It was hard to be inconspicuous in a group when you stood nearly as tall as a tuaren with the "lithe" form of human, possibly a little broader in the shoulders. Gorja had been spared learning of old hatreds and because of that he felt more out of place then those of the "Horde". He had no reason to be at the wedding, but taking a wrong boat at Ratchet meant he was part of the Horde procession to Theramore. His body was wrapped in a dark black cloak, the hood pulled up to prevent many from seeing the macabre (to others) mixture of human handsomeness and orc roughness. His eyes were green, much like those of the Warchief's baby blues, but his father had been one corrupted by the demonic taint, ted existed deep inside his pupils. Long black silken hair cascaded down his back when he finally pulled the hood down to eat and a meager attempt to socialize with some of his fellow orcs.<br/><br/>A grunt asked him his name as he ripped into a haunch of meat.<br/>"Gorja Cullblade."<br/>Gorja's voice was strong but it seemed to lack the bravado of most true orcs, he was far to humanized by his now deceased mother.<br/><br/>"He talk uman mon."<br/>A troll joined in on the conversation, not mocking but simply making an observation.<br/>"He be one of booth blood, no? Yu ha'f uman rite?"<br/>Gorja only nodded, the other orc looked at Gorja and smirked as he offered the half breed a tankard of ale. The half-orc took the ale and drank as the orc asked."Tell your tale half-blood."<br/><br/>"My father was Grin'ja Cullblade, blade master of the burning blade during the second war. My mother was her guard during the time of internment before the Warchief freed the orcs and took us across the sea. I do not know much of him, not even if he still lives, I only carry his banner and an axe he made for me."<br/>Gorja continued to tell his tale to those who wished to listen...<br/><br/>