Born to a warlike clan of Orcs who aimed to grow fat on the wealth of neighboring communities, Brogol’s birthright was to become a scion of bloodshed and devastation as is the custom of his people. Yet the fates had other plans for the infant and, on the night of a blood-moon, his destiny would change forever. His clan, ravenous for the glory of battle, deemed to assault a secluded monastery nestled in a particularly treacherous mountain valley. Perceiving the monks therein as easy prey the warband attacked the fortifications from all sides, relying on their ferocity and numbers to win the day. Unfortunately for the bloodthirsty aggressors the denizens of the cloistered settlement were masters of the fist and more than ready for their onslaught. Brutally rebuffed the clan scattered, leaving their dead and wounded to their fate.
Amidst the bloody cobblestone paths squalled an infant. Coated in the blood of his mother, Brogol was liberated by the temple’s stoic defenders and brought him to the temple’s elders. They saw before them not some bloodthirsty savage bent on their destruction, but the innocent child that he was. They opted to admit him into their community and to raise him with their ideals. Some scoffed at the concept, others embraced it, whether for or against the elders had spoken, Brogol would be raised to become a defender of all that is good and right in the world.
The life of those who possess the blood of Orcs is never easy – whether in the caves and camps of their brutal ilk, or in the cosmopolitan cities of the world they are always viewed with a wary disdain. Not so within the stone halls of Brogol’s youth. Embraced as an equal and treated with the same dignity, patience, and respect that was afforded to all the children of the grounds, the young Orc learned early on of the values of humility, compassion, patience, and perseverance. Yet there was always a subtle hint of the beast within, smoldering beneath the surface and, in the heat of the moment, the young Brogol would often lose himself to the bloodlust – only to awaken to the ringing in his ears, sprawled on the stone floor.
Because of this his life was perhaps harder than for his peers, to master his inner demons is the truest of challenges a monk will face in their life and Brogol was forced to start upon that treacherous path at the earliest age imaginable.With time his outburst became less frequent, until they ceased all-together. Finally his path could be tread on stable ground.
Years passed and the young Orc proved his mettle and his strength of will, surpassing his peers in nearly every challenge, an exemplar of all that his masters valued. He became a symbol of strength and perseverance amongst his peers, which is until the rise of the bloodmoon.
Haunted by nightmares he could not explain, dragged through time to a place he did not recognized, among peoples he did not understand, Brogol writhed in his sleep. The grizzly images and darkness of these dreams were so vivid, so real, that they haunted even his waking hours. His masters could not help him, offering up sage wisdom but not solution, and so he suffered. Lack of sleep opened a door to a creeping paranoia, which in turn increased in intensity until the very walls that had protected him, nurtured him, and forged him into the man he was became a prison.
Without warning or provocation Brogol lashed out at his peers, his will eroded under the blood-filled visions of lineage. Initial attempts were made to appeal to his reason, but it was no use – the rage in his heart had overwhelmed him. Then force was brought to bear, which only amplified his aggression. It took not one but three of the temples masters to bring him down.
Upon awakening he was informed of what had transpired – and of the death of six of his closest friends. Shattered with grief Brogol wallowed in the cell he had been placed in after his darkness had consumed him, refusing to leave when asked. His self-pity was not allowed to persist, however, and shortly after the young Orc was brought before the assembled masters of the community to answer for what had transpired.
Afraid of the outcome it took all of his discipline to muster the courage to stand in their combined presence, let alone speak in his own defense. Fortunately he was not expected to speak, only to listen. It was decreed that he would go on a spiritual quest to find who he truly was, to quell the demon within him, and he was not to return until he was successful. That night he dreamt a different dream – he was visited by a being without form, and told of the path he must take to earn his redemption. The following morning Brogol stood outside his home and watched as the gates of the monastery closed on him for the foreseeable future – with nothing but the barest of supplies he took the first steps towards the unknown, in a world vaster than he ever could have imagined.
His journeys took him throughout the land, where he met with unwarranted hostility and suspicion because of his race. He worked hard to overcome the racism of the farming communities he frequented, surviving by trading his services for shelter and food – whether it be with a shovel or his fists he always attempted to do right by his benefactors.
He gradually built a reputation for helping those in need and giving of himself without hesitation, even repelling bandits and beasts from outlying communities. It wasn’t long before he was welcomed in most of the communities outlying Avgard, and shortly there-after he was approached by a recruiter from the Bestiars Guild who offered him the opportunity to protect the people pro-actively and dynamically, an offer he accepted because it felt right. He has worked with the guild ever since, ensuring the safety of the people of Avgard to the fullest of his ability.