"Trolls of Zarakkar, stand in awe, for you are in the presence of the true son of our tribe, Jhu the Destroyer! Just a glance from this mighty warrior sends the enemy running! By the will of our Creator and the degree of Chief Skar, we hereby proclaim Jhu the warlord of Zarakkar!"

These words, spoken by the herald seemingly so long ago now, were forever burned into Jhu's memory. For just a year later, sitting in a damp dungeon cell, he could only bitterly recall the times of his former glory. There was no Warlord Jhu anymore — only Jhu the Outcast.

It all began at the height of the Habkhar celebrations. The feast was to be held in the evening, and in the daytime: the annual culling. All infants under a year old had to be carefully examined, and those deemed unfit were to be thrown off Troll-peak. The Zarakkar tribe did not tolerate weaklings in its ranks; only the strongest were permitted to live.

So, that year, Jhu learned that he was expected to participate in the sorting of the babies. The newly appointed warlord watched as some women came forth proudly carrying their offspring, while others clutched them to their chests, trying to hide in the crowd. Several babies passed the examination and were given back to their mothers. There was a dispute about the fifth and eighth infants — one was cross-eyed, and the other was too skinny. It didn't take long to make a decision, and the scrawny newborn was thrown from the cliff. The sight made Jhu's heart ache with pain. He had witnessed the deaths of plenty of women, children, and elderly people in his time, but this cold-blooded, senseless killing deeply disturbed him.

Next came a weeping mother with a truly ugly child. "Don't touch my Mojo, please!" she wailed, trying to hide her son in her garments. When the inevitable death sentence was pronounced, the mother looked imploringly at Jhu.

"Warlord, please have mercy on Mojo!" she cried out desperately. "He will grow up to become a strong and fearless warrior!” Jhu was caught off guard by her pleading and simply watched, stunned, as one of the trolls snatched the infant from the distraught woman's arms and threw him into the abyss. With a hysterical, heart-rending scream, the mother threw herself over the edge after her child.

That night, Jhu lay awake in bed, tossing and turning. Yes, he had fulfilled his duties and finished the sorting. He had even made a formal appearance at the celebration, putting on a fake smile for the guests. However, from that day on, the warlord carried around a heavy burden on his heart. And a couple of months later, he came to a decision: he would descend into the abyss and find Mojo, no matter the cost.

It would be a long journey. But no sooner had he set foot on the path leading to the foot of Troll-peak than he fell right into an ambush. He found himself surrounded by scouts from an enemy tribe, leaving him with no chance of escape. Jhu fought fiercely, striking down countless opponents with his bone boomerangs. But they kept coming, wave on wave.

Suddenly a troll cub came crawling out of the forest — it was bleeding profusely. Then the strangest thing happened: the baby burst into green flames that spewed a storm of magic skulls into the ambushers. Within moments, the only ones left standing were Jhu and the mysterious troll cub.

That's how Jhu found Mojo, in what turned out to be a fated encounter. Jhu brought the infant back to the city and started to tell everyone about the child's incredible feat. But his fellow tribesmen simply threw the warlord into prison. And then the very same herald who had sung his praise a year ago now declared in a very different tone:

"The third law of the people of Zarakkar is that a warrior of our tribe knows no mercy! Anyone who violates this law will be stripped of all his privileges and banished! Warlord Jhu has broken the law, and is henceforth a stranger to us!"

From his dungeon cell, Jhu listened to the words of the herald and awaited the execution of his sentence. Once he had been escorted outside of the city walls, a woman emerged from the crowd of onlookers and handed him a small bundle, saying "Please take care of him." Jhu carefully took the bundle, realizing that the baby would not survive if left in the tribe. And so the two of them embarked on an epic, adventurous journey to the Guardians.

When they finally arrived, the Guardians warmly welcomed the distant travelers, and over the years Mojo became a loyal comrade and gained fame for performing many great feats. The courage and warrior's honor of the pair inspired inhabitants throughout the Dominion. And by the way, years later, the Zarakkar tribe abolished their tradition of culling the weak.