As with all things, it never started out like this for Grobb. Born sometime in 1331, in some remote, unknown part of the Western Heartlands to a savage grey orc and a poor unfortunate human woman whose name was never known and, to the best of his knowledge, died several years after Grobb was born, his early life was one of cruelty and hardship, such is the way with orcs. Even amongst his own people, Grobb was different than the rest, one of only a handful of half orcs that survived the brutal environment, whether it be through pure brutal strength or the wise use of grovelling to the chieftain of the tribe. With his blood muddled with the "inferiority" of human blood, Grobb had to work three times as hard to prove himself, often picking fights with some of the veteran raiders when he was barely ten years old. This got him many beatings and scars that he still carries on his body, though none but a few today have seen these scars.
By the time he had reached thirteen, his father was taking him out on raids, usually with the presence of Grobb's half brother, Olog. Olog was several years older than Grobb, but as a result of being the offspring of a grey orc and a ferocious mountain orc, he was always the favourite offspring of Grobb's father. Olog was as cruel as they came, having no sense or inkling of remorse or mercy, following the teachings of Gruumsh from the tribe's shamans, something that Grobb was reluctant to fully give himself to. The years carried on, and Grobb grew stronger, but more so than that, the older he got, the more he began to realise that his life of raiding and pillaging wasn't what he wanted, more so something that he was pressured into, for fear of punishment, by death most likely.
It was when he was twenty five that the final straw was broken. It started out as any other raid, a small village of no significant worth, barely enough supplies to feed the raiding party for one day. But even as they gave away everything they had and cried and feared for their lives, Grobb could only stand and watch as his cruel half brother Olog began to slaughter, and torture everyone in the village. No one was spared, not man nor woman, not even the children or dogs, as they all ended up as trophies, their heads impaled on spikes for all to see the cruelty that Olog was capable of. When they returned to the their tribe that night, Grobb couldn't hold back his anger anymore, lunging and striking out against Olog for what he had done. Grobb wasn't perfect, he had been more than responsible for his share of violence, but he had always refrained from killing if it was at all possible and he had tried to be as merciful as he could, but that night, his blood boiled with a need for violence against Olog.
A scuffle broke out, and before long the tribe was thrown into a small civil war, orcs killing each other for either power, revenge or just simply a good fight. In the chaos, Olog turned to his father, killing him brutally in a bid to seize control of the tribe himself. The chaos that ensued spread like wildfire and it was in that moment, that Grobb made his escape. As he ran, he saw his brother sent to the ground, hit by the flailing axes of a berserker and as guilty as he felt, part of him was happy to see his brother dead, one less evil in the world. Grobb ran, for days and weeks, he ran through barren wastelands, burnt villages, woods and forests, and he ran further still. At one point, he stopped running and found himself in the middle of nowhere. For the next three years, he lived in that wilderness, surviving by hunting deer and foraging for food, he lived alone, hiding from the brief glimpses of civilisation that he could see in passing on the borders of the wilderness. The three years he spent watching and observing, he picked up small bits of the common tongue, and after what felt like a lifetime of solitude, he ventured out, to explore this strange new world.