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I first met Kurog gro-Bagrakh in the wilds of Elsweyr. I was there pretending to be a scholar from Wayrest, but my true purpose was to watch, listen, and report back to King Emeric of Wayrest about events in the Khajiiti homeland. It was in this capacity as a spy that I originally encountered the boisterous and charismatic Orc warrior. He was newly arrived from Wrothgar, busy establishing himself in the mercenary group known as Gaspard's Stalkers. From all reports, he was brave, competent, and of unmatched physical prowess. He certainly looked the part to me.
The Breton mercenary leader, Gaspard Esmery, opened his ranks to any and all races. As long as you were willing to follow orders and fight with all your strength, Gaspard had a place for you in his unit. Kurog brought along a handful of powerful Orcs who also happened to be extremely loyal to the young warrior. Soon, they were the most-prominent members of the Stalkers, getting the most-dangerous missions and the ogre's share of the loot.
I was able to get close to Kurog on a number of occasions. He enjoyed being flirted with, especially by an attentive Breton woman who enjoyed sampling Khajiiti delicacies as much as he did. During these moments when we met for food and drink, he let down his guard and told me things I'm sure he wouldn't have revealed to any of his male acquaintances. It was during one such rendezvous, in a dark and seedy tavern in the city of Orcrest, that I learned about the Orc warrior's past and his dreams for the future.
We have all heard the horrible stories of life in the Orc strongholds. Kurog told me of his younger days as part of a clan in distant Wrothgar. He was the best and the brightest of a new crop of younglings—stronger, faster, and in many ways more brilliant than either his contemporaries or most of his elders. But he was unsatisfied with life in the clan. He wanted to prove himself in battle. He wanted to see the world. And both he and his clan chief knew that if he remained in the stronghold much longer, one of them was going to die. That was the way of life for the Orcs.
Instead of pushing the issue and challenging the chief, Kurog rallied his bosom companions and signed on with a recruiter for Gaspard's Stalkers mercenary company. After lending his talents to help win skirmishes across Hammerfell and Cyrodiil, the company had made its way to Elsweyr. Kurog seemed to be having a grand old time seeing the sights, eating the food, bedding the wenches (his words, not mine), and winning battle after battle. I offered Kurog a spoonful of honey pudding, my other hand resting on his powerful arm, and asked in all innocence, "But what about the future, my powerful friend?"
"The future?" Kurog laughed. "I'm going to go home, kill the old chief, and take command of my clan!"
Kurog said all this matter-of-factly. He wasn't boasting. He wasn't trying to impress me. He was simply telling me what he believed. And you know what? I believed it, too. This was definitely an Orc that King Emeric was going to want to keep an eye on, mark my words.