to go back to their huts with a distinctive. "Ya know, I could have taken them." Said by one of them during the retreat. 
    The orc felt ashamed. 
    Do not feel shame. Thank him. 
    "Thank you, I.. appreciate what you have done for me," He said honestly. Fanged teeth bared in an attempt at a smile and when he realised what he did. He stopped, closed his lips and half covered his mouth with his hand. Ask him his name. Introduce yourself. "What is your name? I am Ghâsh-ash of the Bloodlord clan." He answered, although.. he had been stripped of his clan but old habits died hard. 
  4. Ghâsh-ash
    The voice caused him to stare openly. It was so calm. The crowd all seemed surprised by the antics of the stranger, it was not common to see an orc -- and it was even less common to see someone defend an orc. D-did the potatoes come out of the ground? Magic, it was not uncommon for the orcs, although he had a wariness towards magic users due to causing pain the past. His eyes narrowed with mistrust, defensiveness, hostility. 
    No... this is not you.... be kind.... 
    "I.. I will go with you," He said. Orcs had their own hierarchy among themselves. Defeat and captives were never treated well. Their warrior culture was a way that protected them, brought pride and honour to them. Yet.. it was twisted... corrupted. Whispers of spoils of war. He stepped forward before being shoved roughly. His hands rested on Maddox's shoulders and chest. If he could have blushed, he would have, and his eyes were cast downwards and bit his own bottom lip so hard that it had begun to bleed. 
    He could have ripped their fucking heads off. Easily. 
    No, this is not you anymore. Walk away. Go with the stranger..... 
    To be helpless as an orc was shameful. Disgrace. Dishonour. 
    He still could not bear to look at him. 
  5. Ghâsh-ash
    They didn't listen to him.
    At first he thought it could be that he was speaking a different dialect of the common tongue or perhaps his accent was too heavy for them to understand? But no, they understand. They just didn't want to listen to him. 
    His hands were raised up defensively as he blocked as many rotten vegetables and rocks thrown at him as he possibly could. He could have killed them. In the past, he would have heard their screams and pleads for mercy. He would have slain them all. Ate their flesh in a blood rite and used their skins as pelts for the leather parts of his armour. Now? He only wished for peace. For understanding. He still retained his height, the deep scar down what could have been an attractive face and the greyish skin. 
    "No! Please.... I want to trade!" He explained loudly. "I, I have brought you.. some, arrgh! some... grain for the approaching winter! I want to help!" 

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  • Player: Gothic
  • Age: 17
  • Height: 5'5
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