|“||“Scars are just tattoos with better stories.”|
|— Fear Like Us|
|Death waits for no one, but she always comes to those who wait.|
|Age||23 years old|
- 1 Appearance
- 2 Personality Traits
- 3 History
- 3.1 Before the Empire
- 3.2 Season Two
- 3.3 Downtime: A Year in the Corruption
- 3.4 Season 3
- 3.4.1 The Emperor's New Clothes (Week One)
- 3.4.2 The Emperor's New Clothes (Week Two)
- 3.4.3 The Emperor's New Clothes (Week Three)
- 3.4.4 The Emperor's New Clothes (Week Four)
- 3.4.5 The Cimmerian Steppe (Week Five)
- 3.4.6 The Crown of Blades (Week Six)
- 3.4.7 A Hollow Victory (Week Seven)
- 3.4.8 The Last King’s Sepulcher (Week Eight)
- 3.4.9 The Queen is Dead, Long Live the Queen (Week Nine)
- 3.4.10 Good Intentions (Week Ten)
- 3.4.11 The Crown of Blades (Week Eleven)
- 3.5 Downtime: Rise of the Herald
- 3.6 Season 4
- 4 Skills and Strategies
- 5 Trivia
At 6'3", Corlath is considered short among his brethren. However, his presence is no less intimidating because of it. In fact, there is a natural confidence reflected in Corlath's movements, which many of his peers lack. Muscles like whipcord ripple as he moves with an unexpected grace, which resembles that of an animal more so than a humanoid.
Corlath's skin is painted in mottled tones of ash, and his piercing blue eyes seem to peer right through you, as if he is looking at your very soul and weighing its worth against some mysterious standard only known to him. His tangled mass of ebony hair is tied back in a single, loose top knot, from which it falls almost to his shoulders in a chaotic pattern of braids and loose strands.
The lower portion of his face is covered by a mask, made from the tanned skin of a goblin's head, which he never removes in public. Beneath the mask, his lower lip is missing, and a jagged scar stretches out from either side of his mouth, giving him the appearance of a permanent smile.
Armor and Weapons
Corlath is one of the few among his people to ride into battle without armor. After his first skirmish in the Corruption, where he was forced to catch an attack with his teeth, Corlath decided that it did more to hinder his movements than it did to provide him with adequate protection. Aside from the faded red cape that falls over his shoulders and his belt, which holds up a leather loincloth, Corlath doesn't seem to wear anything at all.
While mounted upon Isfahel, his warhorse, Corlath favors a shortbow or spear, which are bound to either side of his saddle. On foot, he seems to prefer a shortsword, which is sheathed at the rear of his belt, opposite a single dagger. A leather case is strapped at either of his thighs, each holding a handful of thin, metal darts.
Corlath is slow to trust anyone. Not even his fellow Orcs are above this scrutiny, and nobles are particularly distrusted in his eyes.
He is also often a little too insightful and speaks in riddles or half-truths to test those around him.
Never one to brush things under the rug, Corlath is quick to reach the root of a problem and correct it accordingly without much time spent considering unnecessary alternatives.
He is also abnormally stoic, exhibiting no outward signs of fear or weakness when standing before either friend or foe.
Before the Empire
We Didn't Start the Fire (Week Nine)
A day after passing Companion's Rest, I fell into the company of a young human, who refers to himself as Tom Oggins. Being solitary travelers, as we were, and headed towards the same destination, we fell into a company for the duration of the trip. Methinks that the youth is overzealous to join his benefactor, Waltom, in the capital, but knowing of Waltom myself, I find myself somewhat protective of Tom. When I told him that I seek Nazdrak, one of Waltom's companions, the youth asked me a million questions. How strange the difference is between Human and Orc culture. While I am accustomed to quiet understanding, Tom seems to require conversation to feel comfortable.
Alas, at the city gates, we were forced to part company. The Ancestors have never steered me wrong before, and it seems that they are right once again. Civil unrest lies heavily upon the city, and while Tom was grudgingly allowed inside, I was informed that anyone not Human is unwelcome to enter the walls. This would have presented me with a problem, but seeing as how Tom now sought out Nazdrak, in the wake of learning that Waltom had gone to rest with the Ancestors, I asked him to inform my clansman that I was outside the gates.
Some short time later, I was approached by two city guards, who seemed much more forthcoming than the men at the gate. Although I wonder if they knew as much. "The Nightingale sings in the dark." Or so I was told. Who this Nightingale is, I do not yet know, but apparently, Nazdrak is to meet with him, and I now go to join him within the city walls.
A Song in Darkness (Week Ten)
My clansman is a true force to be reckoned with. While I stepped back into the shadows, following the appearance of cloaked invaders, he and his companions dispatched the vast majority of them. I was able to capture one of them as he fled the scene, and following a light questioning, I gathered that the invaders call themselves "Ashen", wear their cloaks as a sign of membership in their company, and currently answer to the Interim Emperor, Tiberius Trusala. After insuring that my new 'friend' wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, I relieved him of his clothing, which I then used to disguise myself. With a scarf wrapped around the lower portion of my face and the hood pulled down, I appear to be Human in passing, and with the cloak of an Ashen, no one has stopped me to ask questions.
From observing the way the Ashen move through the city, I can tell that they're not as organized as a standard mercenary force, but they have been placed strategically. I have also observed the forces of the Imperial Guard, which appears to be working in tandem with the Ashen. They watch me more suspiciously, but they seem to view all of the Ashen in that respect, despite the fact that they both currently serve the same master. Unlike the Ashen,the Imperial Guard are seasoned soldiers, obviously accustomed to regimented operations. They move with a fluidity that the Ashen lack, but it's obvious from the way they hold themselves that they're concerned about the orders they're being given. The city appears to be stretched out like a bow at full draw, and I do not yet know what event will loose the arrow.
A Time to Reap (Week Eleven)
After a full evening of observing the militia forces in the city, I made my way towards the city gates, planning to meet with Nazdrak, Tom, and their other companions outside the walls. Unfortunately, it was at this point I discovered that those gates were closed to all traffic, both arriving and departing. Expecting that this was something that happened each evening at dusk, I found an abandoned stable in the heart of the city and made myself at home in the loft above it.
In my dreams, the Ancestors told me of many lives expiring during the night, but I did not know whether they were near nor far. Only after I rose and moved back into the streets did I discover the chaos that had taken root in the capital. From behind my hood and mask, I watched two shrouds strung up and quartered in the streets. Two blocks down, a dwarf was shaved and then beaten. I'm not very familiar with their customs, but I believe it would have been more of a mercy to kill him at that point than let him live on.
Realizing that my disguise wouldn't hold up for much longer, I sought refuge in the only place I could move completely unnoticed. The sewers. As I made my way through the muck and grime, the distant sounds of battle drifted through the tunnels. Perhaps, even here, the Humans were seeking out some poor creature to torment. Filled with purpose, I followed the sounds of swords clashing and gurgling screams, only to stumble upon my clansman and his group of allies instead of the militia I had been anticipating.
Escape from the Capital (Week Twelve)
Almost immediately after I rejoined with my tribesman and his group, we were separated once more. In the dark and putrid tunnels running beneath the capital, I found myself once more in the company of Mr. Oggins, as well as the Druid called Fern. Following the flow of water beneath our feet, we found our way to the harbor, where Fern changed us into crows, allowing us to fly over the city walls undetected. Tom went first, and unfortunately, we had to follow more swiftly than anticipated, due to a run-in with some of the Imperial Guards. Fern and I probably could have dispatched them, considering how green they appeared to be. However, I am glad that it was not yet their time to die.
Once outside the walls, we located Tom, and after I was reunited with Isfahel, it was decided that for the time being, Mr. Oggins and I would retreat to Companion's Rest. Fern would stay behind to retrieve Nazdrak and his other companions. Hesitant as I was to leave my tribesman in such dire straights, there was little aid I could offer him at the time. Even now, as Tom and I ride east, I pray to the Ancestors for Nazdrak's safe escape from the capital and for mercy upon the poor souls of those creatures floating in the harbor. I find myself thinking that perhaps we were right to shun the Humans, although like Waltom, Tom also appears to be an exception to the rule.
Downtime: A Year in the Corruption
The Emperor's New Clothes (Week One)
Only days ago, I received my tribesman's summons to rendezvous with him and his companions at the edge of the Deepwood. Now that I have met with them and learned of their plan, I feel obligated to commune with the Ancestors. Those of my order consider death a sacred passage into another realm. To bring one back from that realm and into the one where we now exist is, at best, a foreign concept to me, and not one that I am entirely comfortable with. Therefore, I have chosen not to join the vanguard party, so that I may seek the counsel of those that have already passed on.
After communing with the Ancestors, I am more at peace with our intended course of action, and although I still feel uncomfortable about dragging a spirit back into this realm from the one in which it now resides, it is hard to argue with the logic of the Empress. Without a strong leader, the world cannot be led to change, and the tides of this world must be changed, lest the ripples of darkness that now swirl around us consume everything.
The Emperor's New Clothes (Week Two)
Today, I rode into the Deepwood with new companions. Unlike Fern and Tom, they seem far less excitable, with the exception of Rufus, of course. He is an oddity if I have ever encountered one. A burn scar on his face would mark him as a warrior among my people, but his demeanor is hardly that of a combatant. If not for the fact that he walked into an enemy encampment alone and walked back out just as easily, in possession of their leader's weapon no less, I would have thought he was the type to shy away from danger. I now find myself thinking that Rufus is a man of many facades, wearing whichever suits him best at the time.
As we ventured further into the trees, an unnatural sensation began to creep over me. The Ancestors practically screamed "abomination" in my mind, though I would normally have to meditate deeply to hear even their faintest whisper. In some ways, the feeling is familiar to me, but at the same time, it feels somehow 'wrong'.
With the sunrise, we finally met Kazinov, whom we had sought out for his knowledge of death. Now I could put a name to the unnatural sensation I'd been feeling, and it wasn't what I had expected. Before me was a creature who could not pass on to the next realm. Should he die, he would be forcibly dragged back into existence, unable to leave his current, miserable existence. Although Kazinov undoubtedly possesses great power and knowledge, I find myself feeling only pity for him, to be denied the sacred passage into death by a force he can no longer see or touch. Even more so, he seemed to bear it no ill will, despite his affliction.
The Emperor's New Clothes (Week Three)
As we ride back towards Three Rivers, I find myself making silent observations about my companions. Manah, much like me, seems content to keep to herself, but Rufus and Jaedis are constantly interacting with one another. Their comradery is apparent to me by the way they can comfortably switch from a discussion to an argument, and then seamlessly move on with the discussion as if the argument never happened. I still find it difficult to fully trust anyone outside of the clan, much less a non-Orc, but if times are to truly change, I must accept that I, and those like me, are part of the problem. If we cannot first look to others with higher expectations, for what reason would they do the same?
It would seem that trouble looms on the horizon once more though. With our arrival back in Three Rivers, I am made aware that other Orcs have been seen in Gilgani, and they have apparently come with less than friendly intentions. Now, more than ever, I must put aside my own prejudice for the sake of something greater, for the sake of Elara as a whole...
The Emperor's New Clothes (Week Four)
As Rufus' company rides into Gilgani, I took it upon myself to gather what information I could about the Bladehosts. General information was easy to track down in records, and by greasing a few palms and buying a couple drinks I was able to get a few specifics. Stumbling upon a soldier named Antipedes in town was like striking gold though. Over an afternoon, he shared much knowledge of the Gilgani people with me, and I will be sure to forward a letter containing what I've learned to Rufus.
The Gilgani people currently consist of seven Bladehosts, each governed by a Bladelord. I am led to believe that this prestigious position is achieved not by birthright, but by election. It is an interesting concept, and one that I, as a soldier, can approve of. This means that each of the Bladelords has the full support of their Bladehost behind them at all times. Otherwise, they would not own the title.
Antipedes tells me that he was once of the Gilgani. His Bladehost, the High Bluff Host is now the smallest and least prestigious of the Hosts, due in part to he and his company breaking from the Host to ride beneath the banner of the Empire. Bronzehame is now the largest of the Hosts, and it is led by Fulgor Bronzehame. He is a third generation Bladelord, and seeks the Crown of Blades to become King of Blades, a feat I am told has not been accomplished in several generations.
The Cimmerian Steppe (Week Five)
After sending my letter to Rufus by way of his Crimson Cloak Society, I rode hard for the Steppe, in hopes of catching up with Nazdrak and Fern. After a day's travel, I crossed paths with them, in the company of Danto and his company or Orcs. We now ride into my homeland, which is eerily silent, much like the Corruption beyond. During the short time that I have been away, Warmaster Grishnak has apparently assembled the tribes, and now, he calls for Nazdrak to join him on the fields of battle.
Although it pleases me that my clansman should find honor once again with his people, I am somewhat concerned with this plan of the Warmaster's. By some method unknown to me, he has captured a Queen of the Goblins, and he hopes to parade her through the Corruption, drawing out our foes so that we may cut through them in waves. I must admit that the plan is ingenious. However, I have my reservations concerning its execution. The tribes have never before had an opportunity to interact with a living Queen. I fear that we might not be quite so prepared for this trial as the Warmaster believes.
The Crown of Blades (Week Six)
As the tribes prepare to march into the Corruption, Nazdrak and I seek the counsel of Picasa, my mentor, in the war camp. She too harbors some reservations about the Warmaster's plan, but the hope of a brighter future for our people drives her forward. Perhaps, if one as wise as Picasa has such high hopes for this endeavor, it is childish of me to second-guess the Warmaster.
To rid myself of any lingering doubt, I spent the morning in meditation, but the Ancestors will not give me the inner peace I desire. This development troubles me even more. For either they tell me that this plan is folly or that I am unworthy of their comfort if I cannot see past my own doubts. If anything, I am even more unsettled now.
To work off the stress, I have volunteered to aid in the martial exercises tonight. If nothing else, putting the young orcs through their paces will tire me enough that I might get some sleep tonight...
A Hollow Victory (Week Seven)
As the ritual fires burned, we had a final word with Picasa before departing. The Ancestors had still given me no peace throughout the night, and now, I felt as if I were walking on hot coals. With Warmaster Grishnak leading us to the Queen's enclosure, I tried once again to center myself, but the air around us was filled with some unknown force, a heavy presence that seemed to push down on my shoulders.
Once inside the enclosure itself, we were greeted by a strange creature, which Nazdrak and Fern seemed to recognize. From what I gathered during the brief conversation, the creature aided Grishnak in capturing the Queen. That would certainly explain its presence here.
As the enclosure opened, the force I had been standing under multiplied, and as I laid eyes on the Queen, my thoughts became clouded. A million voices called out to me at once, and at first, I thought them to be the Ancestors. Yet, they sounded somehow wrong to me. With the resounding crash of the Queen slamming into the opening of her cage, I finally found the inner peace I had sought for several days. Before me was the reason for my discomfort, and it was very clear that we weren't prepared.
With battle raging around me, I stepped towards our foe, and letting the Ancestors guide my movements, I delivered a strike with the force of many generations behind it. As the Queen reeled from the weight of the blow, Grishnak and Nazdrak brought her to the ground, writhing in submission. Now, we begin the fool's errand of transporting her. At least the stifling presence she had projected into the air lingers no longer. I can only hope that should she wake again, we deal with her just as swiftly.
The Last King’s Sepulcher (Week Eight)
With the Queen strapped between several carts, we have slowly begun to make our way across the Steppe. Her presence is once again detectable to those of us sensitive to the Ki in the air around us. I have ensured that several members of my order are present nearby, should she try something similar to her previous antics again. Grishnak did not seem particularly displeased with my request, though I know many of the warriors find those of my order to be... Unsettling. In this case, I feel that the distraction of their presence is a fair trade for the security they can provide.
The strange creature, Chessie, also sits atop the lead cart. She seems almost ethereal, compared to any other creature I have encountered, and it is of no small amusement to me that she seems completely unfazed by anything going on around her. Beneath her paws lies a sleeping Goblin Queen, and a contingent of Orc monks marches on either side of her. Yet, she darts about playfully from one cart to the next. How one creature can be so carefree, especially in these times, is beyond me.
Thankfully, I am told that we have only a few more miles to cover before we may put Grishnak's plan into action. The Ancestors have been strangely silent on the wind since we set out on our journey. I can only assume this is because of the Queen's presence, and I cannot wait to be far enough away from her that I hear their soft whispers again.
The Queen is Dead, Long Live the Queen (Week Nine)
With the black sails of our allies, the Lascarii, coming into view over the horizon, Nazdrak and Fern outwardly expressed some measure of discomfort with Grishnak's plan. Although I've never met with the Lascarii, personally, both of my companions seem firmly against allying with them. I also recall a story that Rufus shared with me during our journey into the Deepwood, concerning a vicious group of the sea people. These Lascarii didn't seem to fit his description, although I did notice that they seemed strange.
The one who greeted us on the beach seemed to know Fern in some way, but Fern herself seemed taken aback at their meeting. Kaalu, as she presented herself, seemed much like all the other Lascarii around her, cold and devoid of emotion. In a strange way, they remind me of the Goblins, though they lack our foes' inherent tendencies for aggression. Perhaps the most unsettling development was the rise of a Leviathan from beneath the seas, which now ferries the Queen to a distant shore, where we will carry out our plan. I had not anticipated such a massive and ancient creature to join us in this endeavor, and although I feel that we will appreciate her aid, the fact that she lurks in the waters beneath us does weigh on my mind.
Good Intentions (Week Ten)
As we made landfall, I found myself separated from my companions. Those of my order, no longer tasked with guarding the captive Queen, asked that I join them in meditation and preparation for the upcoming battle. While we were still in communion with the Ancestors, chaos broke out around us, and as a group, we cut into the enemy ranks surrounding us.
In the distance, I saw a larger foe rise up from the earth, but I could only trust that whomever faced it had the power to overcome such a monstrosity. With Goblins hemming us in, my order dove into the fray like a battering ram of terror. Before us, the Goblins fell like young trees before the axe. With each enemy we slew, the energy of the Ancestors surged through us, but as the monstrosity in the distance called out in defeat, I felt that energy suddenly fall silent.
The battle was ours, but I somehow knew that we had actually lost the war.
The Crown of Blades (Week Eleven)
A grave illness has befallen my people. Not even Nazdrak is immune to its effects, and yet several members of my order, including myself, seem unaffected. I had originally questioned if the Ancestors were shielding us in some way, but if that were true, I would have thought my clansman would also be spared.
Those of us unaffected by the disease have tried reaching out to the Ancestors, but their whispers have fallen completely silent since the end of the final battle. I am forced to accept that the Orc and Goblins were even more interconnected than any of us had anticipated.
With our foe finally fallen, and the last surviving Queen carried away in the grasp of a mysteriously missing Leviathan, I am forced to ride towards the only being of true power I know of. If Kazinov knows how to raise the dead, perhaps he might also know how to relieve the curse that has befallen my entire race.
Downtime: Rise of the Herald
Whispers of Winter (Week One)
Once more, I travel with my clansman and his companions. This time, we seek out the darkness that lures our people into the northern mountains. At the base of such a peak, we discovered a couple who seemed determined to reach the peak. Aside from the strange marking on their foreheads, they appeared outwardly normal. However, something about them felt eerily similar to the Lascarii girl who met with Fern on the beach over a year ago.
Although they seemed to have their faculties about them, I couldn't shake the feeling that they were ensorcelled in some way. Their determination was unlike any I have seen in my people since the disease set in.
Pug, the old man whom we travel with, whispered a name into the wind, which sent shivers down my spine. Tarn. If the creature lives, it would explain much, even as it leads to so many other mysteries.
Whispers of Winter (Week Two)
Oh, how I wish that Pug had been wrong, but Tarn does live still, at least in a sense of the word. With his own life energy, he sustains my people, Nazdrak's people. It is no different than enslaving them though. Only those willing to march under the banner of his "family" are safe from the illness that plagues them, and he has asked Nazdrak to lead them.
Though the mantle of leadership is not unknown to my clansman at this point, I have advised him to turn down the offer. To accept the aid of this creature might save our people, but in his thrall, they would no longer be the people we sought to save. I cannot make my clansman's decisions for him though. Soon, we will know if our paths continue together, or if we must part ways in search of what is best for the Orcs.
Skills and Strategies