The Mustaqilun Tribe

Represented Color: Purple
Race: Orc
Breed: Blackskin Orcs
Capital: Riverforge
Ruler: Warchief Rukdug the Hunter

Type of Government: Tribal Tyranny. Traditionally, the orcish society that the Mustaqilun Tribe broke away from favored rule by strength; The stronger, cunning and more brutal you were, the higher in society you could potentially rise and expect to survive the promotion.

While the Mustaqilun Tribe could be considered somewhat liberal by the standards of other orcs, they do respect strong, competent leadership and the only alternative government that they have seen in action is monarchy which doesn’t appeal to them; While the leader who founds the kingdom is generally someone to respect by orcish standards, a few generations on and you tend to get poor leaders unworthy of the power they’re ‘born with’.

Religion:
The Mustaquilun Tribe doesn’t have a religion per say; The closest thing to a ‘god’ that the tribe had in the past was their former lord and master, a being of great power that ruled orcish kind through might and fear. While the Dark One had a cult dedicated to him that worshiped him as an almighty being, the Mustaquilun Tribe (and quite a large number of other orcs) viewed him more as the biggest, strongest of bosses rather than as a deity… and considering that they broke all ties with their former master when they took to the seas, their opinion of him is rather low.

They are superstitious through, performing small rituals and offerings in their day to day lives to ‘spirits’; A hunter might make a small offering before going out on a hunt for a good hunt, while a blacksmith might perform small rituals occasionally in order to keep the spirit of his forge in high spirits while wading off misfortune.

History:
The history of the Mustaquilun Tribe started fairly recently. Originally the orcs stationed at the oceanside port fortress of Nomar, the orcs of Nomar spent their days producing weapons and equipment for the seemingly endless armies of their distant master, the Dark One in his campaign against the other races and kingdoms of the land.

The Dark One was a cruel, unforgiving and demanding overlord, uncaring for the pain and suffering of minions and slaves alike as long as his orders were met on time. His requests kept the forges of Nomar burning at all hours of the day and night in order to try and keep up with demand.

It was hard to say exactly when the uprising among the orcs of Nomar began; they all hated the Dark One and the lives that they were being made to live, but their fear of him tended to keep any actual spirit of rebellion quiet… at least, until they no longer had anything to lose.

The forges were sabotaged by slaves from one of the distant nations their master had waged war with, breaking almost all of them down in such a way that it would take months to get production back up to the levels that it had been before, let alone start meeting the Dark One’s quotas again. The Dark One wasn’t known for his patience or his calm temper; in the past when a production site had fallen behind to the same degree as Nomar had just done, he had the fortress purged of its current workforce before repopulating it with a fresh workforce to get it operational again.

The orcs of Nomar were doomed… so they decided to take a gamble.

It began with the death of the former Warchief, Pash the Glutten. His failure to prevent such a devastating slave uprising due to neglecting his duties as Warchief of Nomar was deemed to be the source of the orcs impending doom and thus he was executed by his replacement, Rukdug the Hunter.

With the former Warchief slain and the promise of a painful death approaching, Rukdug came up with a plan to save himself and his fellow orcs... though it came with a price. In order for his plan to be successful, those under his command that zealously obeyed the will of the Dark One as the word of god had to be purged in order to prevent them from hindering their efforts. The night after Pash's head was mounted on a spike, Rukdug and those loyal to him (or at least to their own survival) slaughtered every last Dark One loyalist they could find, with only a handful fleeing into the night.

Led by Rukdug the Hunter, the orcs used what production abilities they still had access to in order to build ships. They took to the seas, abandoning their homeland completely in favour of escaping their master’s wrath and creating new lives for themselves elsewhere. Breaking all ties with their former master, the orcs of the fortress of Nomar decided to band together in order to form a new tribe; The Mustaquilun tribe.

Nation/Clan/Kingdom/Tribe Name: The Hogtusk Tribe
Represented Color: Peru.
Race: Ogres
Breed: Furskins
Capital: Big Rock
Ruler: Rog-mohog the Brainy

Type of Government: Chiefdom. The Hogtusks are led by a chieftain whose position usually is legitimised through strength, skill or herd size. In addition to the chieftain, the clan shaman holds considerable power as a spiritual figurehead.

Religion: The Hogtusks practice a form of animism where the nature around them is inhabited by several spirits. These potentially number the millions, but due to a lacking affinity for counting, the Hogtusks primarily stick to five Great Spirits. These are routinely honoured through sacrifice and prayer. The five spirits are,

The Owl Spirit: The sneaky hunter - an aspiration for all who walk the woods in search of game. The Owl Spirit teaches the Hogtusks to be mindful of their steps and their grunts when sneaking up on prey, something that can be quite difficult for such menacing humanoids. Still, they try their very best.

The Boar Spirit: The meaty meal - the Great Boar Spirit is the most important one to the Hogtusks, being a symbol of wealth and prosperity. The Boar Spirit teaches the Hogtusks to savour every meal and to treat their livestock properly so that it one day may feed many mouths.

The Dog Spirit: The barking mutt - the Dog Spirit is a symbol of war to the Hogtusks. Few beasts can be as rabid as a wild wolf, and when vicious sentiment oozes through the camps like a plague, the Hogtusks know only one solution. When the dogs howl and bark in the night, the Hogtusks prepare for war.

The Ancestor Spirit: The old folks - in Hogtusk mythology, the soul departs the body after death and becomes a star in the sky. The whole starscape is known as the ‘ancestor spirit’. They teach the Hogtusks the knowledge of old and tell them over and over again to remember it properly this time. Crafters often seek their advice when they wish to pursue old and new skills.

The Wild Spirit: The lotsa things - as the name implies, the wild spirit in the untameable aspect of nature. It incorporates all the other spirits into itself and becomes a representation of nature itself and manifests itself in everything from stones to animals to ogres. It’s a tricky spirit, and is often described as an antagonistic force. Death and disease are often attributed to the wild spirit.

Geographical Location: The Hogtusk Tribe is in large part nomadic - they live primarily alongside great boars, oxen and goats, and decide where to settle based on where the livestock decide to graze. The only permanent settlement that is manned all year round is Big Rock, a large number of tents surrounding the spiritual centre of Hogtusk society - the Big Rock. It is single tall peak in the middle of the Steppy, also known as the Big Empty Place. The peak overlooks several pig- and oxskin tipis and lean-tos.

History:

For centuries, ogres have roamed the Ard Tops, a mountain range to the south-west of the Big Rock, making life a pain for everyone and everything around. Largely primitive and reliant on instinct to survive, these ogres quickly learned that picking fruit off trees and roots out of the ground could probably feed one or two mouths, but were but scraps to the whole family. It didn’t take a genius to realise there were bigger boars in the wood, and it was, in fact, not a genius who took up the first club and set her eyes on a small swine from the lower parts of the mountains. The news of these juicy beasts quickly spread, and it didn’t take long for the ogres to hunt every single boar around the Ard Tops. During this time, the ogres grew numerous and powerful, and their large forms necessitated large meals; therefore, as the large drop of pig’s blood soaked into the forest soil, the ogres faced a terrible problem: What on earth were they going to eat?

A massive die-off ensued, with ten-foot-tall giants clad in thick, brown fur dropped to the ground like flies. The ogres flocked to their primitive shrines, begging every spirit their limited minds could think of to help them out of this predicament.

The spirits sadly didn’t oblige.

In the end, the ogres were reduced to a mere shadow of the menace they had been before. Slowly, but surely, the evidence of their rampage across the land began to fade as life returned to the hills. Seeing the animals return sent the ogres into a frenzy. Spears were made; arrows, fletched. After such suffering and such hunger, the ogres would eat again.

However, history would not pass as so. One group of ogres, known to the Hogtusk nowadays as the Proffyts, recalled the lessons of the Ancestor Spirit and halted the ogre hunt. They reasoned instead that they should beseech the Wild Spirit, apologise for their senseless rampage in the past and instead offer to live alongside the boar - learn from it, care for it. The message took a long time to sink in, during which the Proffyts feared the boars would be hunted to extinction again. Turmoil spurred; brawls and skirmishes between the different clans sent many into exile. In the end, the Proffyts were defeated, forced to leave their ancestral home in the hills around the Ard Tops and cross into the endless sea of grass known as the Big Empty Place. Leading the exiles was one named Mohog, and as the sun peeked over the horizon one day weeks after their exodus, the ogre found his eyes locking onto a familiar form on the horizon. It was a boar - one larger and fatter than he had ever seen. Water filled his mouth and he reached for his spear. With the teachings of the Owl Spirit echoing in his mind, the ogre began to sneak in on the boar. The distance became just right; the ogre flattened against the ground as silently as he could as the hog turned around. It scanned the tall grass, but found nothing and went back to eating some mushrooms. Mohog seized his chance. The ogre rose into a crouch, pulled back his arm and aimed--

Then he dropped the spear. The clack as it struck the ground caught the boar’s attention again and it set off into a sprint. Before long, it had vanished from his view. Mohog swallowed the disappointed spittle in his mouth. The Wild Spirit had possessed him, surely, he thought - not even an ogre was stupid enough to let such a juicy boar simply bugger off.

Yet there he knelt, the spear no longer in his hand, and his eyes locked on the mushrooms the boar had been eating. He plucked one and gave it a sniff. It smelled of dirt. He took a bite. It tasted like dirt, only juicier. While not overjoyed at the flavour, it was a considerably large mushroom, he had to admit, and as he dug around in the earth some more, he found that it grew deep - and had siblings. He collected as many as he could and carried them back to his clan. That night, they ate properly for the first time in weeks.

The next day, Mohog and some others found more mushrooms and began chasing boars with offers of food in exchange for a haunch of meat. Needless to say, the boars were not interested.

The next day, Mohog and even more found additional mushrooms and laid them in a pile. Then they hid some distance away to observe. Sure enough, eventually there came a boar - then some more. After a time, a large pack were gnawing happily on the mushrooms the ogres had gathered for them. The ogres were content and gave each other proud pats on the back.

Then, when the mushrooms had been finished, the boars left. The ogres sat in the grass with empty expressions, staring at the pile of mushroom crumbs.

The next day, Mohog and the whole clan lined up into one great wall, covering a sizeable amount of ground. Each ogre had a handful of mushrooms in their hand and a bucketload of patience in their heart. And so, they waited.

Dawn became midday; midday became evening. Ogres began to sit down and mumble to each other. Out of all the plans, this had to be the silliest one yet. They all looked exactly like the type of creature any sensible smaller animal would instinctively avoid. Thinking anything would approach them was utterly--

A roar of surprise had sounded from the end of the line. An ogre waved his free hand while the other was feeding an increasingly frightened boar. The others slowly gathered around to witness the miracle - a boar had willingly approached them.

The following weeks were spent much in the same way, and as weeks became months, more and more boars flocked to the ogres. A small herd accumulated, and the herd soon began to birth young. The old were killed and eaten, and the breeding population were protected and fed. The ever increasing need for mushrooms took the ogres further and further out on the Big Empty Place and along the way, they encountered oxen, which were tamed in much the same manner, albeit with fewer trial attempts.

After many years of wandering the large plains, the ogres came upon a single giant peak in the middle of the Big Empty Place - or rather, they had seen it miles away and walked towards it. They had found it mesmerising from a distance, and around and atop the peak they grew familiar with the local goat populations. These were tamed in much the same way. Then, on his way up to the summit of the mountain, Mohog suffered a terrible accident and was killed during a fall. The ogres grieved for him, for he had been their salvation from the vicious cycle of hunting and dying. However, as the legends say, Mohog was carried up to the night sky by the Ancestor Spirit themself, and enshrined forever as the great Norf Star.

Now, his son, Rog-mohog, must take up the mantle as chieftain and ensure the continuation of this young herder civilisation, starting by making them a home.

Nation/Clan/Kingdom/Tribe Name: The Wanderers
Represented Color: Sky blue
Race: Humanoid cat-people
Features: The wanderer nation are a female dominant society. The males of the tribe are overtaken by "the feaver" during puberty and some do not survive. During the fever they become obsessed with a mono mania over some specific perceived fault to be corrected. This could be a technological missing link or just as likely a work of philosophy, poetry or law (the three often becoming one and the same due to a verbal history tradition.) During this time a Male might make some huge great advancement or die trying, as the fever consumes all their energy and attention. STRENGTHS: Huge technological leaps, but localised to towns, one town for example might have a water wheel but another will have a windmill and never the twin will meet (in games terms this might mean they can try anything once including vastly perfected tools. Though once used it is erased.) The females of the tribe are hardy and practical. Though they try to preserve these relics of the fever, they often cannot grasp their intricacies or simply do not care. The females occupy a warrior-hunter cast with some of the best trackers and cartographers seen throughout the races. Indeed the females, in order to become leaders must first have journeyed out of civilisation to live amongst the wilds for many years, intermingling with other cultures before they can attain the title of pathfinder. This process is mostly organic. As far as magick goes the dominant understanding is that of oral history, totemic symbols and druidry. The druids make use of henges, herbs and worshiping nature through carved totems where stories are related by the town cryer.
Breed: Explorer breed
Capital: Nexo
Founded by the great sailing cat Nexonia, the huge catamaran is now turned upside down and its ships hull serves as the walls to a great fort.
Ruler: Pathfinder Nexonia

Type of Government: Tribal druidic hierarchy where the higher up they are the more connected to God they are. In this instance God is the nature and environment spirits.

Religion: Ancestor totems, oral history, nature spirits.

Geographical Location: Please pick somewhere cold for them. They are naturally resistant to cold due to the large amount of antifreeze in their diet. They are also the only ones who can grow perma-crops in the permafrost.

History: Largly a wandering nomadic society they are renown for being very inward looking. Once the permacrops were discovered they set down where no other race would, the frigid tundra, which to them is the same as summer or autumn and they dress accordingly. Their hair is a dappled spot of leopard or snow leopard platinum blonde when the winter season causes this change of coat! Their faces resemble humans except they have black tear ducts like the leopard. They are also known for building huge totums for living in, these airscrapers are built from great trees. But for now the first settlement is made from upturned boathulls which coincidentally are very aerodynamic for the whipperwinds and resist the buildup of heavy snow and ice. The history of this tribe is spotted, I joke, they mostly are peacefull and barely interact with any that do not venture to the tundra. There was once a great war with the trolls who had begun to venture to the cold, pushed by some unknown force, in that time the pathfinder gathered the best hunters and formed the wardens. Led by the great general Meekus, a man who had recovered from his fever with great military acumen, they made use of great scouting and skirmishes to slay many trolls and turn them away.

Represented Color: Brown

Race: Orc

Breed: Brownskin

Capital: Sumbad

Ruler: Guthug the Damned

Type of Government: Tribal Absolute Monarchy

Religion:
The religion of the Bukradul Orcs is very much one based around the afterlife, one based on the notion that the animals one owns will guard the spirit of the deceased. The spirit animals, whether powerful or weak, are all used in the afterlife to keep unnatural events in life from happening to their kin or otherwise disturbing the natural order while the evil attempt to come back from the dead. Additionally, the dead fight each other, between those who have been grateful and kind to their animals and those who have been cruel to their animals, an eternal war where they dead cannot kill each other, but merely temporarily defeat the other.

Additionally, noteworthy ancestors, evil or good, are given a place in the pantheon as a deity though the head of the pantheon remains to be Akrosh, with the war god Ghom being relegated to another side of Akrosh as the more feral and savage nature of beasts. The orcs of Bukradul believe that Akrosh was not born a deity, but rather ascended to godhood as one of the ancestors of their people as being the greatest beast tamer of all time. In addition to Akrosh, there are Mût the God of Starvation, Orzg the God of Flight, and Mork the God of Cunning.

Geographical Location:


History:

The orcs of Bukradul, were first a number of tribes scattered across the lands who cling to the old ways of worshipping Akrosh until a suggestions that the god had first started as a mortal just as everyone else had. It was a matter of religious differences that caused massive instability to dawn upon these orcs, by one mere thought of a god’s origins being mortal based rather than fully divine. Civil wars followed in its wake, a war on all fronts were fought in many places, widespread death and chaos for the likes of Ghom to revel in. It was a savage time that devolved from arguments of religion to fighting for the sake of the ancestors, causing the orc population in the region to plummet over the matter of a few generations.

Some decided to try and make peace, only to be ousted and forced into exile, bolstering other clans before being exiled or killed for trying to find a peace. Eventually, these exiles gathered into their own clan, uniting to live a life of peace from the decades of war. Though, they knew that the lands in which they lived was not meant for them, and for a time, they argued and debated where to go, whether or not they even should leave as their time in the new land they gathered in provided a good enough home for these exiles. For a time, the orcs of Bukradul merely sat in that spot, deliberating and living as any other tribe or clan would, peacefully communing with nature and the beasts that roam it.

However, often times fate forces on to choose as a mighty army rode to their home and slaughtered as many of the peaceful orcs as they could, scattering the remains and forcing them to flee or die.

In that moment, Guthug the Damned, exiled and sentenced to eternal damnation by the shamans of his home clan, arose to fight the raiders. His fight rallied the great beasts they coexisted with, a stampede of portions thought beyond the capabilities of a mortal being had routed the army in its entirety allowing the tribe to slip away. There they ran, and sailed, to find a new land where they might finally be able to live in peace, but now knowing to be ever vigilant so that they may be able to fend off those who would seek their destruction.

The shamans demanded it, and the ancestral gods would watch over them.

Nation/Clan/Kingdom/Tribe Name: Lyinlan Hold
Represented Color: Maroon
Race: Trolls
Breed: Unchosen
Capital: Thelie
Ruler: Sutaba the Darkhall

Type of Government: An Oligarchy holding what it can among the anarchy.

Religion: Many gods are worship among the population, most of them are made up on the spot.

Geographical Location:


History:

The unfortunate story of Lyinlan starts not long ago. There was once a troll who was a bard, Wyld as he was called, was a really great singer, for a troll. He would tell the folks of many tribes amazing stories of new lands and riches, many believing him against the advice of their clan elders. All of these trolls from different tribes would forsake their old lives and follow Wyld's tale of riches in faraway lands where they would live in houses adorned with gold, have feasts every day and dance all night. Instead, they found themselves landing in gravel shores, finding abandoned mines with no riches in sight. They had been fooled, and there was no turning back. And as such, the chaotic situation of the Lying Lands and the foundation of The Lie started.

Many would perish, others simply carved themselves a place in the lands or took advantage of sea's bounty, and the mountain, while bare of riches, was not bare of resources. Trolls of all kind, all forsaken and stranded, were now stuck living together, creating a society that lived in true anarchy until ambition was fostered in its midst, ambition to not simply give up, and see themselves as a band of fools who were banned from their own lands for the sake of lies and the descendants of said fools, but to make something out of them.

The head of all of this is a troll called Sutaba the Darkhall, smarter than average, and ruthless, he and like-minded trolls have the ambition of taming the lands to their advantage, but first, they need to tame their own kin.