Orcs

Glory. Honor. Death. The three pillars of old Orcish society. The Orcs never saw themselves as a dominant power, and they never saw War as a vessel for something greater than themselves. 'All is to die. Anything more is delusion.' These were the words of the Old Chief. It was believed that an Orc could find no nobler an end than upon the spears of his enemy- or his brother. Whoever happened to be holding the weapon. Violence did not serve a greater end. War was a game. All were meant to die, all that mattered was how many you'd brought with you.

This is what brought ruination to the Orcs. Their numbers thinned to near non-existence during the Great War. Not because they had made more gains of land or crushed more armies- because they sought only to die by someone, anyone's hand, other than their own or by time's. And the Old Chief was more than happy to bring such deaths to them, no matter how far he had to push his armies, no matter where they had to fight, no matter who. This came to an end only when a Shaman of all people- those decrepit relics of peace- rose to challenge the Old Chief. Believing now was his day to find glorious death, the Old Chief agreed readily.

For twelve days, their battle raged in a wasteland. Earth shook, skies rumbled, mountains cracked under the fury of the Old Chief. Finally, upon the dawn of the twelfth day, the Shaman struck the Old Chief's axe from his hand. Its blade head shattered, the Old Chief's hand being destroyed along with it. Seeing his time now, the Old Chief spread open his arms, welcoming death- a death which did not come for him. The Shaman refused to end his life, the skies parting to bring not lightning but healing rain down upon him. In his despair, his anger, and his confusion the Old Chief left the wasteland to wander, never to be heard from again.

The Shaman led his people away from combat, and into an existence which recognized the inherent value of life. Violence, combat, war- these things were still important, still vital to survival, and never would it be frowned upon to hold onto honor or seek glory. But such things were not found in pointless death. Each life was meant to be lived to its fullest, all things enjoyed and learned and appreciated before death was ever to be upon an Orc's mind.

In the modern age, the Orcs are almost wholly a scholarly people. Primarily nomadic, they hold very little land for themselves and often their people would resign what little land they own to go on long journeys across the earth, seeing all it had to offer as travelers. The Orcs' one permanent settlement was in the center of the wasteland where the Shaman and the Old Chief had originally fought, for it was believed this was the one place his furious spirit would never roam, the grip of his shame too powerful. Orcs who leave are considered the most adventurous and therefor, the most in danger of being occupied by the spirit of the Old Chief. Not reviled, but cared for deeply, the Orcish Wayfarers are travelers and scholars of the truest caliber.