While the vast majority of the Orcish Horde are, more or less by definition Orcs, Rorak Silverfang is one of the exceptions. One hell of an exception mind you - well over seven feet of fur and muscle and fang that's been equipped by nature with jaws that can crack open an auroch femur, legendarily boundless endurance (even for a Gnoll) and a bestial insensitivity to pain and hardship - but an exception nonetheless.

 When you live in a small settlement in the back end of nowhere, anything resembling entertainment is a luxury, which is how he first made his name - carrying stories, songs and messages between the highland settlements, Gnoll camps and orc villages or goblin warrens alike. As a skald, he's traditionally supposed to be protected from being challenged in the course of his duties, but he's usually taken care of himself by gutting any stupid son of a bitch who fancied a career in criticism while howling like a wild thing, frothing at the mouth and delivering blows that people on the other side of the camp can feel right down to their boot-leather. Which is to say that he's got a certain degree of fame beyond just the power of his voice and the gruff, rousing quality of his song.

 When his tribe went to war he was generally to be found in the heart of their skirmish line, hacking and cutting with the best of them but with the call to the Horde having gone out he was also one of the first to carry the messages that talked several bands of other races into signing on - each non-Orcish band that signed up also one less band of Orc warriors who had to remain at home to protect their lands, a legacy of seduction that he's not at all above using on likely orcs (or indeed, much of anything else) that catches his attention, although the story about the Minotaur woman's probably just a story.

 Probably.

 Under normal circumstances he wears well-made mail over simple leathers decorated with painstaking beadwork and - by choice - carries a short, broad-bladed cleaver as his main weapon, rather than weighing himself down with shield and spear. His most notable possession are the fangs he wears around his neck on a twisted-gut thong, which are those of the orcish werewolf whose throat he tore out to earn his deed-name, several years previously.