The Grim Army, like all armies, ran on its stomach. It's all very well to be a ravening slavering horde of shield-gnawing berserkers, but there's not much nutritional value in a shield, which meant that somebody ultimately had to do the farming.
Ogres proved surprisingly adept at the task, and the ones that survived their roles as anchor fighters in the army often retired to take up growing turnips and training attack sheep for their own amusement.
(Having a sort of Paul Bonner-inspired urge to paint fangy tusky pudgy things, and this just kinda came out.) Digital, prints available for $10 and $20 plus shipping. Send a note or visit [link]