Mog is the resident cook/chef inside her new (in a strange way) loving family, aka the Chain Breakers. Although she has suffered imprisonment, abductions and constant combat she still stays with her adopted family.
Woken abruptly by a loud noise outside her tent, she jumps out of bed, grabs her sword and peers out the door cautiously. She breathes a sigh of relief and rolls her eyes. It was just Zorg, stumbling to his bed after another drunken night at the Jolly Dragon. Mog was the Warbands one and only cook, so the tavern's recent "Mead and Feed" deal had her nose out of joint. It was a job she took seriously and poured all her love and affection into. It was a way to give back to the family that had so easily welcomed, protected and trained her. Returning to her room, she carefully wrapped her sword and stored it safely away from eyesight. There are very few who knew she possessed this sword, least of which, anyone in her new tribe. She was not being deceptive, rather far from it. Orcs never possess such exotic weaponry, so she knew that once exposed, the questions would naturally follow. It’s not that she didn't want to share her story, it’s more so that she felt she couldn't. Not only was there not much to tell, the information that she did know was too painful to relive. It was enough that she had to deal with the horrific flashbacks during her restless sleeps at night, but to divulge these horrors in person was something she didn't wish to endure to just anyone. Knowing she was now unlikely to get back to sleep, she takes out her journal, a gift from a monk named Becsha. He had found her cowering and wounded in a cave whilst on a Pilgrimage to a holy grove collecting healing herbs. After taking her back to his Monastery, fed where he fed and healed her, she was able to confide that she had no memory of her past or how she had come to be in the cave that he had found her. She didn't even know her name. The scar on her forehead proved she was hit with a terrible curse which not only gravely wounded her but also erased any memories of her past. Becsha lovingly named this timid orc, Mog (Memory Obsolete and Gone) and their friendship grew close. Becsha retaught her how to her read and write, especially the ways of his holy order. As she flicks through the pages of the journal, her eye catches the very first entry to her book. Her fingers linger over the scribbled words. "Write down everything. Rebuild your Memory so that was what was taken can be avenged". She had only known him for a short time, but she would never forget what she had learned from her Monk friend. A single tear runs down her cheek as she turns the page. A flashback to the night she was woken by the screams of Becsha telling her to run. She remembers that as she was woken from a deep sleep she didn't comprehend what was happening. Trusting her friend and protector, Mog grabbed her journal and fled the monastery. Deep into the night her thoughts caught up to her, she realised she was running from a loved one that needed help. Skidding to a halt and sprinting back, praying it was not too late. As Mog barged through the door, she saw her friends' lifeless body crumpled on the floor surrounded by a pool of his blood. Before she could reach him, she was grabbed by the arms and pinned against the wall by a grey hooded creature. As the creature held a fine razor sharp blade, another hooded creature, emerged from the shadows and struck her unconscious.
Locked away for so long she could no longer keep track of time. Never seeing the light of day and no contact with the outside world. Her capturers were nameless and faceless. Left bound and lost in her own thoughts as to why they chosen to take her instead of finishing her off. She was forced to work in the kitchen and was beaten into obedience as prepared for what her capturers referred to as “The Arrival”. In the dark and cold of her cell, a creature in the grey hooded clothes of her new masters came to her in the basement. Startled at what he may do to her, Mog recoiled into the corner of her cell home and watched him with wide eyes. Moving swiftly but quietly, he bent down over her and started to undo the shackles on her feet. Although his presence felt calm and reassuring, Mog was paralysed with fear and helplessly watched on. After releasing her, the creature rose and moved back away from her, he pulls pulled a long fine exotic blade from the sling on his shoulder. Mog paralysed with fear and hatred for the beast that stood before her, the creature who could so easily at this point end her life. Whilst still remaining faceless the figure stood its ground unflinching. A soft but powerful voice spoke to her. "Run”. The jailor bowed a long graceful bow, and placed the sword at her feet and with that she was alone. Mog sprinted towards the door. Knowing in her mind she had never seen this sword, she knew in her heart there was a sense of familiarity about it and somehow, deep down she knew it was hers. Feeling the now empty dungeon with nothing but the glittering razor sharp blade that had once been held against her throat and forever separated from her dearest friend she ran. She ran far and as fast as her body was able. She never stopped, never slowed for days. Mog ran until finally she found them, creatures like her, the Chain Breakers. She snapped the journal shut. Lost in her own thoughts she wondered how much time had passed. She could hear her brothers snoring in the distance and she smiled. She was safe now. She had a family, a tribe and soon she would have her revenge. Stashing her journal under her pillow, rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.
Mog is always cheerful and rarely takes part in combat, being a healer combat does not like her and she does not like combat. She has big brothers for that...