Character Name: Largas'Gro Gorukh
Race: Khajiit
Class: Warrior/Assassin
Gender: Male
Looks: Muscular, dark charcoal fur with gray stomach and chest. Golden-brown eyes that are always judging and sizing up every situation. His face is dominated by an angry looking scar beginning from his left cheek and travelling over his snout. The fur is singed on the knuckles of his paws from long, grueling hours spent at the forge.
Armor: Full set of Orcish Armor that it has seen many battles, but upon closer inspection, on can tell it has been very well cared for and maintained.
Weapons: In battle, Largas prefers to beat his opponents to a bloody pulp with his gauntleted fists. When on the hunt, he favors a set of matching orcish daggers combined with paralyzing poisons learned in his years spent at the stronghold Dushnikh Yal.
Bio/Backstory: (LONG STORY...SORRY)
The young orc Burguk set out from Dushnikh Yal at the head of his hunting party. Word had reached the stronghold that a family of sabercats had made their den at the foot of the mountains close to the west, and the young orc was eager to prove his strength and prowess against the wild beasts. After a bloody battle of tooth, fist, claw, and dagger, the two saber cats lay dead at the feet of Burguk and his orcs. The orismer wiped the sweat from his brow, smudging the moist orange paint, and let out an adrenaline fueled roar of triumph over the dead beasts. The she-cat had faught with the forocity of a frost troll. As he leaned down, grunting with the effort of pulling the dagger from the slain cat, Burguk was struck squarly in the face and knocked over by something small, furry,....and angry. The monster clawed and bit furiously at the orc's face, managing to carve several gouges in the hunter's brow before it was pulled off and thrown hard to the ground. It was lean, and looked like an adolescent troll with its fur caked in the cold mud of the den floor. The party burst out laughing at witnessing this encounter between thier leader and the furious beastling. They couldn't believe their eyes at Burguk caught of guard by a Khajiit youth! The young cat charged Burguk again, and the orc instinctively reacted, raising his dagger in defence and cutting the cat deep across his snout.
Bound and thrown over Burguk's shoulder, he gave a feral roar, howling in anger and grief for nearly the entire trek back to Dushnikh Yal. The party had agreed, this furry youth couldn't be left at the den, he would starve for sure. And by Malacath, it takes courage to attack and wound a full grown orc, over twice his size.
Years passed, and the Khajiit, now Largas'Gro Gorukh, grew into as grand a warrior as any son or daughter of Malacath. Largas faught twice as hard as any other youngling in the stronghold to prove himsef. His memory of the sabercat den faded with time, but the story of his brawl with, now Chief Burguk of Dushnikh Yal, ramained a clan favorite around the fire for many years. Raised by the wise mother Murbul, Largas learned the mariad of orc poisons to help in the taking down of beasts on the hunt. Gharol, Burguk's forge-wife, taught him the intricacies of orcish smithing, and once he was of age, helped him to smith the very armor and set of orcish daggers he wears and wields to this day.
Apart from fragmented memories of his life in the sabercat den, Largas has persistent nightmares of what can only be his Khajiit family massacred long ago. When he awakes, the only details he can remember are the sound of a dog's labored panting, and the gleam of moonlight off the sweaty back of a naked man wearing only tattered leggings, sprinting off into the distance under a night sky...
Likes: Brawling for septims, hunting particularly dangerous prey, cracking the sculls of smart mouthed Nords who are unable to hold their mead.
Dislikes: Other Khajiit, mostly fueled by misunderstandings. Hates it when they call him "brother", they're no blood-kin of his... Dislikes hagglers and fast talkers, makes his head hurt. He much prefers the simplicity of claw and fist. Distrusts spell casters and archers. He sees anyone who can't get close to a fight as weak. Deep seated hatred for werewolves....doesn't know why.
Odd habit: He carries with him the first septim he ever won in a brawl, his first as a youth. Chews on it, likes the metalic taste. Helps him think.
