Grashnak Firetongue. The Exiled Flame:
Grashnak was born under a blood moon in the deep jungles of the Broken Fang Tribe, a savage and warlike goblin clan that worshiped strength, cunning, and the ability to breed strong warriors. From the moment he could walk, he was expected to fight, steal, and prove his worth as a future raider. But Grashnak was different. Where his kin howled in bloodlust, he roared in song. Where they shrieked in war cries, he strummed on scavenged bones and hollowed-out gourds, crafting melodies that made even the wildest worgs tilt their heads in confusion.

From an early age, it was clear Grashnak had no desire to follow the traditions of his people. The elders pressured him to take a mate, to sire more warriors for the tribe. He refused. He had no interest in the goblin females who batted their sharp teeth at him. His desires lay elsewhere, something his kin found unnatural and disgraceful. They sneered at him, called him Broken Fang in mockery.

But worse than his unwillingness to mate was his voice. Loud, passionate, and utterly un-goblinlike, Grashnak?s singing was the bane of the chieftain?s existence. His music was wild and chaotic, full of fire and fury, but no matter how much he tried to channel it into war chants, it remained just that?music. He sang of things goblins had no words for: love, freedom, and the beauty of the stars.

It was too much.

One night, after he was caught serenading the tribe?s best warriors with a particularly scandalous song about orcish lovers, the elders declared that he was a blight upon their bloodline. He was given a choice: mate or die. Laughing in their faces, Grashnak chose neither, he chose exile.

With nothing but his drum, his broken lute, and the fire in his heart, he fled into the unknown.

A New Home in Sinfar:
Grashnak?s travels took him across the seas to the infamous Isles of Sinfar, a place where desire reigned supreme, and the strong carved their own fate. Here, he was not just tolerated?he was celebrated. The city?s streets were filled with music, lust, and a chaotic revelry that made his goblin heart soar. He performed in seedy taverns where tieflings danced on tables, in pirate dens where cutthroats wept into their ale, and in noble halls where debauchery knew no bounds.

He earned the name Firetongue not just for his sharp wit, but for something else entirely?his blood burned. At first, he thought it was merely passion, but as the years went by, he realized something ancient and powerful stirred within him. He had always been drawn to fire, to dragons, to the primal fury of their songs. In Sinfar, he found a mentor: Volzhakar the Crimson, a half-dragon bard who saw the potential in him. Through rituals and trials, Grashnak awakened his draconic heritage, his voice growing stronger, his body tougher, his blood hotter.

Now, he is no mere goblin. He is a Red Dragon Disciple, his voice carrying the power of flame, his fists strong enough to shatter stone, his songs able to ignite souls as much as they do taverns.

A Legend in the Making:
Grashnak Firetongue roams Sinfar, a goblin who sings like the world is ending, who fights like a firestorm, and who loves as fiercely as a dragon hoards its gold. He is an exile who found his true home in the arms of the wild and the free, where music and battle are one and the same.

And should his old tribe ever cross the seas in search of him, they will not find a broken exile.

They will find a goblin wreathed in flame, laughing as he sings them to ruin.