Grush Old-Tusk

Grush Old-Tusk was no ordinary Orc, when he was young he had no inclination to fight the way the others did, his passion was food. The tribe he belonged to, the Yenta Tribe of the North, tried to teach his love for cooking out of him, they would go on training exercises for days at a time away from the camp, trying to keep him focused on his training. With his utensils not in sight, he did just that, but he still wasn't very good with a sword, an axe or a bow! No one could figure out why, but Grush wasn't too worried, the worse he was at fighting the more likely they would be accepting of his true destiny, being a chef.

It was wondrous to him all the things that could be done with food, you could make a a well seasoned beef stew, a sweet pastry filled with the juiciest berries, or a batch of the most scrumptious coconut cookies all in a matter of hours!

The tribes leader, Shelakh, did not care, he needed fighters and he needed them now, no matter how good or bad they were. He was planning an attack on an Elven village and needed all of his men to take it, the Elves had a lot of vantage points, having been there for hundreds of years and set up a pretty decent defense for themselves.

They had watch towers with archers safely stowed away in them and their best fighters patrolling the grounds at all times, it was all or nothing for the Yenta Tribe of the North. They had been travelling for months to get to this particular Elven village, it was different from the others, it was special. Below the surface there was an ancient burial ground that the tribes leader was hoping he could use to bring his wife back.

As the sun fell and the moon began to rise, the Orcs began preparations, kitting themselves up before the big fight. Grush however, was taking a little longer then the others, he was fiddling with his armor for quite a while before Shelakh approached him, "Stand up." Grush hesitantly did so and the leader immediately started fastening his armor for him, Grush looked down for a moment as Shelakh did so, "I don't know if I can do this sir, I don't wanna kill these elves, they have done nothing to us..."

When Grush awoke, he was in the desert alone, stripped of everything he had on him bar the clothes on his back. Shelakh had knocked him out and dumped him there for his utter disrespect to the leader himself, he was shunned, banished from ever going back there as he brought dishonor on his entire tribe.

Grush stumbled around for a few days, collecting fruit and hunting along the way, before he came across Al-Jaran. He saw a very large cart, pulled by several horses, headed straight in that direction. With the little energy he had left, he took off running after it, trying his best to catch it before it go to close to the gates. With one final lunge, he was able to grab onto the cart and jump into the back of it, trying to hide himself among all the barrels and sacks back there.

As quick as he got into the cart, as soon as he was inside the gates, he jumped back out. As he did so, his senses were overwhelmed. He could hear so much noise, talking and singing and the rattling of carts on the cobble, it was much louder then he was used to. He could smell wondrous things, a pie sitting on the windowsill of a nearby house, the fresh fruit and vegetable scent drifting down from the market, the fresh horse droppings on the cobble in front of him, maybe that one wasn't so wondrous.

He followed his nose and went to the nearby market, where he proceeded to set up a small crate that a friendly stall owner had lent him, and put his fruit inside, calling out to passers by, "I got some real fresh ones here, hand picked myself!"

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