Zurgo’s eyes flew open. He felt something nearby, decades of muscle memory had him on his feet in a second, eyes wide, scanning the world around him for enemies. Nothing. He stared at his surroundings, the environment was damp yet verdant, his feet sank deep into the loamy ground. The air was cold, the fact that what remained of his armour was jutting out of the marsh did not help with that. His mind felt fuzzy, memories came fleetingly, mostly hanging tantalizingly out of reach. His name was Zurgo and he was of the Mardu. That he knew, and while he was proud of what he was, its meaning eluded him as did his past.
His ears tingled as a soft rustling made its way through the underbrush. Once more he examined the world around him for enemies and this time he found them. Among the undergrowth his bloodshot eyes could just barely make out a shape, low to the ground and broad, like a bear. Zurgo barely had time to assume a fighting stance before the beast charged him. It ran on all fours, crashing through brush like it was nothing, its snout breached the treeline and Zurgo paused. Not a bear, but something similar, it’s face was lupine like a wolf, jutting out of the enormous bear body. It looked ridiculous. Zurgo brought both fists crashing down onto the skull of the misshapen creature, wincing as the momentum of the strange beast sent it straight through the blow and into Zurgo’s body. The impact forced the creature’s head to the side, narrowly preventing its yellowed fangs from digging into his exposed belly, but the force of the attack still sent Zurgo flying backward into a clump of purple crystals. He screamed as the impact sent cracks spiraling through the structure and forced tiny shards into his back and arms, the word around him became a blur as hatred engulfed him. The beast was still reeling from the strike to its skull and he was not about to let it recover. He seized it by the snout, holding its mouth closed with his left hand as the right rained blows upon it, each one slamming into the skull with enough force to kill a man. He managed 6 hits before his grip slipped and the monster's teeth were free but he wasn't done, as the beast snapped at him he grabbed the top of its skull and brought its face down, straight into his rising knee.
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The sound of bone shattering filled the clearing and for a brief horrifying moment Zurgo thought it was his. It wasn’t. Releasing the wolf-bear thing from his vice grip he let it sag to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, hopefully anything watching would see it and know to steer clear. Zurgo dropped to the ground as well, reaching into the wounds on his back and prying out what shards he could, flicking them disdainfully onto the soggy ground. Something tickled at the back of his memory as he stared at his hand, it seemed normal, the grey skin of the orc appearing flawless and unmarred except by the redness of his previous fight. He ignored the feeling.
Zurgo could not stay here. There must be people in this horrible place and if he had anything to say about it he would find them. He peered down at the creature on the ground, it probably wasn't poisonous, didn’t look very appetising though. Cooking was an option but a fire would make light and roasting meat would call predators. Zurgo fell back into old habits like a glove, “Keep moving. Never stop. Speed is war.” the words came to him from somewhere deep in his subconscious, remnants of another time. He heeded them.
Running in a direction would not do, he took a moment to find the tallest of the drooping marsh trees around him and began to climb. A climber he was not, but his monstrous strength and deceptive agility propelled him into the branches in a few short minutes. He took a moment to catch his breath there, wiping the sweat from his brow and staring up at the darkening sky. It held no appeal, he lowered his gaze, scraping the canopy for any landmarks. There was no settlement, no great city amongst the sea of green that he could pursue. But there was a campfire.
