Living on the skirts of the village, he often wandered into the forest. He quickly became friends with animals and admired from afar the wolfriding orcs. The elite of the orc army. The empathy he had with the forest critters was nothing compared to the understanding shared between each orc and his wolf. And, a loner as he was, he craved for that bond.
One day he decided to approach them. But he was stopped (luckily) by an old blind orc, who knew what was going on and what would happen if the half orc got in between the reckless wolfriders in their sparring.
The old, venerable orc godfathered him into the ways of a barbarian fighter. A nature friendly killing machine. Tried to turn him away from the thirst of wolfriding, but it was just too strong in him. So, when he came of age, he presented himself for the trials, only to be spat at and insulted, for there was no way a half orc could get to be a wolfrider. Demonstrating an intelligence uncommon for his race, he understood. He lowered his head, humbly, and retired.
His slow, gentle walk was interrupted shortly after a dozen feet. In front of him, he saw two grey, gigantic feet. He raised his eyes to see the eldest child of the Wolfrider’s captain standing, defiantly, in front of him. The uplift of his head alone was enough to make him feel stronger. His back straightened, his muscles tightened.
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