Gulgrog's Backstory

I was raised within the Severed Head clan. This was a tribe, home to orcs, half orcs, goblins, and even a few humans like myself. In my youth, I was honored to lead my tribesman as a war captain. I still am, though those days are gone. The Severed Heads accept all who will strengthen the clan. When the goblin, Smorgash, came to offer his services, I did not expect much, bold as he was. But this goblin was from the Izzet Guild, sent to learn and hone his craft. It only took one loud, burning blast to see his worth. And the clan made good use of him. He was my war alchemist. Smorgash can make many things but... one thing he can make is glugg. This isn't ale or mead and there's no point in describing it. Sometimes it's like mead, fortified with peppered rum. Sometimes it's like rum, peppered with snake venom. But it always hits like a warhammer. Glugg can in one night, grant the courage of a berserker, let you speak to the gods, and lead you to the bedchamber of a druidic wood nymph. It can also polymorph that nymph to a winged harpy queen the next morning. This matters because after such a night a gift came. Gorglug, my son. Now, that boy ain't right. He's different. He's powerful. The spirit of the hunt is in him, deep. And he can change his own face. I don't know what he is. But I know who he is. My son. I don't know why the ancestors gave him to me to guide. But I know his path will be the war hunter's path and it will be littered with great foes. Now, my clan is no more. Over the years we were slowly strangled by neighboring city states. But our extinction was swift. An attack that put the village to the torch. As the village burned and my tribesman scattered, I sought the hut that held the tribe's sacred relics. These relics were the shrunken severed heads of our clan's great leaders. Though the others burned, I was able to save one. This one was from an orc named Gary. Gorglug and Smorgash pulled me to safety, I am told. I was wounded, exhausted but there I had my apotheosis. The severed head spoke to me and shared visions. I saw a lineage of elder tribal ancestors that ascended to a low pantheon. This council of ancient leaders ended with the severed head. When Gary spoke, it was not of vengeance or lamentation but of law and strength. "There is no authority but the will of those with strength. There is no sacred homeland. Only a people with the will to defend themselves." After this I felt the power of the tribal deities within the orc's shrunken head. And I could channel it. I know my mission. To make a place in the world for the strong to rule and the weak to be protected. To join the lineage of elders and give this tribal pantheon a people to protect. If might is the source of law, then let the lawful lead with strength. If there is no homeland than let wherever the strong go be a place for kin and clan.