Grunk was only three when he was adopted by his human parents. They found the little green monster hiding in the hollow of a collapsed tree, there he hid shaking like the leaves in a storm. Nearby, soldiers had slain two ogres who had been menacing a nearby town. Their keen eyes and sharp swords had missed the little one, slipping away when he spotted their torches blazing through the trees.

 

Alissa and Kazmir took the little ogre with them. They were travelers, explorers, cartographers who roamed the land mapping the uncharted places in the world. Grunk remembers Alissa’s sun kissed blond hair, and her warm autumn eyes. He remembers Kazmir’s wild beard that defied every attempt by Alissa to comb it, and the beaming smile that shone through whenever he came upon a place seldom seen. But as they brought the small green bundle along, they did not know the strange stars that had smiled down upon Grunk. He was no ordinary Ogre, as keen eyes shone with understanding out from beneath his heavy brow. Hints of magic swirled about him, unseen even to the explorer’s sharp senses.

 

They brought Grunk up as their own son, raising him as they would their own blood. They taught him how to speak the human tongue, even if it was difficult with Grunk’s budding tusks. They showed him how to read and write, sharing tales of adventures both real and imagined around the fires at dusk. He remembers the candles his mother would make, as she foraged from the land to capture the scent of the places they had been while his father scribbled on parchment.

 

“Our noses remember more than our eyes and ears, Grunk,” she would say, as she burned them in the night. “Memories of our adventures!”

 

Grunk, by the age of ten, towered over his father and mother. His toys would break even with the most delicate of care by Grunk, and his huge green bulk strained the doorways he squeezed through. He drew stares and purred whispers wherever he went, and his bright smiles and deep bows only drove people away.

 

Soon, the torches and the swords came for Grunk once more. The shouting humans chased Grunk back out into the woods, though he was far too big to hide in the trees anymore. His deep hiccupping sobs rocked the branches he was huddled beneath, when he felt the touch of his father’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

“Don’t worry, my boy,” Kazmir said, giving his giant green son a pat. “They don’t know you like we do.”

 

A small figure reached up to give Grunk a hug, his mother wrapping her arms around him.

 

“Let’s move on, Grunk,” his mother said. “There’s so much world yet to explore, so let’s not waste a moment more here!”

 

And explore they did. As the years passed, the family climbed mountains, crossed rivers and swamps walked deserts of grass, and oceans of sand. They stopped scarcely in civilization for fear of hostility towards Grunk, but he persevered to try and befriend the humans. He rarely succeeded, but the few times he did he remembers fondly.

 

Now, Grunk still travels the world. At the age of one hundred, he is still full of youthful vigor, and there is so
much world left to explore. Grunk charts the uncharted, maps the unknown, and sees sights rarely seen by man or ogre. Tonight, he lights a candle made from the fresh ingredients of the forest looking up through the trees to the stars.

 

“I hope the smell of this wonderful place can reach you,” he says with a smile. “For tomorrow, I will move on”.

A monstrous figure stalked the Grasslands. Huge, lumbering feet sank deep into the soft earth as the towering creature cast long shadows over the field. With skin the colour of shadowed moss, it wore ill-fitting garments that exposed bulging muscles. Horrifying deep breaths came from its gaping, toothy maw as it walked forward towards the stuck wagon.

 

The carts wheel had come loose, the recent rain softened the earth enough for the cargo laden wagon to sink deep into the soil. A man in fine merchant’s clothing yelled at a few less well-dressed men, as they scrambled to try to push the wagon from the mud. A panicked whinny sounded as the horse smelled something on the wind. The men paused, mid argument, and turned towards where the Ogre lurched towards them. They screamed, fumbling for swords they were clearly unfamiliar with.

 

Grunk whistled slightly off tune as he strode through the Grasslands. He loved the scent of fresh rain, as the green land glistened with drops. His large feet squished through the mud, and his big green ears gave a cheerful wiggle as he felt the lush blades of grass between his toes. It was a beautiful day to survey, as he peered over the rolling fields. He pulled a befitting quill from his pocket, holding it delicately between his titanic fingers. He deftly made marks upon a leatherbound notebook, charting the land he saw. He paused, as he noticed something amiss in his subject.

 

“Ah! What humble tragedy and minor misfortune!” Grunk exclaimed, as he saw the stuck wagon. He began to jog
towards them, waving his arms. “Hello there! Fellow travelers, did your cart
run afoul on this unfortunate terrain?”

 

The three men screamed in response, waving their swords towards him.

 

“Ah! Oh dear,” Grunk said, tusked mouth turning into a frown. “Prejudice again I see. Ah, not that I blame you. Humans have historically been tasty for ogres, and many of my brethren are known to indulge.”

 

He leaned down, plucking the swords from the fear-stricken men. He carefully laid them down, out of the way.

 

“Careful with the steel, my good men! These things seldom point towards anything but unhappiness,” Grunk said, shaking his head sadly. “But fear not, I have an ethical disagreement with eating humans!”

 

The Ogre smiled, as he gave a gentle pat and a reassuring smile to the merchant. The man whimpered, as the other two continued their screaming.

 

“Not likely to find any spirited
discussions here, I suppose,” Grunk said, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Perhaps after we fix your predicament, eh?”

 

The men watched with fascination as Grunk easily lifted the wagon from the mud with one hand, soothing the horse with calming carrots with his other. He inspected the damaged axle, mumbling to himself. After a moment, he tore a strip of his ill-fitting shirt off to lash the wheel back securely.

 

“There! Not the most secure work in the Kingdom, but it should hold at least until you reach town,” Grunk said, dusting his hands off.

 

“I…I thank you,” the merchant said haltingly. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

 

“Your thanks are all I need!” Grunk said with a laugh. Then he paused, bringing a hand up to his chin.

 

“Though...would you happen to have a shirt in an extra, extra, extra-large size? My poor fashion sense is scaring those
with more sensible tastes.”

 

Unfortunately, the grateful merchant had no suitably sized clothing but offered him a maroon scarf decorated with a gilded stitched trim & stunning floral decoration. Soon, Grunk was striding off into the Grasslands bringing forth his notebook, whistling off tune as he continued to make notes.