When I was young, my orcish mother told me the tale about Zaragog the Immortal. It had many details and many names of warriors, battles, and descriptions of violence that the orcs know and like but since you are human and I know you don’t care about such things I will give you the short version. 

Many years ago, the races fought against one another. Elves against humans. Humans against orcs. And the orcs against everybody. The war was not going well for the orcs. They had been pushed back deep into the deserts. Their armor torn. Their axes cracked. They were a broken people. The orcs cried out to their god but he would not listen. They cried out to darker gods but they only laughed. The orcs fought amongst themselves. Likely, they would have killed each other and the orcs would have disappeared from the world and memory entirely except that he came. Zaragog the Immortal. 

He was a giant of an orc. Supposedly, he stood over ten feet tall and was the strongest orc to ever live. It is said he could rip whole trees out of the ground with his bare hands. With one swing of his battle ax, he could cut through five men. No one could stand against Zaragog. Through his strength and power, he forced the warring tribes to follow him. He took our scattered people and made us into a mighty army. Zaragog fought many battles and won every one. Such success breeds jealousy. The other chieftains feared Zaragog and wanted him dead. Seven times they tried to kill him. Seven times they failed. That’s why he was called Zaragog the Immortal.

Zaragog conquered the whole country but he had bigger dreams. He wanted the world to bend to orcish rule. His rule. He attacked the next country and the next. With every victory, our army swelled like a giant wave to cover everything. Zaragog defeated enemy after enemy but he was not truly immortal. There was one enemy he could not defeat. Time. A war takes time. And although he won every battle, time passed and Zaragog grew older. He was not as fast nor as strong as he once was. Younger, ambitious orcs began to challenge him for control. Zaragog always won but each fight took more and more from him. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would lose.

He sought for a way to fight time. A way to true immortality. He went to the hags but their bargains did not interest him. He went to the necromancers but their promises were only shadows and dust. So he went to the gods. He challenged them to combat. He demanded a place among them. And so Zaragog the Immortal fought against Bahgtru the Leg Breaker and their battle waged for six days. Both warriors fought with incredible strength and will. It was a battle that shook the heavens. The fighters were equally matched in strength and brutality but time caught up with Zaragog and his body began to slow. With the last bit of his strength he cut off the god’s left ear but Baghtru drove his ax deep into Zaragog’s heart.

With his dying breath Zaragog vowed he would return and he would defeat the orc god. This pleased Gruumsh and so it is said that one day Zaragog would be reborn and he would lead his people to victory and take his rightful place among the gods. 

My mother always ended the story the same way all other orcish mothers ended it. “Perhaps young orc,” she would say, “you are Zaragog reborn.”

“The Legend of Zaragog the Immortal” as told by a half-orc named Urgash Bloodwill and recorded by Niles Derouge, historian bard, in his book Legends of the Lesser Races.