ORN ES-BREGAN seemed destined to be an outcast from his first moments. A minotaur from the northern island of Mithras, he was born a runt in race of bipeds known for their intimidating size. It was not the way in his family to coddle; encourage and strengthen, yes, but not to coddle or overprotect. Living in the world of men, elves, and dwarves required him to be strong, for what is a minotaur without their strength? His size made him a fine mark for bullying, and he was subject to plenty of it. Almost every day was an aggravation, and most weeks a fight or two, other bulls thinking him an easy target like other runts. Yet, in a culture that prizes strength and resilience, he proved himself almost anyone’s equal, or frustratingly dogged and tenacious when he wasn’t. Often earning respect at the end of a fist or the tips of his horns, he was accepted to the crew of several ships, there earning respect as an able sailor. His smaller size and his agility proving even more worthy of the respect of his peers and bosses, he was able to travel far and wide, collecting numerous experiences as well as a broader outlook that he didn’t share with others, as he mostly kept to himself.
As time marched, he stuck to trading vessels, opting not to be directly involved with raiding or warring. Routes varied in length, destinations varied twice as much or more. During a medium stretch in a port while serving aboard the Savage Wing, Orn was in a pub where a barmaid was being harassed by sailors from another ship called the Heartrend. They did not relent, and Orn felt driven to stand up and step in. He absolutely could not stand to watch people being messed with.
“We’re just having fun with the half-elf wench,” the hulking half-orc in the group scoffed.
“Doesn’t look fun for her,” Orn clipped back.
The human in the group turned toward Orn and approached. “Look, runt, stop talkin’ and start walkin’.” He was not quite as tall as Orn and looked like his idea of fun was the destructive kind. He could smell the third behind him, the musky scent of a fellow minotaur plus a bit of salt from the seas.
“<the>t get rid of him and the more Orn tolerated him, he saw much good and creativity in Carlucci, despite how interminably annoying and clueless he was.