Trolls are made for the battlefield.

From the moment a troll oozes out of the mother grub's pulsating sphincter, through the trials of the brooding caverns, across the brutal day to day slog of Alternian society, all the way to their Ordeals, to the sucking void of space. They are bred for nothing but endless war.

But Commander Vantas...Commander Vantas is different.

Dirtblooded, unclean, descendant of a heretic, he never should have even made it to the surface. He should have been euthanized by a well-meaning jadeblood. And if somehow his hideous mutation managed to squeak past, his lusus should have put him out of his misery.

He was, as troll Lana del Rey would put it, born to die.

But he didn't die. He is, despite everything, one of the only Alternia-born trolls left standing. From the humblest of beginnings, he has risen to the highest echelons of achievement.

Or so all the pamphlets say.

The actual Commander Vantas has blisters on his heel and has been taking pot-shots at scouting drones for the last six hours. He could use a bath, honestly.