More on our Half Orc

Through the forrest he wandered. Over time, he healed. Starvation and need drove him to inventive, first, and to civilization after. But no Orc tribe would receive him. He knew that. His two giant scars, running from shoulder to shoulder and joining at the small of his back weren't enough to prove him as a worthy warrior. They could have been for an Orc. Not for a Half Orc. He would always have things a bit harder.
So he decided to risk it, and came out of the forrest on the borders of a town called Dubik Pass. And for the first time in his life, he was lucky. Or at least, he kind of was. For the sheriff in the town, who held an iron grip of Law, Order and Moral in the village, was himself a Half Orc.
That afternoon in particular, he was sitting outside his hut, on the porch, carving wood with a rapier he had confiscated. It seems people of all races sit on their porch carving wood. The only difference, as it appears to be, is the instrument. While Dwarfs use axes, halflings use switchblades and Half Orcs sheriffs use whatever they confiscated from the last idiot who tried to start a brawl in the wrong town. And that was a Rapier. And the rapier was carving rather strongly on the piece of wood, for the sheriff was angry at his deputy. The deputy, a dwarf, had been talking to the baker's daughter for hours while on watch, and the prisoner, the bloody bastard, had escaped. The sheriff didn't care much for his deputy, and held him in contempt, and prison, and was soon to be taken to what he liked to call the slaughter post. He wouldn't have done that if he had cared for his deputy. The things he cared about, he never got angry with. The things he didn't care about never saw his sweet side, if you might say that a half orc has one. Alas, he didn't care much for his keen, and spat the floor when he saw the raggidy outcast strolling through town. In spite of himself, just to avoid having a beggar or thief in the streets, he shouted:
-Oy!
Our boy turned, saw who the shouter was and, with great effort, managed to smile wihtout looking menacing. He strode to the sheriffs hut.
The sheriff measured him up. He saw the look of hope.
That's bad. This kid is here to stay. He won't be leaving. At least, until next year. Don't want him prowling the streets, nor hiding in the forest or the mountains - starved - thinking some stupid things and making some silly others. Looks the sort who would do just anything for a loaf of bread. And I can't, WE can't tolerate just anything. This won't stand. And I can't kick him out just like that. He saw the good build of the still growing kid and decided that the smithy could use an apprentice. He knew, before the boy opened his mouth, that both the smithy and the boy would agree. He said so. And the boy did. So did the smithy. When a bad tempered half orc enters your shop with a rapier, a giant half carved club and yet another sturdy half orc, "No" is not a word that comes easily and without effort to your mind. Next morning, the Half Orc was wielding a hammer.

Leave him, we must, banging at a piece of iron, for now. Return to him in time, we shall.