“Let me prove who I am by what I do, not by where I come from or what I look like. Please! Don’t judge and identify me based on how well I climb trees, when really I’m meant to swim.”
SHORT BIOGRAPHY
Born 19 years ago, Iyuv is incredibly young to be an Orc without a home or clan to call his own. But that’s what happens to most young exiles.
Iyuv abandoned his own clan when he was only 13, after ridicule and humiliation and disappointment, for he wasn’t the typical Orc or even typical Goblin growing up.
They loved to fight – and were good at it! They made weapons and were ingenious when it came to creating new ways to conquer and impose their strength onto others. But Iyuv wasn’t like them.
He liked building up, not tearing down. He was terrible in combat. He crafted intricate art pieces instead of intimidating armaments. And not even his Orcish rage could help him be anything other than the clan runt.
So, he became the clan training dummy - a body to toss around and punch and harm. That was how he would add value. That was his position in his clan. That was the only way he could make them proud.
But it only takes a couple months of abuse to inspire dramatic action, especially in someone so young. For Iyuv, it meant running away.
In the dead of night, while the clan watchmen boasted of their bloodborne victories, Iyuv stole away with nothing more than a sack of meat for food. He’s sure the watchmen must have seen him clumsily fleeing their home, but they probably figured he wasn’t worth the trouble of stopping – I mean, no one likes having dead weight around.
He ran west. And after months of a nomadic life, of hard travel, and of many, many tears, Iyuv found himself at the steps of the Federation of Sutica. An orphan already, he became a Sutican. And through time and trials and painstaking lengths, he began to discover and define who he is meant to be.
BIOGRAPHICAL CHARACTER EXCERPT
“So, how did you end up like this?” the man asked me, cocking his head at me as if I were some oddity to observe. I assumed from his tone that he didn’t mean to offend me, but I could feel my teeth grinding down a bit anyway. Normally, I wouldn’t really entertain someone like him... but that was no way to close a sale. And besides, it was my fault for tripping and letting the mask fall off.
“If you mean to ask why I’m here as an artisan and not as a warmongering invader, it’s because I’m much better with a chisel than I am with a sword,” I remarked as I tightened my mask’s leather cords around my face again.
The stranger frowned. My answer was unsatisfactory.
“I don’t mean to prod, but I just mean to say that I have not met many Orcs like you. Most are fairly – brutish – for lack of a better term.”
I frowned. There were plenty of better terms.
He noticed and quickly stammered on, ”And you speak very good Common, too.”
"Would you believe if I said I was raised by humans, then?"
I wasn't.
"No."
He was clever.
I sighed, “Well, if you have to know, it’s because I’ve tried very hard. I’ve shaved down my tusks because it makes it much easier to speak common. And I’ve practiced plenty.”
“My apologies, but that doesn’t explain why or how you’re so… um… refined.”
“The Wandering Wizard.”
One of the stranger’s eyebrows arched. I had piqued his interest, but he didn’t respond. And I could not bear the silence, so my mouth began running.
“The blessing of the Aenguls – it gave my people bravery like nothing before. And in some cruel twist of fate, it made me brave enough to refuse to be someone I’m not.”
He was still silent.
I continued, “Even when I was young, I was never exactly as my brothers – not even other Goblins. While they took to making catapults and trebuchets in our youth, I made fountains and sculptures... which my brothers tested their weapons on.”
I paused for a moment, remembering the various designs I had put together with such pride, only to have a larger Orc turn it into scraps for fun.
“As you can imagine, I was a humiliation for my clan. I can’t remember ever being praised for anything growing up. For a time, I tried to be like the rest. I tried to enjoy swinging a sword around and best my brothers in combat... but I couldn’t. When enough was enough, I gave up trying to be like them. No one really approved of the idea, and I became the Clan’s training dummy. I guess they thought they could beat me into being more like them. I don’t know. It never really worked.”
The stranger seemed to wince, imagining the pain I must have been put through growing up. At least he was sympathetic. Finally, he spoke up, “I see… But what about the Orcish Curse?"
I rolled up a sleeve to reveal age-old scars, “Turns out a lust for blood doesn’t have to be a lust for someone else’s... This has always seemed to work.”
He kept his composure very well, only letting a silent gasp escape his mouth.
I rolled down my sleeve quickly. I didn’t like to see the scars. They reminded me that I was still an Orc, a failed Orc.
“Anyways, even an Ogre can figure how terrible of a life that was. So, one night, I got up and left. That simple. No one saw me, or if they did see me leaving, they probably thought it was a good thing.”
“So, you’re in exile?” he asked with some surprising discernment.
“Kind of. I would say that I’m more of a runaway, though; but it’s why I wear the mask - in case I run into anyone who might’ve known the old me… Fortunately, I haven’t really encountered any of my old clan here. Ending up in Sutica is probably the best thing to happen to me…”
I brought a fist to my chest in reverence and looked up at the sky above.
“I believe some ancestor is still watching over me and that I haven’t disappointed them yet. And that’s why I made it here in the first place. I don’t want to let them down. They’re rooting for me.”
I put my hand back down and looked back to the man.
“That’s what keeps me going, especially when some local Orcs might rough me up. But it doesn’t happen too often anymore; the people here are generally more accepting of outcasts like me.”
“And that’s how you ended up as an artisan-for-hire?”
“Pretty much. I want to make some amazing things one day – things that aren’t used to conquer and kill – and I just need someone to allow me the opportunity… so how about it?”
I stretched out my leather-gloved hand to the man.
He met my hand with his.
