Kuralt is no different.

Kuralt grew up in his fathers tribe, the Mog. Of Kuralts mother, only speculation. Probably spiced and jerked for the Mog horde. Only Kuralt knows how he survived among the Mog. Perhaps it was his superior intellect that warned him when they were looking for conscripts to tie together and send to the front of the battle. Or maybe his better dexterity that allowed him to be able to run and hide when they came for him. Whatever it was, the gods smiled on Kuralt.

Kuralt loves orcs. He wants nothing more than to be a real orc. Near his 16 summers day, in the winter encampment, he stood up on a tall stump, thumping on a hide covered drum until he got some of the tribes attention. "Hear me! Orcs of Mog!" he shouts. "Why must we continue to be persecuted by the small ones? Day after day, summer after summer we continue to be hunted down and slaughtered by adventurers and mercenaries!" The crowd grows silent, some bewildered with head askew, much as a dog looks at a mouse. Many other orcs look at the bewildered to see how they should react. "Why?" Kuralt yells. "Why I ask? Does anyone know why? I know why! Because orcs kill and eat their cattle and rape their women, That is why!" A few cheers go up and a few of the older warriors and shaman start to drift towards the edge of the camp where the stump is. Kuralt, thinking to himself that this is not going too bad, not time to run yet, continues, "Where would the small ones be if the orc were gone, if the orc was not here to cull the herd, to weed out the weak and infirm? Overpopulated and bloated, unable to defend themselves against each other. That is where they would be! If they did not have the orc to fight who would they fight?" Some of the Mog start to mumble something about goblins and drift away. Kuralt sees his audience slipping, beats the drum hard, the crowd seems to be conditioned to the beating of the drum! The Mog turn back to Kuralt. Kuralt, sensing that he has some control of this crowd, seems to be possessed by the power, and totally unaware of the elders and shaman moving up behind him, goes for it! " I have a vision! Hear me Mob of Mog! I have a vision! My vision is of small and orc living together in harmony. Of the small accepting the orc for what he is!" Only then, when Kuralt hears the first words of a shamans incantation does he realize his danger. Quickly turning on the tall stump, Kuralt finds himself eye to eye with the Mog chieftain. In a sudden flash of inspiration, Kuralt realizes that the drum that seemed to wield an uncanny power over the Mog does in fact belong to the Chief. Kuralt has been running ever since.