These are some characters from our long-running AD&D 2nd Edition campaign.

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½ogre, F9: AC -4 (Lg. Plate +2, Girdle of Protection +3); MV 12; hp 105; THAC0 12; #AT 2; SZ L (7'11" tall); AL LN (evil))
Str 19, Dex 8, Con 17, Int 12, Wis 6, Cha 7.

“Half-Ogres are inclined to intimidate others. A broad, fang-filled smile and perhaps a slamming fist, often encourages an NPC to suddenly remember appointments, or perhaps faint dead away. Kobolds will clutch their spears and cringe in unison when 7’6” of solid muscle smashes their door to splinters and storms in; even larger monsters have serious reservations about attacking half-ogres. They will also terrify local human populations into leaving a half-ogre and his companions alone.”
…Monstrous Manual

Boutros’ human mother nearly died giving birth to her oversized son. For the rest of her short, enslaved life, Cariad endured unimaginable suffering only to give Boutros the chance to live another day in the ogre tribe…

It worked. Though Cariad was beaten to death by a bitch ogre when Boutros saw his sixth year, her devotion gave the boy not slavery, but domination: Among ogres, Boutros was a genius.

Boutros learned patience. When you are not strong, you must endure. Boutros’ first independent action was to avenge his mother’s murder. He arranged a feud between the tribal chief and the murderess.

It worked. The bitch ogre was dead, and the tribal chief off-balance. An opportunity presented itself. Boutros kept up the pressure on the chief by slowly goading his father, Khavargh, into confronting the chief himself. The boy ogre made this choice easy by helping his enormous father arrange a majority alliance. The tribal chief’s support crumbled, and one night he found himself confronted alone by six ogres. The largest ogre in a tribe of forty fought savagely, but was dead within minutes.

Khavargh led, advised by Boutros. The remnants of an orc tribe – decimated by an elf posse – were enslaved by this unusually organized ogre tribe. The runt half-ogre saw opportunities, and made sure they were seized. For years, tribe grew more influential through alliances with other humanoid tribes, and wealthy through lightning raids into human and elven lands. Boutros used his smaller allies wherever possible, learning the responses of the mannish races ‘on the cheap.’ He guarded his resources, kept the tribal members comfortable and happy, and risk to a minimum.

But Khavargh was not patient, and cared little for risk management. As Boutros grew into a man, his father became increasingly restive under his son’s tutelage. There was a bond between them, though it couldn’t be called love. Boutros watched with increasing alarm as his father ordered bigger, bolder raids into the ‘soft’ elven realm within the High Forest. Elven retaliation bloodied the ogre’s allies, and grew more purposeful with each provocation.

Khavargh raged, power-mad, ordering increasingly aggressive attacks deeper into the forest. Boutros could sense the danger, but dithered, hoping to pull his father back under control. With real regret, Boutros finally assassinated his father out on the battlefront. He assumed overall command and redirected the humanoid forces into raids on human lands, hoping the distraction would keep his blood-raged army together and appeased. The elves would relax.

Boutros miscalculated. Instead, the normally fractious humans and elves united against the humanoid depredations. Boutros’ army melted under the onslaught. Watching the situation deteriorate with numbing rapidity, Boutros fled.

Months passed in hiding. Cautiously, Boutros resurfaced in legendarily open-minded Waterdeep, so large that people took little notice of ‘different folk,’ even a half-ogre. Lessons of living in human society were constant and painful. Though Boutros cared little for the stares, even enjoyed the fear and intimidation, he found limits. Too much aggression, and the humans would band together to defend against the ‘monster.’ Humans were quick to unite – that was their strength.

And they were way too smart. Boutros – accustomed to constant success in his machinations amongst the humanoids – found himself of only average leadership ability in human society. Twice, he led a gang of toughs in the Dock Ward, but they were disappointing affairs. No group he led did well under him. The competition was always better.

Boutros did find a place in mercenary work, and even found the company pleasant. He cared nothing for the object of the mission, or of the parties involved; but that wasn’t expected of a mercenary anyway. Just to be paid, and Boutros liked being paid. Wealth was nice, and power and influence seemed to follow the acquisition of money.

The half-ogre learned of friendship, though companions were usually temporary. Some died, some left, and a few fell afoul of Boutros’ long-range plans. He switched groups occasionally, always seeking to join a ‘winner.’ Along the way, the brute learned also of love, when he became entranced with dark Druwēzza. Ironically, she was a despised elf, albeit half-drow/half-human. Yet she wasn’t the typical effete, arrogant, and capable elf that Boutros had come to know. Druwēzza was deadly serious, and just plain deadly as well. They were often fighting partners, polar opposites whose number was effectively greater than two.

Boutros initiated a couple of crude passes at her, but found himself rebuffed with a smile; there were few occasions he ever saw the dark elf happy. The brute was confounded. He was bigger and stronger. To take her should only have been a few moments of effort. Instead he felt weak. Was this love, to be weak? Boutros didn’t much like that, yet he was unable to resist the feeling. Always watching over her silently, with few words passing between them. And so he sporadically began to follow her from group to group, at times breaking away from her effortless influence in rebellion. But he always seemed to find Druwēzza again. Life felt more… *whole* working with this unfathomable woman.

Was this love?