Benphobia

In Almaris there are many places to be born with a brilliant mind, the almost tangible grip on concepts and cultures, and the undying fascination with foreign lands, affairs and people. That place is not Krugmar. With a history comprised predominantly of violence, the Iron'Uzg was definitely the last place that Zagru should have began his life. Born to two fearsome parents in a small startup clan, the young Orc knew nothing of the outside world except for war. This clan was adamantly focused on serving the war effort, even in times of supposed peace. Zagru was raised into a culture of combat before his arms could raise the steel they gave him. Eventually, it was all too clear that he was nothing but a runt. They all knew it, so in a fashion most other culture would deem barbaric, Zagru was left behind in the wilderness alone at the age of ten.

He found himself a home, however. In a small cubby hole in some cave clearly used to supplies the young orc clung to dear life. Starved, dry, heartbroken. He knew nothing else for too many hours to count, until he found courage that in retrospect was likely a disguised variation of bloodlust. He left his hiding spot on the hunt for a solution, preferably edible. He stumbled in the dark for miles until he found what he was looking far; A farm laid on the edge of some Human settlement stood before him with torches blazing a light that hurt his eyes. He didn't know it, but this would become his home for a time.

The Humans inside were two helpful farmhands, and their many children were large with four legs and udders. Zagru spoke little of the common tongue, so he simply helped around the house in trade for food. It was shameful but he was too young to understand that he was anything but an animal to them. He remained there for weeks, until the smell of burning woke him from the bed he shared with the farm dog. It invaded his dreams of a large home with bookcases and stairs, and forced his eyes open until all they could see was the same blazing torch that hurt his eyes on that first night. Instead, this time it covered his vision, as the whole home was ablaze. War cries clapped through the walls from outdoors. They were guttural and familiar. The Iron'Uzg was marching, and this pitiful home was in the way.

When the dust fell, Zagru knelt before his parents once again underneath a bloody morning sky. There was no remorse for his abandonment, only disappointment in the desert for not finishing the job. So, they challenged him to ritual combat. They selected the only Orc that could make his tale ever more dramatic, his own little sister. The two fought. Zagru was victorious by proxy, he wasn't even strong. The prize however was not to stay and be merry, drinking ale under a crimson stained bestial skull. It was to remain an Orc within the nation, but to never be among his family again. This was a fate that was embarrassing to an Orc as this proves that they have no honour, no clan. To be clanless, at least Zagru believes, is to lack family. No history, no name.

This is how Zagru turned to books. When people failed him, when his muscles were not strong enough to fight for him, he instead chose to strengthen his mind. With every Orcish anecdote stating how vehement they are about being strong and powerful, he twisted that phrase into meaning his own intelligence was his strength, and that he was going to use that to become the smartest Orc in Almaris, and he just might be one day.