Bokke had spent his life living in the shadow of his long dead ancestors, and of those who share his blood that still breath. He had tried for so long to be as strong as them or as brave but it seemed he only ever found shortcomings in his actions.

He served as a Grunt in Garrosh Hellscreams forces and was one of the fodder that tried savagely to hold wayward point in the new lands of Pandaria. Yet during the great battle that ensued Garrosh's forces suffered great casualties and they were utterly destroyed by the alliance and their foul magic.

Bokke suffered great wounds and only barely survived, he suffered for days with fever from the infection of his wounds but eventually he was healed. Bokke was sent back to the horde lands in Durotar and with a smile on his face he thought he was to be welcomed back as a hero who had done great deeds for the horde, but he was wrong. They spat upon him and called him a coward, “real orcs do not suffer wounds like whelps” they would say to him, “they die in glorious battle”.

With his honor gone Bokke was left with nothing, he had no wife, no son, and no way in sight to regain his honor. He suffered greatly but tried to hide it, spending all his gold on pleasurable company and drink; he hide away from his pain. People would see him on the streets drunk from grog and throw scraps at him calling him Bokke the filthy, Bokke the whelp, Bokke the coward. He tried to hide away from it all but eventually his gold ran out and with no coin and no home he did whatever must be done to not starve.

He was sent to the mines to pull ores from the ground for Hellscreams machines of war, it was immediately evident to Bokke that should he wish to take his leave from this task he would die a cowards death. Buried in a hole in the mines already bare of all ore, these were the holes that served as slave miners graves should they disobey. So the days passed on and on, until none of the miners knew how long they had been under the soil. It all seemed hopeless until one day a new miner entered the crew, it was always refreshing for the others to see someone whose spirit had not been broken yet. This young orc was different somehow, no matter how they beat him or starved him he could not be broken. There was always a glimmer in his eye as though he knew something the others did not, eventually this drove the all the others mad with jealousy so they confronted him about it.

His words were simple, “I cannot be broken brothers I will escape from this hole, and when I do I will ride with the Grin” he said. “Free of Hellscreams control, a clan who it is rumored Hellscream himself fears” which he said with absolute certainty. The orc told them stories and rumors he had heard about the grin, its great victories and even their defeats. He told them tales of those who ride with the grin their strength and courage and after all the stories that lifted their hopes higher then dieing in a hole in these mines he spoke again. In a whisper that floated over their ears stirring their spirits like the drums of war he said, “we all could escape here brothers and join the grin, free of this slavery”.

The battle that ensued that night is not and will not probably ever be spoken of as a triumph, but all those orc slaves who died that night died with hope in their eyes. The hope for freedom, the hope to one day ride with the Grin.