To the east of the Empire, over the Black Mountains, through the blasted ash-wastes of the Dark-lands, lays the Mountains of Mourn, home to the Ogre Kingdoms. Here in the predator rich snowy lands, amongst the nomadic Ogre race, there once existed a tribe known to outsiders as the “Snowstalker Tribe”. They were a small tribe with a predilection for hunting and migrating during snowfall, this was to cover both their scent and tracks. It was in the course of one of their great hunts that things changed beyond all measure for their number, when they happened on a Pride of Mournfang that was of extraordinary size. The tribe became hopelessly outmatched when the vicious beasts sprang their trap on the hapless Ogres; quickly the hunt became a bloodbath for them. Hunters now became prey, despite the Ogres vast size and brute strength, and they soon fled, leaving everything they possessed in an attempt to flee.

Soon the din of the massacre died down, with the last blood curdling scream echoing through the mountains. From the Mournfang’s number stepped forward a hulking great male, the Alpha of the pride, and as it made through the bloody corpses of the Ogres it came across the lone survivor, a small almost new born Ogreling. With trepidation, both the Ogreling and the Alpha moved towards one another. As the gurgling infant reached out towards the snout of the giant beast, The Alpha sniffed the Ogreling in return, and licked it once across its face. Something inside the beast changed, and with a low growl, the Alpha signalled to one of the others from the pride which stepped forward and took the chubby infant Ogre into its maw. The pride then strode off into the mountains towards their den, the Ogreling gurgling and giggling all the way, leaving the scene of slaughter far behind them.

There in the Mournfang’s den the Ogreling was raised as part of the Pride, suckled at first on the females, and then subsequently taught to hunt by the males. As the infant grew into adolescence and the years wound on, he showed an uncanny ability to adapt and learn at an incredible pace, despite the difference of species. Somewhat intuitively, to fit in with the Pride he took the skull and fur from a Mournfang, which had challenged the Ogres place amongst them and was subsequently killed by him in combat. Now fully accepted amongst their number, the almost fully grown Ogre had shown cunning, aggression and boldness in tactics which led to the Mournfang’s ascendancy as top predator in the region, above that of the Ogres themselves within the Kingdom.

One dawn as the Mournfang slept within their den, the Ogre was plagued by visions in his sleep. Tossing and turning, he witnessed scenes of fire and molten ore pouring, the smell of ash and brimstone overloaded his senses forcing him to wake from his fitful dream. The images and smells shifted into one glowing light which burned like a beacon in his mind’s eye, and even upon his sweaty awakening the light still burned off in a direction he had never travelled before. Curiously he sat there pondering what he had seen, but it wasn’t long before he had made his choice. Silently he took off his mantle of skull and fur, placing them neatly in his sleeping place, naked as the day he arrived, the Ogre left the Mournfang’s cave toward his unseen goal.

For days he walked, crossing mountains, rivers and forests, encountering things the likes of which he could never have dreamed on his journey, constantly being drawn like a moth to flame by the beacon that blazed in his mind. It was upon his eighth day of travel that the Ogre found himself following one of the many tributaries that flowed out of the Mountains and headed south. Soon he found himself with a choice to make, before him stood the vast width of the River Ruin, should he choose to wade its unknown depths, or give up and return to the Pride which raised him? The light which guided him this far pulled too strong on his senses, and so the Ogre waded into the slow freezing waters of the river. Ice flowed past his bulk as the waters rose around his neck, thankfully that was as deep as the waters grew and it wasn’t long before he had crossed its cold darkness. Dragging himself from the waters, he crawled along the ground, chilled to the bone by the unnatural icy touch of the river and struggling to catch his breath. After a short rest, the Ogre regained his composure and made on his way across the unimaginably featureless plane of ash and sand that sprawled beyond his sight from under his feet, confused by the sudden change in both terrain and temperature.

On the third day of crossing the planes, after fighting off hallucinations, hunger and thirst, the Ogre spotted something heading his way. With no terrain to hide behind, he decided to adopt an aggressive stance, taking up the biggest of rocks in each of his hands as makeshift weapons. Soon the shapes took on a form, making out colour amongst its size of brass and blackness, glinting in the harsh desert light. Despite the vastness of colour, as the mass approached the Ogre he realised the stature of what headed his way was much less than he had imagined, barely the height of half his leg. Still wary of the tiny things before him, he stayed an unmoving statue as the wall of sixty or more tiny things stood to attention before him. The shiny warriors, who sported masks and huge beards of black which were more ornate than the armour they wore, parted to let a slightly taller one of their number out from within their ranks. This one was different from the rest, being unmasked and rather grim of nature, with heads hung as trophies from his body and other such trinkets. Soon it dawned on the Ogre, realising this thing before him was the light beacon which had guided him here.
Pointing a finger at the Ogre, the tiny thing growled in a voice not unlike a roaring furnace, and slammed his fist into his own chest. The Ogre in return dropped his makeshift weapons and dropped to his knees, approached the thing before him, sniffed once and licked his face. With a loud shout from the armed and armoured things, they bore arms and made to march on the Ogre in protection of their master. With a raised hand from the unmasked one, their number ceased their advance as quickly as they had begun it and parted to let him back within their ranks. With a gesture towards for him to follow, the Ogre got from his knees and entered their ranks nervously. With loud metallic stomping, the wall of warriors turned about face and headed back into the Dark-lands from whence they came with their new charge safely within their number.

Over the following months the Ogre was taught both the written and spoken languages of his benefactor, who he learnt was of a race called the Dawi Zharr, the world he now inhabited, as well as his mentors name, Dai’Khororr. He plied the Dawi Zharr’s trades and ways of war, marching with his tutor wherever he went, never ceasing with his tutelage even in battle. It was on one fateful day when the Ogre’s life changed beyond all measure, when he was shadowing Dai’Khororr as he was binding a creature of balefire within runes and hell-forged iron, with the baleful arcana he could control. With a thunderous crack, something had gone wrong with the incantation, and seeing the skein of magic fail, the ogre threw himself between his master and the ruinous energy that flooded the room. Within seconds the room was quiet and the energies had dispersed. The Ogre lay atop his master unmoving, but slowly his vast rent form moved, miraculously they both had survived. As Dai’Khororr tended to his faithful students wounds he witnessed them knit, but upon their closing they and the area around them turned to stone, hardening. Within moments half the Ogres body had become movable rock, still allowing all the movement he had had before. That wasn’t the only change Dai’Khororr saw within the Ogre, he could see the winds of magic flow through his veins, the obvious result of taking the full force of the arcane explosion.

For saving his master the Ogre was given the name Uzkul Dhralu’kau, meaning “Skull Brother of Stone”, and within days of his accident, he had mastered the power from within him. After a lengthy discussion with his mentor, Dai’Khororr had suggested to his student a plan to benefit each other using Uzkul’s newfound abilities, and dawn the following day saw his departure from the Dark-lands. Acting upon his mentors instructions, the Ogre had returned to the lands of his upbringing, first returning to the Pride of Mournfang’s which raised him to reassert himself as a friend of the beasts, and secondly to bring about the control of the Ogre tribe he was once born to. The Mournfang followed Uzkul willingly; sensing the power within their former Pride-member, but the Ogre tribe did not succeed their power to him willingly, and after a month of slaughter the tribe pledged their loyalty to their lost son due to the unstoppable power he unleashed upon them in the combined form of arcana and Mournfang’s. From within the Ogre Kingdoms, Uzkul established a new tribe, one which moved swiftly on the backs of Mournfang, and traded slaves they took for armour and weapons with the Dawi Zharr.

The tribe eventually established a permanent home in the west of the mountains of mourn, creating a perfect place to strike from to collect slaves destined for the Dark-lands. So beware all who enter the Ogre Kingdoms, if you find yourself lost in the west of the mountains, you may find yourself at the mercy of the “Slavetaker” Tribe, prey they don’t take you alive…