The Banner of the Crimson Emperor
Morghul, the Rattler (Parole Broken)
A desert-worn orc of the Scarlands who has uneartherd a strange and potentially damning secret.
For most outside of the Tribes, an orc is an orc. They’re big, green, smelly, and violent. Morghul often finds it hard to argue such an honest stereotype. However, much like humans are more than just small, pink, and obnoxious; there is more to The Rattler.
His skin is crisscrossed with the scars of surviving childhood in the Scarlands, and he has been weathered by the harsh sun and sands of the deserts he called home for the past 5 years. While he has grown accustomed to the protective wraps of the Har’azeer, he feels more comfortable in the thick hides of his homeland.
Of particular solace is a mask made from the skull and pelt of a black lion. He and his brothers had spent six months of their youth stalking the creature across the savannah. It was a simpler time, when an orc could enjoy living his own life. It was a time when the world didn’t rest so heavily on a pair of impossibly thick green shoulders.
The Scarlands gifted Morghul with several other items of particular note that the is rarely without. The first is a bone-hafted glaive that is etched point to butt with the language of the ancient orcs. Several leather scripts, also full of old runes, have been attached along the shaft.
His namesake is also composed primarily of keepsakes of his homeland. Slung over his shoulder is a leather rucksack full of the miscellaneous bones of varied creatures which shake at clatter at his every step. Each one of the bones swarms with the runes of his people. If pressed, he explains that he is something of a historian among his people and these are his “books”.
Having shown aptitude with the devine runes and heeding their call was his duty. The Tribes of the Scarlands needed orcs like Morghul to carry their racial history while so many focused on their own personal lineage. He took to the training incredibly quickly, showing innate talent in nearly every facet. Still, a duty is not the same as a calling.
Morghul desired more, but was ultimately content to house his people’s ancestral knowledge. It was with those thoughts in mind that the ambitious young Runepriest set off to speak with his peers across the Scarlands, aiming to collect knowledge on a much grander scale than had been attempted in ages, and ultimately trecking up and into the northern mountains. The grey orcs there, while cousins, didn’t offer the same courtesy he was accustomed to from his own. It wasn’t an easy task, but he was a creature of stubborn pride and immeasurable tenacity. More importantly he was strong, an aspect that the mountain orcs respected.
It was during a particularly lonely evening studying in what he supposed was a re-purposed temple of Goregash, that he discovered something strange. Recorded in a combination of pictographs and an ancient dialect of orcish was a history of his people from before Goregash. It referred to the time when there was only one god and it spoke of his people being masters of a grand city at the center of all things.
This was the kind of discovery that, alone, would have been discounted as embellishment or a tale of ego. However, over the years, Morghul had found too many similar accounts to not see at least a grain of something resembling truth.
If he could unearth some sort of proof, it could very well change the way that his people saw themselves. Without further delay, he set off for the desert having finally found his calling.