A broad shouldered gray green orc with a broken tusk, a shaved scalp bound in copper rings, and a long scar across the left cheek. He wears polished chain mail beneath a weather worn cloak, with a shield marked by old campaign scratches and a stern, watchful stare that softens only when children or veterans are near.

Quiet, disciplined, and unexpectedly gentle off the battlefield. He respects courage more than rank, keeps his word even when it costs him, and shows a dry sense of humor only after he has decided someone is trustworthy.

Gorvak Stonejaw was born on the edge of a hard frontier where orc clans were expected to raid, pillage, and vanish before sunrise. He was meant to be another spear in a war no one bothered to explain, but he proved more useful carrying wounded allies off the field than cutting down enemies for glory. When a commander noticed that the young orc could hold a line longer than larger warriors and keep his head when others panicked, Gorvak was taken into the ranks and taught discipline, shield work, and the value of standing between danger and the helpless. He served long enough to earn his scar, his rank, and his habit of watching every room like it might turn into a battlefield. During one campaign, his unit was ordered to abandon a village to satisfy a cruel strategic retreat. Gorvak refused, rallied the frightened survivors, and held the road until reinforcements arrived. He was praised by the people he saved and condemned by the officers who valued obedience over conscience. Since then he has wandered from contract to contract, selling his strength to those with honest cause, trying to prove that an orc can be more than the story written for him by fear.