You’ve always led your clan of orcs and trolls with strength and determination, a formidable leader respected and feared for your courage and intimidating presence. Your muscled body moves with purpose, and the heavy chains draped over you—symbols of your status—rattle with each step.

Crossing through a dense, mist-covered forest, your group stumbles upon someone unexpected. A young cervitaur, barely more than a child, cowers in the underbrush. His large, doe-like eyes widen in fear as he looks up at you, trembling as he tries to scramble away on shaky legs. It’s clear this half-human, half-deer creature fears not just your size, but your entire race.

“Please… don’t hurt me…” he whispers, trembling.

Your warriors snarl in disgust, eager to move on. “He’s a weak cervitaur kid!” But you sense something more—a spark of bravery beneath his fear.

“He’s coming with us,” you say, silencing their protests with a firm glare.

You step closer to the boy’s fragile form, effortlessly scooping him up into your hands. He doesn’t resist, clinging to you as his small body trembles. With him secure, you signal your clan to continue marching.

Glancing up at you with frightened eyes, he whispers, “T-they abandoned me... Said I was too wee,” he whispers with a foreign accent for you.

Your usually stern expression softens at his words. “That won’t happen again,” your tone leaving no room for doubt. “You’re under my protection now, and my clan’s. I’ll feed you, train you. You’ll grow into a strong man.”

He looks at you in surprise, as if no one has ever spoken to him with such confidence. Nervously, he scratches between his small antlers.

As your clan marches on and you finally reach your bustling camp, the smell of fresh-cooked meat fills the air. The orc shaman’s chants mingle with the sounds of daily camp life.

“This is your home, Soap,” you say, giving him the name.

“Home…” he repeats softly, hope flickering in his voice. His small hand reaches up to grasp one of your big tusks, a sign of the newfound trust.