lore

Like the great primates of the jungles of Taphria, orcs are strong and robust beings. In battle they seem able to resist the most terrible wounds and still continue fighting. Distinctive features include large fangs and the earthy hues of their hide - from ochre to green to darkest brown - all combining to give them a terrifying and wild aspect.The goblins, while sharing certain traits with their larger kin, are very different. Smaller in size and less physically powerful, they demonstrate exceptional cunning, treachery and malice. Their large noses and ears make them excellent trackers and explorers. Throughout history, the “warborn” seem to appear from nowhere, emerging in huge swarms from deep forests, caves, and any wild region. Orcs in particular are extremely aggressive, showing a passionate love of fighting seemingly for its own sake. Their movements have proven virtually impossible to track, while goblins can be more sedentary, with some claiming they dwell in great hidden cities, accounts of which are difficult to verify.

Though I believe we Daeb have little more to learn of taming the creatures of this world, I have found some profit in an interrogation of members of the Warborn races. It seems their relationship with beasts is closer to that of unruly siblings than master and servant.Orcs appear to make connections with creatures as brutal and stubborn as themselves. Giants, boars, wyverns are treated as comrades in arms, earning glory and feasting on the spoils, tusk to tusk in the mud and gore.Meanwhile, goblin lairs are all but impossible to scout, protected as they are by the myriad beasts of cave, forest, plains and more. Guardians and crude avatars, the wretches all but worship the things with the largest teeth and claws - anything to preserve their own feeble forms. Still, the arrangement is effective. I must find a way to harness it.

This is a stone
It does not know the truth
Let these words teach it our way
Our way is war
We are born only to this
A stone is born for staying
But we will set it rolling
And in the speed o f life, it will learn
It will know the way
Of war, of speed, of sweat
We love to struggle and to win
We want this stone to love it too
We will give this stone a brood
And set it searching
And it will know the way of war

Increasingly convinced orc society organised by birthgroups (broods) - comprising all individuals emerging at same site. Each group competes for dominance of the tribe. Brood alphas vie to be warchief.
Individual observations (working names):
Gustav - member of youngest brood. Extremely unruly behaviour; he and siblings are feverishly eager to fight.
Heidi - used to be much wilder. As brood has grown, she has developed basic weaponcraft & some modicum of discipline in battle.
Henning - from oldest brood. Produces the heaviest, most advanced iron weapons and armours of the tribe. Calmer but unflinching in battle.
Wilhelm - outlived rest of brood. Fights alone, never socialises with other broods. Increasingly speaks only to shamans.

Saw Wilhelm leaving into the wilderness, purpose unclear. Has not returned after several weeks.

It is said among the tribes of this land that in the most ancient times, the oldest prophet-leaders of the goblins, called Darrmu, created a vast labyrinth under the Great Mountains. At its center stood what they called the Earthly Garden of Delights. This was their most secret abode and refuge between Augea and Vetia, protected by the monstrous creatures of the deep - the gogyag.
No man, elf or dwarf was allowed to enter such a secret and holy place, the goblin city. It was imagined as a mortal representation of the Divine Garden that all faithful goblins hope to enter - either after their death, or through transcendental use of the unknown substances they employ in their rites. It is said that denizens of this city would undergo the cruelest challenges if ordered by their darrmu, exhibiting a fanatical faith in some form of Truth which they associate metonymically with these same substances, and with the Twin Deity who supposedly discovered them.

No Brothers, No Sisters
The Only King
No Past, No Future
The Only King
No Fear, No Weakness
The Only King
Born of Soil and Born Alone
The Only King
Breaker and Builder
The Only King
One fist in Iron, the other in Stone
The Only King
Bringer of Battle, Bringer of Fate
The Only King
Heart of a Child, Heart of a King
The Only King

To Lord Caenu, Emissary of the Obsidian Thrones for the Southern Raiding Fleet, Herald of the Golden Dawn Slavers, Liluth Araran, Beastmaster appointed for the expendable herds, sends her greetings.

My Lord, after several weeks I can finally send the first report on the forces we’re gathering as our destructive instruments.

Of the five goblin translators I obtained on my departure, two are already dead. One was killed when an Equitan patrol discovered us on our way to the orc camp. The other was brutally killed by the orc warlord for his alleged lack of respect in both words and deeds. About this one, I should say the remaining translators were supportive of the warlord’s action, thus I restrained any retaliation, for the deceased goblin had broken the code by which the barbarians seemed to live. This fact supports my original hypothesis of a strong tie between the Warborn races: even if their cultures appear superficially different, there is a more instinctual level that permits goblins to communicate perfectly with their larger kin. While the Warborn cannot be trained, they can at least understand orders and requests.

We were invited by the warlord to a feast lasting several days. It might be called a religious occasion, but not in the sense we use in Dathen. According to our interpreters, the feast is called the Great Games of Zagjan, named after an orcish god of strength and challenges. These sacred games are held once per year, and it seems they are common to the majority of orc tribes and cultures known to us.

The Games proved helpful for understanding these creatures. I am aware this may be thought laughable in Rathaen, but I have been forced to conclude that the Warborn are not stupid, nor do they lack tactics and strategy. Warborn is a well-suited term for them: everything in their culture seems to be functionally or artistically related to their love for war and a wider concept of strife and challenge. It almost seems as if their every social interaction is a kind of combat, part of a never-ending selection of the fittest for war.

The god Zagjan, the Wild Boar, is the challenging force -threatening even the authority of cosmological chiefhood represented by the most important orc god, Tazrek, embodied by the tribe’s warlord himself. Indeed, it is clear in practice that winning the Games can be a direct challenge to the authority of the chief.

The Games consist of more than just individual challenges, and the final winner is a brood rather than a single orc. Broods seem to be the basic social group of orc society: what we might call a family. According to our interpreters, broods are groups of orcs born from the very same nest, developing together in a self-sufficient group, both in daily life and war. Broods differ according to their seniority, age, battle and craftsmanship: younger orcs are the most uncivilised, with poor equipment but uncanny ferocity; adult orcs are the most common, while the veterans -the so called Orcs of Iron -tend to acquire better equipment and an innate sense of battle tactics. All broods compete in the games to determine their position within the confederation of broods they call the tribe: the fittest brood expects to lead the tribe and its chief will likely be the warlord.

The consequence is obvious: if the warlord’s brood does not win the Games, his authority will be severely undermined.

The Games of Zagjan clearly demonstrate the impressive resilience and merciless ferocity of the species. Consequently, I recommend a significant increase in resources for manipulation of this formidable resource as an asset for the pursuit of our objectives in Vetia.

The Warborn are a paradox. On the one hand, they are the most ferocious beasts of war. On the other, observing them in their daily life, they sometimes look like actors playing a comedy. One that can suddenly become a terrifying tragedy, of course. As their prisoner, I witnessed the bizarre series of challenges known as the Games. They began with the most comical, or the one which earned the greatest laughter: the launch of the piglets. It was astonishing how quickly something really gory could become something sacred and venerated, as is so common in Warborn culture.

Each orc group deployed a team of two, equipped with a furry pig anointed with a special oil by the shamans. It seems this oil prevented the pig from burning too easily or too fast. Once the warlord gave the sign, all the piglets were set ablaze and launched. Theoretically, the one reaching the farthest distance is the winner. Obviously, the game was soon reduced to chaos: some of the pigs died instantly, others galloped directly into the camp, setting ablaze whatever they touched. When the winner is finally determined, if it is still alive, it is consecrated and considered untouchable until the following year, while all the others are soon slaughtered by the crowd and devoured.

Tonight we witness most epic combat
Are you ready?
Make some noise
From Volsk mud, great champion of Black Pikes
Nine hundred thirty pounds
Dugek Bloody Eye!
Make some noise
From mountain cave, evil smelling, big warlord of Iron Boys
One thousand fifty six pounds
Zigbol Stubborn Fist!
Are you ready?
Let me hear
Make some noise
Make some noise
Get ready To Rumble!

Chop chop chop chop,
Axe to tree, wood to free,
Heave ho, heave ho,
Logs cleft, lumber heft.
Run run run run,
Take the wood, for the brood,
Fight fight fight fight,
Bite and brawl, beat them all.
Cheer and roar, cheer and roar,
Almost there, faster, dare,
Blood and gore, blood and gore,
Timber, here comes the BOAR!

“And into the fourth lap now! I haven’t seen this since The Eight Stone Axes nobbled the
Sudden Death tribe in ’53. Four Laps! Great Stuff! And bloody too, you can smell the pain!

As the last three boars once again cross the ‘Get Ready’ line at full throttle, we have Zakrak of the Twin Moon tribe hot on the piglet’s heels. He’s closely followed by a clearly unconscious Raghat of the Seven Rocks, he’s lashing about in his saddle like a kraken taking a bath. If that leather strap breaks he’s finished for sure. I thought he’d be a real challenger but that punch he took at the Get Ready sent him to La La Land and he’s been there ever since. Probably the best place for him - as we see the last boar coming up on his inside. Well, I say ‘boar’ but if that’s not a wolf covered in brown wool then I’m not Big Trizt Blzka! Those Spiky Bits, you just can’t trust ‘em. And while I’m at it, I’m pretty sure that’s no orc riding either, you can see it’s two grotlings in a poorly fitting coat. But I guess I’m old fashioned, the crowd are loving it - orc or grotling.

And it seems to be working! They’re overtaking Raghat! But now Zakrak rounds the top corner, he’s within grabbing range of the piglet, down comes the claw and ... DODGED! That piglet’s loaded with more adrenaline than my grandma on breeding night. Round the top bend the piglet goes, trotters tearing up the turf in a desperate attempt to survive for just a few more seconds. Gotta love the little fella, he just won’t lie down and die. But now here comes the Spiky Bits wolf-boar, inside line on Zakrak who hasn’t spotted the threat and BANG! T-boned! Bits of Twin Moon’s finest are littering the track. That’s gotta HURT!

Those cheeky little grotlings are making a play for glory! Make it and they’ll be dining at the top table tonight, miss it and I reckon they’ll be dinner themselves. Final straight now. Here comes the grab... and it’s a good one! Up comes piglet, feet still going like mad, and it’s Spiky Bits race to lose now. But piglet’s not finished! He’s biting and kicking like his life depends on it, which it does! And he’s loose! Dashing and dodging about on the wolf’s back. The grotlings are trying to brain him with the lashing stick as the final turn begins to bite but they keep missing, and their wolf just keeps going faster. Piglet’s still loose on the mount’s rump...and...it’s...jumping! Look at it soar! Best piglet ever! And straight into the dozing lap of Raghat. Unbelievable! Spiky Bits wolf and crew have taken their eye off the track and BANG! Into the tree they go! No surviving that! And the Seven Rocks Champion wins That’ll Do Pig and he’s not even conscious! The crowd are going ballistic and the fighting’s started already! What a race! And look! Piglet’s dropped down into the brawling crowd and is having it away and who can blame him? What a game little fella, what a race, what a sport!”

"The final lap now...the last of three. Three live grotlings crawled out of the bag after the ritual beating ceremony before the race and so three laps it was decreed, and what a race! The chariot of the Seven Peaks tribe with its iron orc four-time winner Blzgut is out in front by a length. It’s still dragging the goblin from the starting log ceremony, that gobbo’s gonna have a headache in the morning! Look at him flailing about, or is he waving? Hard to say...might be the best day of the little guy’s life! On the inside is the feral chariot from the Blasted Tree tribe, long time losers, but could this be Rigtar’s year? He’s certainly whipping up his boars for a big push. Out back are the ’boars’ of the Broken Nose, their ’orc’ is pushing hard but I just can’t see it happening for the little fellas. Mind you, the gobbos in the crowd at the final turn are going absolutely ballistic and you never can tell when your dealing with a tribe run by a Goblin. Could be a couple of sneaky tricks yet…

Back straight now and Rigtar’s going for his patented Outta The Way move, a feint inside then a straight smash line into the last corner, but Bizgut’s seen it all before and has it covered. That lightweight chariot has just bounced right off and look! The traces with the boars have tangled with the Seven Peaks chariot. That’s slowing them both down! Rigtar’s kicking the boars free but that’s all the chance that the Broken Noses need and HERE THEY COME wide on the outside. Not a bad move given their extra speed and lack of size. What’s this? The Broken Nose driver is dangling something out in front of his ’boar’. Let’s be honest, it’s a wolf, sneaky little blighters, but what’s being dangled? IT’S A MUSHROOM! Into the wolf goes the little fungus and BANG look at that wolf run! Looks like he’s got ten legs! Blasting round the top bend, the Broken Noses are in with a shout.

Final straight now and it’s neck and neck. The Blasted Trees and Seven Peaks are free from each other now and after trading a few friendly punches they’ve both just seen the Broken Nose speed wagon pumping away on the outside. Is it too late? Will it be a famous first win for the Gobbos? Who knows? Who cares? I just love this race!

The wreckage of some of the other competitors is getting in the way of the chariots, the crowd aren’t helping by throwing axes, rocks and each other onto the track. Bizgut’s just ploughing straight through them, bits everywhere! Rigtar’s dancing round them like an elf on a lava flow but the little mushroom-powered wolf chariot of the Broken Noses is clear of debris wide on the outside and it’s going to be close!

Not a grotling’s finger between them in the last hundred yards. Rigtar goes to the whipping stick and LOOK AT HIS BOARS RESPOND! But Bizgut’s not beaten yet and he surges back, snarling as he does. Out wide the Broken Noses are squeezing every ounce from their wolf which has gone cross eyed and if its heart hasn’t exploded yet it soon will! I can’t believe it! Too close to call!

BOOM! A WHEEL’S EXPLODED ON BIZGUT’S Chariot and he’s pinwheeling up the track! STRAIGHT INTO RIGTAR! Both chariots explode in a shower of splintered wood! Boars are catapulted into the crowd and bits of driver are flung far and wide. BUT WE’RE NOT FINISHED YET! The Broken Nose wolf has dropped to its knees, that mushroom’s done for him, the chariot spars have dug into the turf and with only a few yards to go the chariot is flipped... AND OVER THE TOP IT GOES! Slamming upside down on the very finishing line! THE BROKEN NOSES WIN! The driver, or should I say drivers, have been squashed flatter than a grotling by an auroch. But they won’t mind - the glory is theirs, and that, unlike them, will live forever!

Well, they said it couldn’t be done, they said it shouldn’t be done, but a goblin tribe’s won the Road Rage! They didn’t stand a chance but in the end they couldn’t lose! It must have been written in the stars or at least the entrails of my breakfast! I thought I saw something there this morning and I was right! Wow. I need a sit down..."

Orcs and Goblins

Orcs, on the other hand, should never be trusted, and make deals with Goblins at your peril. These green-skinned maniacs live to fight. Even their resting state is a small squabble. Orcs resolve every dispute with fists or blades, and if Goblins are less interested in a fair fight, they are truly resourceful in matters of murder. As varied as they are obscene, they blight civilisation everywhere.

It is said that in the mists of time, before even the Golden Age, the scattered tribes were united under one great leader. Perhaps it was they who brought down the Saurians, though no record remains. Most disparage this tale, and I doubt even the Greenhides themselves know of its truth. Still, it is a cautionary tale. A strong warlord can command a force of thousands; a truly great one could drown the world under a green tide. Dwelling on such a thought makes one shudder.

A Goblin entered into partnership with an Ogre on the pretense of becoming his servant. Each undertook his proper duty in accordance with his own nature and powers. The Goblin discovered and pointed out the prey; the Ogre sprang on it and seized it. The Goblin soon became jealous of the Ogre carrying off the majority of the spoils, and said that he would no longer find out the prey. After a month, both starved without the other.

Sir, the cargo you ordered be sent to Sagarika has been detained and impounded by the Goblin King west of the Barren Mountains. As I have repeatedly advised, the King possesses far greater wit than you give him credit, and our deception as to the quality of the goods we were sending failed to dupe his staff. I will state once more for the record that I believe the only way to secure a long-term overland route through this region is free and fair negotiation with His Majesty. This will no longer be an easy task.

Best day of the year, to our orcish cousins? Feast of Zagjan, others also call it Festival of the Bear’s Heart. Three days of drinkin’, fightin’ and feastin’, and whats more is it’s for the gods and that means the Big Boss foots the bill. With all those hungry and fighty orcs around, it’s a dangerous place to stand when you’re little - so we goblins tend to steer clear, just like most outsiders, unless you can rely on the Warlord for protection.

Best days means great, exciting brawls! Orcs like to scuffle, to beat each other, even if killing is forbidden, “accidents” can happen. Broods clash with each other to prove they are better at fighting and hunting: something hard for us to cope with since we love the secrecy of night and caves, while they love their open, ridiculously direct and brutal fights. Where we love politics and value our sneaky tricks, they love conquering others, burning through resources and consuming all they can find on their way.

Ah, I loved being there at the legendary Feast, where the most important business of the tribe usually takes place. Whenever the brood of the Warlord isn’t winning, he might have bigger issues than the contests, and he may need to crack some skulls, or his own might end up on a plate.

Survival of the fittest, of the strongest, or the one most able to win a fight is what drives the apparently simple mind of our bigger cousins, but what the eyes of humans and elves can’t see is deep into the blood of the orcs! While the others are entangled in senseless luxuries, pleasures and wasteful arts, our cousins do everything to overwhelm their weakness and those of their enemies!

Madness and chaos is all you would see but challenges everywhere is what an orc sees. Fighting or hunting, brawling or chopping, drinking or riding, everything has a purpose: proving their brood is better than all others. This way they train every day and this way they prepare to crush their enemies.

All kinds of games happen across the Festival, some of them known even among you humans. Most famous to you lot is the Flight of the Flaming Pig.
Oh, you’d love to see it. You know, orcs love those furry wild pigs! We hate em’, but that fur could blunt a stabber and gets stuck in the teeth. Which is why their shamans created this salve to burn the hair off. It was supposed to cook the pig too, only... Well, one shaman uses the salve and sets fire to a live wild pig, decides to throw it in his panic and you have a burning pig that sets fire to a whole camp, suddenly you have a new orc sport.

Something which has such a destructive potential is something an orc loves. So every brood picks its biggest orc to launch a pig. To see them lined up, they look like a battlement of rockets. When the Warlord raises his hand, all of the pigs are ignited by another orc, and when the hand is lowered, the pigs are hurled.

What happens next is in the hands of the orc-gods, and it’s a terrible mess if you ask me. Once all the flames are extinguished, the pig that went farthest wins - or rather its brood does. This pig does get to live - that fur grows back thicker than ever - and they make the best mounts. For the rest? Well, let’s just say roast pork is the main dish on the third day’s feasting, and it never tasted so good.

Greetings unto thee, oh learned Sage. I wish to know, have Orcs and Goblins ever built cities?

Although we civilized peoples might not recognize them as such, goblins at least construct a collection of edifices that one might name a city. Orcs on the other hand, are universally nomadic, and do not, therefore, tend to erect long-term settlements. Lacking both the technology and the inclination to create lasting infrastructure, orcs construct camps that are temporary – easily erected and easily struck. Orcs stay in one place only until nearby resources are depleted, or they set out in search of new adventures. Who can fathom what thoughts may pass through the mind of an orc, encased as it is in such a thick skull?

Occasionally, a war party may overrun a city, and dwell therein for some time, just as a crab might inhabit an old helmet abandoned near the shore. This is rare, however, and equally as short-lived as encampments in the wilderness. Soon they will move on, leaving the city’s former occupants to slink back – presumably with mop and bucket at the ready.

Goblins, on the other hand, have made cities since time immemorial - this goes for all three primary kinds: plains, forest, and cave. Usually, such locations are cunningly hidden or protected. I have even heard that goblin cities, of a not inconsiderable size I might add, can be found in the mountains that separate Sonnstahl and Equitaine. Though they lack the stoneworking skill of the dwarfs, their buildings are nonetheless reported to be structurally sound. I am led to believe that the areas downstream of these settlements are an assault on the olfactory senses, but the soil is most fertile there, and especially fine for growing tomatoes.