Bruk
Appearance
Bruk is an Orc. Thus in the realm of stereotypes, he is a big, green burly boy. This is not subverted, at all. The only difference is that what he lacks in height, he makes up in width. This is one stocky hunk of meat. If you're not a stampeding train of green flesh then what are you? Nothing, that's what. Big broad shoulders for a big broad boy. An absolute unit, one might say. Definitely on the protein, looking for those mad gains as those strange humans tend to say.
Like most Orcs, his face is a grizzled mass of scars and tusks. His hair is much like a merkin upon a Dwarf, pretty pointless but it's not really a point of contention in his life. It's there, it grows, it gets ripped out in fights and it smells pretty suspect. It's also receding and it's okay to talk about it, he won't mind, mostly because he'll be smashing you (up to your interpretation).
The only mildly interesting feature that belongs to Bruk is a form of self-inflicted heterochromia. His right eye is boulder grey, as is pretty standard for his people, whereas his right eye is a bright shade of crimson due to his own botanical mishaps.
Skills and Abilities
You might not have been able to guess, but Bruk is a pretty decent brawler. I know, I know, it's very unexpected and truly breaks the mould. People usually suspect that he is an acrobat, but no, your expectations be damned. Sorry, I'm lying. Stereotypes ring true for a reason, he is a skilled hand-to-hand fighter, well, skilled in a sense. He doesn't really dodge, or parry, or do anything agile. Bruk charges forward, Bruk feels little pain and he smashes hard (again, up to you).
His second skill is more of an apprenticeship. Let's officially call it botany and on the side call it madcap flower alchemy. Through an enlightening adventure in the Ixchel Wilds Bruk discovered that his true calling was in the realms of nature (more on that later). He now dabbles in the creation of lotions, potions and various questionable goods crafted from any and all available flora. This doesn't always work out.
Some skills need to be developed first, you know.
Personality
Big and boisterous boy.
Not particularly smart, or wise...you're going to make me write the word stereotype again, aren't you? Bruk loves to fight, Bruk love to laugh, Bruk loves to fight while laughing. He's pretty simple in his life mantras. Violence and brutality. This reflects accordingly in his personality, large, savage and oddly jovial. This really doesn't need to be elaborated on. This is not a complex Orc.
Except for the flowers...
The Guardian of the Forest
A sound of thunder.
No, contrary to the weather it was quite the balmy evening. You could be cutting about in your light tunic, tops off and shorts on if you were so inclined (but you shouldn’t be, nobody likes that guy wearing shorts in the middle of winter, you’re not a hard man). Actually, the aforementioned rumble came from a stomach. The stomach from one of two very hungry Orcs.
“Where da grub?” Came the whimper from one of the pair, the taller of the two, who was currently crouched down, his cracked facial tusks somehow exuding sadness.
The second Orc, the squatter in stature, sniffed the air, praying internally that he would gain the attuned nose of a wily fox at that moment. Unfortunately for them both, that did not happen. There was no meat. No prey. No, nothing.
“NO GRUB,” replied the second Orc, his tusks also seeming dejected (which really was quite peculiar).
You see, they were lost. Lost deep in the wilds in what first began as a quest of exploration that had then descended into failure. Why did the Orcs cross the wilds? There isn’t a punchline yet but if Occam’s Razor had to decide then I guess it was to get to the other side. Reasonable, really. In their quest, the pair had vastly overestimated their supplies and had truthfully eaten half of their food on the first day. That had been eleven days ago.
The tall one, Grunth, went from a crouch to a sitting position, his mossy tree trunks crossed beneath him and his expression painted in misery. Funnily enough, grimacing Orcs had a tendency to appear very petulant, the mass of teeth and tusks often giving away to a pout. There’s a lot going on inside their mouths you know, like upset multi-colour bulldogs. Kinda cute, no?
The short (relatively) one, Bruk approached a tree and roared like a child denied a delicious sweet roll. In his hungry frustrations, he decided to headbutt his deciduous foe, not once, not twice and not even thrice! He smashed that tree with his skull more times than he could legitimately count until blood trickled down his glowering features and a large splintered welt was left upon the poor, victimised tree.
Then a silken kiss glanced the damaged brow of Bruk, and another, and another until the Orc finally looked upwards to witness the falling of many delicate red flowers around him.
An idea.
“GRUNTH!” Bruk declared triumphantly, “WE EAT DA FLOWERS!’
In all fairness, it was an idea.
Grunth’s face twisted at the suggestion. Flowers? That didn’t sound at all appetising. You see an average Orc’s diet comprised of two basic elements, meat and bread. It was a great diet, I have no personal complaints about it, I’m sure there are potatoes in there too. Do you know what isn’t in that food group? Flowers.
“Want propa grub,” the taller Orc whined before turning to look at Bruk, who was already on all fours scooping red flowers into his gaping maw. You snooze, you lose, not that Grunth was going to interject, he clearly didn’t want to partake in the floral feast.
“TASTE LIKE ELF STINK!”
The scene began to resemble some kind of bloodless massacre as Bruk ripped all nearby plant life out of the ground and shovelled it into his mouth with relentless vigour. Flowers, grasses, weeds, tree bark and even some stones were devoured in his quest to vanquish hunger. Grunth just watched on, as if this was standard behaviour from his travelling companion.
Once the surrounding area was suitably molested Bruk cheered and patted his stomach as if there was some kind of victory to be held.
“GRUB ALL AROUND, BROTHA!”
In response to this, Grunth finally stood up, stretching out his legs before resuming his march of famine. He would not eat plants. They would surely come across a birds’ nest or rabbits’ burrow before too long, they just had to look a little harder, track a little better. Simple. He didn’t judge Bruk’s decision, he knew that his brother had taken a few bumps to the head over the years but that didn’t mean he had to encourage it or join in.
Dusk was beginning to approach, problematic due to the death of the light combined with such a thick canopy. They might have had a better stab at navigation were they to see the stars but the Wilds were cruel and every clearing seemed to be identical. The savage growls of Grunth’s stomach became alarmingly frequent, while Bruk’s churned with delightful glee.
A small brace of chirps pierced through the grumbles, giving cause for Grunth’s eyes to light up with hope for the world. Food. A nest of unsupervised chicks up above. Helpless and tasty snacks. See, he wouldn’t have to eat flowers after all!
“You eat flowers, Grunth eats meat,” he declared to Bruk, who was staring off rather vacantly into space before the taller Orc opted to begin climbing a tree.
Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuk…
How odd, the trees were whispering. Could trees talk? Bruk was largely unsure, he assumed no because trees obviously didn’t have mouths but then again some trees did have holes in them, where small creatures did lurk and hide. Was that a mouth? Surely not, if it was a mouth then all aforementioned animals would have been devoured! What is a mouth if not for eating?
“WHAT YOU SAYING?!” Bruk somehow shouted quietly (?!) at the trees, his eyes darting around as if he was going to be able to pick a single tree out to question about such affairs.
Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuk…
Louder this time, not necessarily harsher but more akin to a calling, a seduction even (if creatures such as Bruk could even be seduced). The trees wanted. They wanted Bruk. Why they wanted would have been a good question to have but that perhaps required an amount of cohesive thought. The Orc approached one of the trees, the gnarliest tree, not the tallest but the squattest and the oldest. It spoke to him, both physically and well, it was speaking, no?
“WHAT WANT?”
“Who you talkin’ to?” Grunth grunted, still attempting to climb the tree. He wasn’t really built for climbing, I mean what, were you expecting them to be scouts? No, otherwise they wouldn’t have been lost in the first place?
Yooooouuuuu aaaaare chooooooseeeeen…
“NO, I BRUK!”
Grunth was far too hungry to deal with Bruk’s sudden identity crisis so he decidedly ignored him and continued his egg-related quest.
It was odd, the bark upon the tree he faced seemed to shift. It swirled and twirled, slowly and hypnotically, shifting to a tune that nobody could hear. The Orc’s rough hand reached out to touch the bark to see if he could feel it move but instead, he witnessed his own hand dance to the rhythm of the tree, his scars and callouses joining in this slow waltz as if he was one with the tree.
Weeeee wiiiiillll guuiiiiiideee youuuuuuuuuuu…
Tiny lights began to descend all around Bruk’s head, like fireflies without bodies. He reached out to touch them but his hand simply went through the illumination without disrupting it at all. Turning around the Orc noticed that the lights seemed to go in a line through the forest, a trail if you would. For him to follow?
Prooooooooteeeeeeeeect uuuuuuuuuuuuussss….
As his eyes followed the lights an obstruction suddenly appeared in the way. Flesh as black as night, it stood taller than him with an aura of rot, it visibly stank off of the creature as if it were smouldering in its own malice.
“uaku iWo drot, khyB?” the creature spoke in garbled gibberish, its maw smeared in dripping red liquid.
Beeeecoooomeee oooooooooneeeee…
Guardian of the Forest!
Bruk charged, both frenzied and wild, his war cry peircing the canopy and the skies no doubt above it. The train of pain was loose and once it left the station there was no stopping until the destination was reached.
“roBhetr?!”
There was a large collision of two bodies which immediately took all forms of violence to the forest floor. It wasn’t pretty, nor disciplined. There was a flurry of punches and headbutts as the pair rolled in combat that slowly began to descend into teeth, tusks and eye gouging. It didn’t seem terribly exciting for one expecting a duel of the fates, it was exhasutive grappling, heavy and deliberate with neither party giving much leeway in terms of the upper hand.
“mhos eSss tindatp!”
This kept up for what might have been an eternity but what was in reality about eleven minutes until the first opening came. A mighty headbutt from Bruk upon the demon’s brow, its vicious horns lacerating the Orc’s cheek upon impact. Didn’t matter, for the thick-skulled blow had stunned the creature, leaving it momentarily open for another and another. Like the tree before him Bruk simply just kept cracking his skull against his foe’s. Again and again. Horrific cracks turned to sickening crunches and after that into wet thuds.
The demon was vanquished by the seemingly invincible forehead of Bruk, who staggered to his feet with a thick mask of blood pissing down his face.
“GUARDIAN OF DA FOOOOREEEEEST!”
In his celebrations, Bruk devoured the demon voraciously, ripped and tearing with his bare hands the flesh of his conquered foe. It turns out, that no his floral feast didn’t do much for satisfying his appetite (but don’t tell the trees that).
After finished the Orc looked around for Grunth, who was decidedly absent and no longer in the tree hunting for precious eggs. There was still good meat left but his big brother wasn’t here to share it with. He must have gone onwards to find their way out of this place, especially now that there were lights to guide them. Bruk would be sure to tell him all about his glorious victory when he eventually caught up.
So off the Orc went gleefully, the now slightly dimming beacons guiding his way out and onwards in this world with a new purpose in his heart.
As Guardian of the Forest.