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Name: Throg

Surname: Clovenhoof

Nickname/Title: "Snowy Desolation", personal assisstant and General of Warlord Gromhal of Mag'Har.

Association(s): Frostwolf Clan (Left), Mag'Har.

Race: Orc

Class: Warrior

Age: 23

Sex: Male

Hair: White Ponytail with white Large Beard.

Eyes: Blue

Weight: 293 Pounds.

Height: 6'7"

Usual Garments/Armor: Casual Wear: Brown Tattered Clothing. Battle Attire: Whatever Armor that he can come by. (Will explain in further detail later.)

Personality: Guarded, but willing to interact and meet new people. Because of his past, his personality has been altered to make him nod and smile but always have one hand near his weapon at all times.

Birthplace: Alterac Mountains

Actual Residence: Fighting in Draenor/Outland

Alignment: Neutral - Lawfull

Appearance: His skin is dark, he is tall and very muscular, his vains can be seen even from distance.

Background:

Throg Clovenhoof was born into the Frostwolf Clan, a clan located in the Alterac Mountains and where Thrall himself was trained in the shamanic ways. Throg was an energetic child, always running and playing in the snow, seemingly quite resilient to the extreme temperatures of the land. By the age of two, Throg could hold a one handed axe, his two tiny arms swinging it around wildly. His mother Natali [Nuh-Tah-Lee] (Maiden: Ruxin) Clovenhoof and father, Eron [Err-In] Clovenhoof saw promise in the young orc to become a powerful shaman.

He was sent to train with the Elder of the Frostwolf Clan at the age of four. Throg's parents held firm to the belief that he would one day become a more powerful shaman than Thrall himself, but the Elder did not agree. The Elder knew the boy was strong... but in a different way. Throg's physical prowess was way beyond his years but his mental capacity... the one required to be a shaman was not as strong as the Elder had hoped. The Elder had to break the bad news to Throg's parents, Natali and Eron held strong on the outside, but on the inside they felt as though their own son had failed him.

At the age of seven, Throg woke on a snowy night, his mind filled with visions of his parents, crying... ashamed that their son was not able to live up to the dreams that they had set for their son. Throg walked outside and stared at the night sky, stars barely visible through a thick sheet of white. In the distance he thought he heard a scream, but just dismissed it as the night wind whipping through the nearby brush and trees. But he heard a second sound, this time yelling his name. Throg ran to his room and grabbed his axe that his mother and father had gotten for him on his sixth birthday.

The axe was stained red with the blood of wolves. The wolves that kept them fed and clothed. Being an orc from the Frostwolf Clan, he was tought to use every part of the animal, not wasting a single bit. Bones for weapons, Fur for clothing, even the blood was drank. His clothes though were not made from fur, the only one of his clan to not. His clothes were made of simple linen cloth found from nearby encampments of humans, brown and tattered from the years of wear and tear. His clothes were made many sizes ahead of his own size, he felt as though if he learned to keep the clothes stable on his back without letting them fall during combat, his agility and awareness of his surroundings would increase. As Throg is only seven, he has yet to acquire a suit of his own armor, he was left fighting in linen, risky, but his bravery and courage could never be higher while slaying an opponent armed in a full suit of armor.

Throg, only seven years old, ran into the mountains, basically blind. He listened for the cries of his mother to guide him, his heart pounding with every step into the snow. The snow was ankle high, he had no time to put on his boots, so he ran bare foot into knee high snow. He finally reached the source of the screaming, a group of humans from a nearby encampment had taken Throg's parents in the night while they were hunting wolves for the next weeks supply. As the humans walked around the kneeling orc's, Throg noticed that four of the humans layed dead. His parents had at least put up a fight. The humans were geared in head to toe armor, lined with fur and masks on their faces guarding them from the harsh conditions.

The humans terrorized Throg's parents... walking around them, swearing in common, a tongue that Throg was not familiar with. They punched them, prodded them with the tip of their swords. Throg sat there, stunned... he had no idea what to think or do, his parents lives were slowly being taken from him right before his eyes.

One of the humans, his armor painted in blood, unsheathed a long two-handed sword from his back. Gems skittered across the surface in the moonlight. He raised the sword high into the air. Throg stared at the sword... his eyes wide with sadness, fear and anger. The human swung down with brutal force... slicing into Eron's body, the sword slicing down into the middle of his chest... his body going limp. The human smirked at Natali and kicked Eron's body into the snow. He took a linen cloth from his pack and wiped the blood off of his blade and spit on Natali. The human pointed his sword toward her face.

Throg's heart was torn in two... he had just seen his father murdered... and his mother was next if he did not do anything. He felt his anger rise inside of him, like an Orc trait lost upon the solitude of his clan. He felt his whole body heat, his body steamed, the snow that touched him melted instantly. Throg emitted a monstrous roar and charged at the humans. His mother wide eyed, Throg jumped and slammed his axe into the head of the Human that had took his fathers life. His eyes moving from human to human, his eyes red with anger, breathing heavily. Throg jammed the axe out of the humans head and held it ready to strike at the other humans. He yelled a roar so loud that the snow around him seemed to melt from the heat of his breath.

The humans ran in all different directions screaming for their lives hoping that any nearby encampment would hear them. Throg dropped his axe and walked toward his father's body... he collapsed onto it. He did not shed a tear, he was in too much pain to muster up anything other than rage. His mother kneeled next to Throg and tried to hug him, but he was inconsolable. He stood up, grabbed his axe and began to walk toward their cave. Natali looked down at her husband's body, wiped a tear from her eye and picked up his body. She walked closely behind Throg, but instead of following him into the cave, she walked to the Elder's hut and knocked on his door. The Elder answered and took one look at Eron's body and nodded.

In the passing week, they held Eron's funeral, cremating his body and letting them go into the winds of the Alterac Mountains, his birth... and final resting place, forever. Throg didn't speak for two weeks after his fathers funeral, all he did was hunt and train his body. Weeks, months, and eventually years passed before Throg finally spoke. Natali was ecstatic to finally hear her son's voice again, she broke down, crying... Throg sounded almost exactly like his father.

Throg turned 14, and he knew it was finally time for him to venture away from home and find new adventures, friends, a new life. Before he took his leave of the Clan, Throg visited the Elder. The Elder took one look at him, he knew that Throg had raised to and far beyond the power of his father. Throg asked for one last thing before he left, for the Elder to ask his father one simple question, are you proud of me. The Elder set a fire sat down, took a deep breath and looked at Throg. He didn't need a ritual to find out that Eron couldn't be any prouder of the strong Warrior that he had become. Throg nodded, grabbed his pack, put his axe onto his back and walked out of the hut.

The journey for such a young Orc would not be an easy one. Throg ventured south from the Alterac Mountains, attempting to avoid as many human encampments as he possibly could. His axe kept him safe, and even at the age of 14 he was not of age to receive his armor, but he had to leave. He fought is his tattered garb, he had now grown into it a lot more but it still hung loosely. He encountered numerous encampments among his travels south, mostly human, but one race that he had never seen before. They looked human to him but their skin was torn, their flesh hung loose from their bones. He approached the small city, treading lightly.

A scout caught him sneaking around, Throg reached for his axe, the undead motioned him over. Throg approached carefully, still one hand on his axe. The undead spoke in a weird tone, but throughout his speech he could pick bits and pieces out from it. The undead spoke orcish, just a version he didn't fully understand. Throg introduced himself to the undead... the undead asked where the young Orc hailed from. Throg pointed north toward Alterac Mountains and the undead nodded. He spoke slowly and clearly to explain to him a nearby Undead city where he could make his way to a city full of his own race.

Throg always heard tales of a city that Thrall founded, it was written from the Elder that it was named Orgrimmar. Throg tried to pronounce the city to the undead and he automatically realized what the Orc was talking about. Throg was quickly picking up the new dialect the undead was speaking, so when he explained that there was route to Orgrimmar from the Undercity. Throg thanked the undead and asked him a route to this Undercity. The undead explained to him that a road south would take him directly to the city, safe and fast. He thanked the undead, fixed his axe and pack and kept walking.

He walked past a sign that pointed west saying Undercity. Throg ventured to the undercity, walking for 2 days, only making camp once in fear that humans would attempt to ambush him. Venturing into the Undercity he looked at all the architecture, he walked into a circular room with one very odd chair against the center wall with two tunnels next to it. He felt uneasy in the room, as though something terrible had happened here. Quickly running out of the room and down the tunnel he bumped into another undead who pushed and snarled at him. Throg just kept walking, keeping his rage in check. He noticed a small door that was guarded by two large looking undead, green fumes releasing from his open wounds. The monster groaned and motioned toward the door, Throg stepped in and stood there. The floor fell beneath him, Throg braced against the ground. The floor stopped and a door in front of him opened with Undead staring in bewilderment at him. Throg stood up, brushed himself off, coughed and walked out the door past the undead.

He ventured for anyone that knew a way to Orgrimmar. Most of the people that he asked just brushed his question off and walked away, but someone who was standing by a structure holding strange winged animals motioned him over. Throg asked politely if he knew a way to get to Orgrimmar, the undead laughed and told him that there was a zeppelin outside that can fly him straight over the ocean and over to Orgrimmar. Throg looked at the undead confused, he has never heard of a zeppelin before. The undead explained that it was a gigantic machine that can travel great distances through the air. He explained that it was a big tower guarded by some more undead guards and that goblins would be at the top.

Not even a week out of the Alterac Mountains and he had learned of new races, machines, towns, customs, languages than he had ever dreamed of seeing. Throg knew that he was going to see many new things when he ventured away from his home, but nothing could of prepared him for all of these new things. He trailed his steps back out of the Undercity and looked out of the entrance and saw the tower the Wind Rider Master was talking about. Throg didn't want to stand out anymore than he has to all the undead around him.

Walking up the stairs, Throg thought about his home, his mother, the Elder... his father. His life had so many hardships but no matter what, he could not let it make him. He knew the past was always going to be a part of him, but he couldn't let it be his life. His axe, his clothes, all were vital parts of who and what he was and became. He grew with them, he grew with his memories... he grew with them, he didn't let them haunt him but more of let them define him.

Throg reached the top of the stairs and looked toward the west port, the goblin yelled the zeppelin to Ogrimmar had just arrived. He walked onto the zeppelin and took a seat with his legs swinging off the vessel. A goblin looked at him and warned him that it was dangerous, Throg just looked and nodded at him, the goblin didn't say another word to the young orc. The zeppelin began to move forward, slowly but then faster. The wind hitting his pants reminded him of the winds from Alterac Mountains, he closed his eyes and pictured himself staring into the night sky. He opened his eyes and looked down into the ocean passing beneath the zeppelin. Throg thought to himself that Alterac was old memories and should never forget them, but he needs to make new memories... ones like these, his first time seeing an undead, his first time flying over the vast sea. His eyes followed a couple of strange sea creatures following the shadow of the zeppelin, he smiled for the first time in over seven years.

The zeppelin docked onto a wooden orange and brown tower. Throg stepped off, the goblin that had warned him earlier just smiled and nodded at him. Throg looked to the west and caught a glimpse of a big wall with a giant banner of a symbol he recognized. It was a circle inside of a a upside down U with many intricate designs on it. Throg ventured into the hallway leading into Orgrimmar, and nothing could of prepared him for what he was about to see. Finally moving into view of the whole city, Throg was in awe of how busy the city was, it was like nothing he had ever seen, ever imagined. He walked forward, walked slowly... a guard noticed the young orc looking around the city in awe. The guard greeted the Orc and asked why such a young man was alone in the city. Throg explained his journey to this place from the guard, leaving out some of the more personal details. The guard asked Throg to follow him... Throg did as he asked.

The guard led Throg through the city, showing him the many buildings and vendors. He made note of the Auction House especially and that if he was going to be seeking the best armor he could, that was the place to find it. Throg nodded, he was amazed at the bustling city, people running around, talking to friends, making weapons, armor, potions. This was all so new to Throg, and now that he finally reached his destination, he could take a second to catch his breath and admire all of the things he never knew existed. Throg was full of questions but couldn't even open his mouth to speak, the guard noticed and stopped him.

"I can understand that this is a very new place to you from the Alterac Mountains. I can tell you one thing, never ever drop your guard. All of these people may be your allies, but life is tough in these times." Throg finally mustered the courage to ask a few questions. "I have always been on my guard ever since I left my home, but I need to ask you something. Could I possibly meet the leader of Orgrimmar?" The guard looked at the ground. "I am very sorry, but in times like this, he is far too busy. I know it would be a great experience for you to meet him, a man that rose from slavery to become warchief of the Horde. I only had the pleasure of meeting him when I was inducted into being a guard." Throg understood. He did not push the subject any further. "I can say this though Throg. If you train and make a name for yourself in the Horde, You will be able to meet Thrall, that I have no doubt about." The guard led him back to the gate into Orgrimmar. "Alright Throg, I am going to lead you to a place in southern Durotar called the Valley of Trials, there you will train. Many Orcs and even Trolls have trained there and become prominent members of the Horde." Throg followed closely to the guard.

Along the way the guard informed Throg of the struggles the Horde face against the Alliance, and everyday there is a new enemy looking to not just destroy the Horde, but all of Azeroth. The guard informed that his training was not quick and took him almost six years to even be ready to leave the valley. Throg nodded, he didn't care how long it took to become ready, as long as one day he can help the Horde.

The guard pounded his chest twice to the young orc. Throg looked back, he felt as though he understood exactly what it meant. He pounded his chest twice back. "Throg, it was an honor meeting you. This process will be a long and difficult one, but you have been through many hardships in your life. Your bravery and determination will easily propel you through the trials ahead. Lok'tar Ogar brother, I hope to meet again one day." Throg walked into the valley, the guard made his way back to Orgrimmar.

It has been fifteen years since then... and now, Throg Clovenhoof is finally ready... to aid his Horde brothers.

He decided to travel to Outland, where he trough years found his Lord, Warlord Gromhal, Warlord saw what potential and skill Throg posseses, he trained him well. Many years have passed since then, Throg has achieved the title of Warlord's personal assisstant and General, now, he follows him in hope that he will achieve that title one day.