Iron Brago

Many Orcs enjoy the thrill of combat, and spend their entire lives seeking the rush that comes in the white heat of battle. The heightened senses, the surge of power, and the delicate dance between life and death all make for an intoxicating experience that nothing else comes close to. For a small minority of Orcs, the need for this feeling is so overwhelming that they end up in an early grave, after launching themselves into fights they could never hope to win. These 'Battlelusters' are few and far between, and often forgotten, for their lives tend to end early. There is one Orc of this ilk however whose exploits were legendary: Iron Brago. Iron Brago was proclaimed leader of his clan before reaching adulthood, such was his immense strength and prowess. Wielding a solid iron mace in each hand, and wearing thick iron armor so heavy it could almost crush most Orcs, Brago's battle lust propelled him like an internal motor. Even before he was fully grown there were few who came close to matching his strength, and the ease with which he defeated opponents left him unfulfilled. Thus he continually sought new ways to test the limits of his abilities. Though his actions frequently put his clan in danger, whether that be insulting rival clan leaders, or encroaching on enemy territories to provoke a response, no one dared to challenge him. Fresh from defeating a small Dwarven enclave of the Skyiron Dominion, Brago brought his clan to the edge of the Stormwind Wastes, a desolate place home to monsters of myriad heinous kinds. Despite the protestations of clan members who were fearful of what may lie within this scarred and hellish land, they set up camp, Brago hopeful that perhaps here he would finally find the challenge he had been searching for. That night, he dreamed of fire, desolation, and countless Demonspawn. He dreamed of a place of violence and cruelty, where only the strongest would survive. The picture shifted, coming out of that plane and back into Teleria, where a portal stood open in the depths of a ravine. Slowly the picture drew back even further, tracing a line out of the ravine, through the Stormwind Wastes, and directly to where Brago's clan was camped. The Orc woke with a start, certain that he had finally found his calling. He would venture into the heart of the Wastes, find this portal, and wage glorious battle in the hellish place of his vision he was certain was behind it. Brago did not wait for dawn before waking his clan. He told them of his vision, and that those who wished to leave were free to do so. Some two thirds did. For those who remained, there was trepidation and excitement. Brago spoke with fervor and zeal of the glories that awaited them, and of burying their blades in the bodies of a thousand Demonspawn and more. In a near frenzied state, they crossed into the Wastes. Their journey was long, and bloody. Their numbers were depleted by half, then half again, as Demonspawn, Undead creatures, and nightmarish beasts attacked them. Not a day passed without violence, each Orc exhausting themselves to keep pace with the tireless Brago, whose energy seemed to only grow with each passing battle. Forever onward they plowed in a relentless onslaught into the depths of the Wastes, bodies piling high as they carved a path to their destination. After seven straight days of marching with little food or rest, it became clear to Brago they were finally nearing the portal. The air thickened and closed around them, and an oppressive heat threatened to singe their flesh. The Orc and his few remaining warriors descended deeper into the ravine with renewed enthusiasm, the assault of Demonspawn, monsters, and Undead coming thicker than ever. Though they continued to push forward through the caves and tunnels, one by one Brago's warriors fell, until only Brago remained. Unmoved by the losses, and not giving an inch to his enemies, he continued to smash his maces into the skulls of his enemies, laughing as he did so and insulting their courage, skill, and strength. While the fate of Iron Brago is lost to time, it is certain that in the crescendo of this battle he finally found the exhilaration and meaning he had been searching for.