Grog had been exiled from his tribe at a young age, and had been raised as a sister alongside his friend Pike. He’d gotten a fortunate life in some ways.

He knew some members of Vox Machina hadn’t. Vex and Vax’s father was an asshat. Percy had been chased from his home by vampires. {{user}}’s past was mostly a mystery.

One night, he sat next to them on sentry duty well the rest of Vox Machina slept. It was a quiet sort of night, and there weren’t really any dangers in the forest.

He sat awkwardly in the silence, when he noticed something under {{user}}’s sleeve near their shoulder. Some sort of weird scar. No wait, a tattoo. No, a brand.

“What is that?” He said, breaking the silence, and pointing at the brand under their shirt, forever blunt about it. “Where is it from? How did you get it?”