Twenty years before the death of Ronald at the Hare's Retreat.

Ogre Clans

Clan Snaking Path was new, but that did not mean Marboc considered them weak. His own clan was new as well, and the Great Spirit knows him and his brother had been preparing them for the early Crucible for ages.

"We should go now, you are showing hesitation," Marboc's brother-head told him internally. It was advice, but whether it was true advice or not was uncertain. Marboc and his brother had discussed their roles at length when they were still small, and Marboc needed to remain confident in his own judgement, even in the face of harsh criticism. Especially then. So his brother was constantly testing, sometimes truly advicing, but Marboc was leader for a reason, the times he did not think of something were few and far between. So his brother mostly tested him.

"We look weak, not you but your warriors, the tactics still confuse them," Marboc snorted. "How can this much confuse them, if we make the enemy charge twice the distance instead of meeting them in the middle they will be more tired, and we have trained to stop a charging enemy," Clan Snaking Path were charging still, in a manner that belied their name, and the collision was not far off but Marboc remained calm in the front. "This is true, but admitting as much, are we not saying we are less prepared and need to conserve energy from the start?" It was true that the clans were all about projecting strength, about proving it seldom but in devastating fashion, then coasting on that display while the memory was fresh. "We embolden them, they charge all the harder," Marboc grinned.

"All the better that they fall from on high when the first moments of battle go like this," The lines clashed and dust limited the view. Marboc swept his foot in the sand and pivoted, he would've burst right into his own soldiers if it wasn't for the fact that the rest of the line had done the exact same move. He grabbed the offending arm and disrupted the strike, not forcefully, but using the same momentum as his huge opponent. The leg came up at the pivotal moment, and the Ogre was smashed into the ground with Marboc happily landing right on top.

The same thing happened all across the line. When two clans charged each other there was a lot of pride at stake. But the ultimate pride was in victory. Not every match-up was won, in some cases the strength or size discrepancy was too large, or the opponent realised what was about to happen just in time. But enough of the frontline, the strongest and fastest, were taken out that the rest of the battle was a forgone conclusion. The opposing commander was forced to admit defeat to avoid the extra wounded warriors that a prolonged fight would ensure.

"All hail Marboc! Another victory for Clan Allspirit's Bond!" It was the first words Marboc had uttered all day. His warriors all cheered and raised their Aces high.

Following the battle you could see Marboc engaging each and every warrior from the opposing clan who had displayed some glimmer of potential. Marboc himself was not the one to engage, out of pride, but his brother-head was recruiting for all his worth. "None will go further than our Clan, you have a mind for true combat, why wallow at the bottom of the barrel with this lot?" The words were not diplomatic, but the victors had no need to be, not among Ogres. The words stung though, it was just one loss, no matter how devastating. "I am not interested,"

"Did I mention we have our own brewery in the main camp?" Ogres loved beer. Clan Allspirit's Bond left with fourteen new warriors who had all stopped the throw despite charging for all their worth as ordered. There would have been a couple more, but not all Ogres could stomach following or representing the Allspirit above the Ogre's own feline Great Spirit, even if it was the recognised head of their Spirit pantheon. But Marboc had big plans, not just for the Ogre lands but all the world. He was convinced that was what made him different.

Ogre children on Elderwood were all born with both heads intact, blue-skinned and bottom heavy but with long arms. They were a hardy people who happily lived and thrived in the most brutal mountain region on Elderwood, Blue Mountain. A peak large enough to be the dominant feature for thousands of miles. The trait Ogres lacked the most was intelligence. There were clear exceptions to the rule, but most Ogres simply did not have it, and having to share a body with somebody else when you were both short-tempered and brutally strong, while knowing each other's every weakness, was not the best combination. Luckily they were too brawny to ever die easily, but having a stubborn streak meant the conflicts usually escalated over the years. Even a head that had been dominant for years could suddenly find themselves fighting for their life if a true grudge remained when the time came to decide once and for all.

At the age of twenty, when the Ogre [System] deigned to grant them their Classes, was when push came to shove. Every Ogre prepared for the day by truly having it out with their brother-head, determining once and for all who was the true person in control of the body and who was merely along for the ride. Most of these 'discussions' ended in murder. But the heads who managed to convince their brother that theirs was the leadership-role, well they were clearly destined for greater things. A clan of their own was usually the least of what they could expect out of adult life.