Lawful neutral – despised by his clan, Gorash learned early that obedience meant more food and less punishment (usually).
Roll 6m4d6v1. If the roll is less than a 28-point buy, you may substitute a 28-point buy. Rolls must be made in the game forum - It's the Law!(tm).
Dice Roll: 4d6v1 4d6v1 4d6v1 4d6v1 4d6v1 4d6v1
d6 Results: 6, 5, 4 (Total = 15)
d6 Results: 4, 3, 5 (Total = 12)
d6 Results: 3, 3, 3 (Total = 9)
d6 Results: 3, 4, 5 (Total = 12)
d6 Results: 6, 4, 6 (Total = 16)
d6 Results: 4, 1, 5 (Total = 10)
28 point buy substitution:
16 | 14 | 14 | 12 | 10 | 8
Rolls are equivalent to a 29 point point-buy so I'm keeping the rolls.
Gorash could almost pass for an exceedingly ugly human. Almost. If the lighting was poor, and the onlooker was more than a little drunk. He is possessed of the typical orcish underbite, complete with oversized canines jutting out from his lower jaw, heavy brows, deep-set eyes, and oddly-shaped ears. Among his tribe, his pigmentation earned him the nickname “Pinkie” but it is clearly more ashen than the average human. Gorash’s head is graced by a shaggy mop of medium brown hair that’s long enough to get into his green eyes. He appears to be making a valiant attempt at growing sideburns and a proper beard, of a similar color to his hair. Despite being derided by his clan for not being a pure orc, Gorash is no runt, standing nearly six and a half feet tall and weighing nearly 300 lbs under normal circumstances. He is decidedly skinnier than he was when he ran from his clan now, however.
Gorash’s clan eked out its existence in the mountains south of the human kingdom, occasionally raiding dwarven mines or human farms in the foothills for food, resources, plunder, and (in the case of the humans anyway) women. That is how Gorash came to be, and also why he has no family or clan name of his own. Treated as little more than a slave after his mother died in childbirth, Gorash learned quickly that obedience meant food, or at least that he would not be beaten. Of course sometimes his submission was too quick and an insult to his orcish blood, and he would be beaten anyway. It was not a happy childhood.
Disowned half-orc children like Gorash were not good enough to be true warriors for the clan, but they were good enough to serve as training equipment for their full-blooded orc and acknowledged half-orc kin. His skill at arms is largely self-taught, starting at the tender age of 10, when he found himself pitted regularly against those children who were receiving proper training. He actually managed to earn the grudging respect of the clan’s warrior-trainer for his strength and the speed with which he learned how to mimic the moves of those receiving actual training. In fact, his ability to fight and learn to fight proved so impressive as the years wore on that he was actually going to be granted status as a warrior when he came of age.
Then the gnolls came, and everything went straight to hell. The battle for the clanhold was bloody and brief, and Gorash soon found himself running like a rabbit from the advancing horde with only the clothes on his back and whatever food he was able to scrounge or steal while the battle turned into a slaughter behind him. He ran north and just kept running, knowing there was a small chance that the humans wouldn’t kill him on sight like the dwarves would. He beat the gnollish horde out of the mountains and followed the river from Baden Falls northward until he came to the road running east to west across the southern reaches of the kingdom, then started to follow that. Gorash turned north at the fork in the road and found himself heading for Old Badenshore. A party of outriders caught him on the road outside the town and, though he surrendered to them, beat him soundly before tying his wrists and dragging him back to the jail for questioning.
The humans interrogated him for days, assuming he must be part of the vanguard of the gnoll horde advancing out of the mountains. He vehemently denied it and swore he had been on the run, something his wasted appearance and lack of arms or armor lent credence to. When, after several days and not a few sessions of torture, his story hadn’t changed, the commander of the local militia gave him the choice of death by hanging now, death at the hands of the gnolls later, or possible death at the hands of the gnolls in battle. With no desire to die at the end of a rope and even less of a desire to burn to death when the gnolls torched the town, Gorash found himself conscripted into the town militia.
Still bearing the bruises and split lips of his beatings and the marks of the cuffs about his wrists, he is now clad in ill-fitting armor and armed with a hand-me-down sword that has seen better days. Gorash has no illusions about their chances for victory or his own chances for survival, but maybe if he acquits himself well in the battle, they’ll keep letting him live.
The (ragged and filthy) clothes on his back. He ran from the gnolls with nothing that could not be carried or shoved in a pocket, and looting what passed for the clanhold's treasury wasn't at the top of Gorash's list of priorities when he fled the massacre. Whatever kit he has is at the DM’s discretion and consists of castoffs from the dead or those too wounded to fight who have been evacuated across the lake.