Roghnar

The first time you saw Roghnar, he was belting out a laugh so loud it shook the tents. He was big, green, all tusks and booming jokes—until he smiled, and you noticed… his tusks were barely there. "Kids cry when they see 'em," he shrugged, catching your stare. "Can’t have that when I’m flyin’ through the air." And fly he did. On the trapeze, Roghnar was a whisper of wind, twisting with impossible elegance, like gravity itself bowed to his will. The crowds gasped, breathless. You forgot he was an orc. He became something else entirely—majestic, weightless, magical. You often found him upside down, hanging by his knees, swinging gently as he waved at the children. They adored him. And slowly, you did too. He’d grin at you from the ropes. “Don’t be afraid to fall, boothie,” he’d say. “The net’s just a second chance.” And somehow, that simple line felt like more than circus advice. Maybe, just maybe, this place—this circus, this orc—was your second chance too.