Urun gro-Braagh



Home Town

Nova Orsinium


Well, I’m kinda between jobs at the moment, so I guess I’ll just put my ideal job. What I really want to do with my life is be a member of the Imperial Legion. Not like a front line guy or anything. Maybe something in the Listmaking division. Maybe even a quartermaster or something. That’d be cool.

Favorite Weapon/Fighting Style

Um, none of the above, I guess. I only recently acquired a shield, which is pretty badass, I’m told. But that’s only half of the TWO shields required to practice the Confused Turtle fighting style, which is something I’ve always wanted to master. When I was a kid I used to strap two wagon wheels to my arms, and my friends would throw knives and hammers at me and I’d try to block them. Never could grasp the subtleties of the art, though. Stuff kinda always found its way through the spokes and what have you. But that would be a cool skill to finally master.

Magical Aptitude (If Any)

Nuh-uh. That kind of stuff will get you lynched where I come from. I may be a coward, but I’m no pussy. Oh, crap. Can I say that here?


Again, IDEALLY, I’d be affiliated "officially" with the Empire, in whatever humble way they see fit to have me serve. For the time being, though… I’m just kind of out here doing my thing, which really isn’t much. I mean, to look at me you’d think I’m this big green fighting machine, but I usually find I can avoid combat by just towering over people and breathing heavy. And here’s the secret… just a tiny tiny rivulet of drool from the side of one tusk. It really sells the whole Alpha Male facade I try to emulate. People usually just apologize and leave. I mean, I don’t even know what they’re apologizing FOR! They just discreetly excuse themselves and run off. So… y’know… I’m good. Wait. What were we talking about? Oh yeah. Affiliations. Big, BIG fan of the Empire right here.


Imperial History, Imperial artifacts, Imperial butter… Kind of all things Imperial. Like… if you’re an anime fan, anything with a name that doesn’t make any sense, and any character with spiky hair, horizontal elf ears, and vibrating eyeballs will kind of do it for you, right? That’s me and Imperial stuff. It all rocks. In fact, I’d totally cosplay an Imperial, but I feel it would be disrespectful to the uniform unless I’d earned it, you know? I also really like quiet time, safety, and keeping to myself. I know that’s, like, textbook serial killer talk, but really, I’m a teddy bear. A big, sweaty, green teddy bear with big fangs and an underbite. Totally harmless. I mean, look at me. I’m a frickin’ GINGER orc! How dangerous is that??


Physical violence, civil disobedience, and pretty much danger of any kind. And… y’know… again, to look at me, you’d think those would have made the Turn-Ons category without blinking. That’s judging a book by its cover, and that’s wrong. I am more than my species. More than a sum of my big, bulging green parts. There’s a person inside all of those muscles. A thinking, dreaming PERSON. A very frightened person who would love nothing more from life than to be sequestered in the basement of the biggest, most impregnable fortress imaginable, and count things for the greater glory of the Empire.


From the moment I was born, I was a disappointment to my father. I mean, with a name like Braagh, you want to be able to BRAG about your son (this is the line he used over and over again to guilt trip me into skinning intruders and stuff). I was the kid who was picked last for raiding expeditions. I didn’t get my bloodstripes till I was 16, and even then it was only because I accidentelly rode my horse into a deer, and despite my best efforts, it died. Hey, I was 16! I was just learning to drive! But anyway, there was blood involved, and dad immediately had me bloodstriped before anyone could ask any questions. "You’re a MAN, now, son!", he’d say. Meanwhile the kids I grew up with had their stripes since they were like six or whatever. I suppose it’s an honor to be nominated.

So anyway, being the man I was, I immediately resolved myself to get as far away from my people and their ways as I could. In case you’re not familiar with my people, Orcs are really, really into blood and gore and drinking blood and eating gore, and wiping it all over each other as a sign of brotherhood. I’ve just never been into that, y’know? But I couldn’t just up and leave. Frankly, it took me a while to muster up the will to leave the jagged, rusty spikes of home. I mean, out there… stuff tries to kill you! But I eventually figured I’d be more likely to die at the corner market than out in the wild. So I packed up a nice suit of armor and some rations, and boldly marched through the front gates of the stronghold. I told dad I was going to go out and kill something, and I swear the man wept with pride. Figured I’d leave him with a warm place in his heart.

I decided to make my way to Cyrodiil, but I’ve never been much for navigation. Wound up in Hammerfell, which was in some ways even more violent than Nova Orsinum! So I changed direction and the weather got colder, and I’m like "Where the hell am I now??" And wouldn’t you know it, I asked around, and they tell me Markarth. MARKARTH!!! Beautiful city, don’t get me wrong, but FRICKIN’ AWFUL place. And I’ve kinda been stuck in this country ever since. Then the civil war broke out, and I’m in this nation of traitors, and the damn border’s closed! So I’m stuck here until General Tullius can marshal his forces and cleanse the perfidious stench from this place. So… here I am, I guess.

What is your ideal recreational activity?

Spending an entire day with a heart rate below 85 beats per minute. That’s just a perfect day right there. Doesn’t happen very often though. A bird caws at the wrong time, and my heart rate skyrockets. I blame my genetics and upbringing for my relative high-strungness.

What is your best feature?

I think I have a bold, yet not oppressive set of tusks. I mean, they’re nice. It’s kinda hard to shape human words sometimes, but these babies have gotten me out of more fights than anything else. Seriously. Just the slightest little dribble of drool totally sells the "I’m gonna kill you" vibe without saying a word.

Let’s be honest. What’s your claim to fame?

Fame? Oh, man. I actively avoid fame or claims to it. You know what fame makes you? It makes you a TARGET. You win a horseshoe-tossing competition, and folks are likely to slit your throat in your sleep, just out of spite!! I guess you could say I would conceivably be famous for my relative obscurity. And that’s just fine by me. Juuuuust fine!