"Embrace your scars for they are beautiful,they set you apart from everything-that looks the same," the Orc said to the young Elven girl.

"It's different, you're an Orc. You don't have to be pretty," she responded to the Orc.

"Our beauty is different. An Orc woman with no scars is ugly. She has shied away from battles. We may not all go to war with the men but we still like a fight. Our war hammers may not be as heavy but we swing them hard. An Orc woman with scars and some muscle, that's true beauty. Each of those scars holds some meaning," the Orc said smiling, thinking of her own scars.

The small Elf was not amused by this idea of beauty. She was a High Elf, any imperfection could be enough to have her sentenced to a life of snide comments and witless remarks. The orc removes her breastplate and drops it to the ground with a thud.

"Look here child," she commands lifting her tunic to reveal a large horizontal scar stretching across her abdomen. It was never stitched back together properly. Instead the flesh was burned closed with grog and flame.

She had fighting over mating rights with a champion of another stronghold. She lost the battle. A sword right into her abdomen brought her to her knees. Not enough to cut cleanly through. But enough that they considered her dead. She survived. It was enough that she still married the champion. Sometimes surviving is a feat better than winning. A scar shows that you have survived some obstacle in your life.

"Does it hurt," the Elf asked.

"No, and my mate loves it. Once we finish this campaign we plan to have many children. He says he has never seen another with a scar as beautiful as mine," the Orc smiled with honor knowing it was all true.

The Elf stroked her own scar across her arm. She still wasn't sure that it was beautiful. But, it did make her unique. She didn't have any fancy jewels or gowns. Still she had the scar, and nobody else had the scar. It was her scar and it set her apart from everyone else.