Just a small troll.

There was nothing special about him- his horns were pathectically small, his face unremarkable, his personality peaceful. He didn't even have a sign. He'd be dead in an instant.

Even so, this pitiable, lowly, mutant troll had an air of power about him. A whisper of destiny.

He took it in stride that he was the odd one out.

He stood in pride in the face of foes.

He gathered a ragtag gang of oddities and loners, and he was damn proud.

Because no matter who he was as a wriggler, no matter how he grew up, despite his blood color, he was prepared to take on the world.

And he did.