Karg was born in the breeding pits themselves, in the generation the orc warlords raised to be soldiers. His childhood was cages, ash, and the drum-beat of the pit-shamans' hymns; his education was the spear, the shield-wall, and the tunnels beneath the Spine of the World's foothills. He learned the pits' every passage as a child runner, carrying messages between war-chiefs through shafts too narrow for adults โ knowledge that later saved his life and now makes him the party's most valuable guide in the Ashen Scar.
He was never a believer. Even as a cub he noticed that the shamans' hymns changed whenever the warlords needed a new omen, and he learned early that faith in the pits was a leash.
The war against the alliance gave Karg what the pits never had: brothers outside his bloodline. He fought at Burning Ford, at the trenches around Accord Hall, and in a dozen nameless skirmishes, and he was good at it โ good enough that Gorak the Unbroken named him a shield-brother, the highest honor a common orc soldier could earn. He took a spear through the jaw for Gorak at the ford and broke his tusk on the shield-rim that saved him. For three years Karg believed in the horde, or believed in Gorak, which amounted to the same thing.
Then the warlords died, the horde broke, and the survivors retreated into the only home any of them had left: the breeding pits. The Ashen Choir was already there, waiting. At first the gray-hooded strangers seemed like salvation โ they brought food, weapons, and promises of a new empire where orcs would rule beside humans. Karg was skeptical but silent; Gorak needed the supplies, and starving orcs do not interrogate their benefactors. For six weeks Karg ran patrols and mapped the Choir's occupation, telling himself the rumors of disappearances were war-camp gossip.
They were not. Karg saw the sacrifice himself: three orc prisoners, taken from the cage-block where his own sister Uzma was held, marched to the glowing crack in the deep pit and given to the hymn while the god-machine fragment below drank their ash. His shield-brother Drengh was among them. Karg had planned to desert that night anyway; Drengh had begged to come. Karg told him to wait for the next moon, and Drengh waited, and died. Karg has never forgiven himself for the moon he chose.
He fled north through tunnels only a pit-child could know, nearly died in an ash storm, and was sheltered at Iron Vein Mine by Grask Ironjaw, an old war-band comrade turned mine foreman. From Grask he learned that orcs could work beside dwarves and humans, that the war was over for some people, and that the pits still breathed. He has been circling the Scar ever since, gathering his courage, hunting for a way back in that does not end with him in a cage โ and when Captain Eldrin Voss's neutral investigators came asking about the Choir, Karg decided they were the way in.
He is a Battle Master in the old pit-fashion: a fighter who thinks in terrain, timing, and the enemy's fear. His maneuvers are the tricks of tunnel fighting โ trips in narrow passages, menacing displays in the dark, precise strikes when a miss means death. He has four superiority dice' worth of cunning and a lifetime of knowing when to spend it. He asks for almost nothing: a promise kept, his sister freed, and one day, a piece of ash-soil where an orc farmer can grow something green. He knows the last wish is probably a fool's wish. He keeps it anyway.