Name: Grukkhar the Rendblade
Race: Orc
Age: 42 winters
Height: 7'9"
Weight: Enough to break a horse's spine

(I have no AP. Cannot reply to tells, I'm sorry.)

Biography:

Born under a blood moon deep within the war-scarred Blackfang Mountains, Grukkhar was raised in a world where strength was law, and mercy was weakness. The runt of his brood at birth, he clawed his way to dominance through relentless savagery, proving early that survival was not given, it was taken.

His tusks bear notches for every commander he's slain. His body is a living battlefield: an arm shattered and rebuilt with bone and iron, a throat scar that grates every growl into a gravelled snarl, and a brand on his chest from when he cleaved through a pyromancer's tower, setting the world ablaze behind him.

Grukkhar's legend is whispered in terror among human border towns. Where most sharpen their blades on whetstones, he sharpens his on humans, dragging fresh steel across bone and sinew, letting screams echo through the woods like war drums. For him, it's not cruelty. It's craft. The sharpening is ritual. It hones both blade and soul.

Once a warlord of the Gorecrag Reavers, Grukkhar now walks the world alone?his warband scattered by betrayal, his name cursed by kings. Yet he does not seek vengeance. He seeks the grind: battle, blood, and the perfect edge on a weapon that has tasted every race.

Grukkhar has no patience for politics or gods. He bows to no banner, though many have tried to buy his loyalty. What he offers is simple: point him at your enemies, and he?ll deliver their heads, sharpened and split, before the sun sets.

Weapon of Choice:
"Wyrmgnash": a cleaver forged from the spine of a black dragon, with a jagged edge that feeds off heat and fear.

Allies: None that live.
Enemies: Too many to count.. Grukkhar doesn't bother remembering names.

Notable Quote:
"Steel is hungry. Flesh feeds it. You just happen to be in reach."