I arrive upon the icy tundra plains of the Shatul Range to find a stronghold in a state of dismay and disarray. The clan’s chief lies stricken upon his deathbed, fatally wounded defending his people from a vicious giant. Usually the clan’s warriors would keep the giants and other wild beasts at bay, but having suffered great loses of late to Winterborn raids, the chief was forced to take up the mantle himself to protect his hunters and farmers, only to find himself betrayed by old age.

The King of Orsimium had suspected disloyalty behind the reason why the Shatul clan had not sent the food that had been promised to help feed his flowering city. Kurog however sees conspiracy behind every failure and contradiction, when perhaps what he truly should be worried about are those who tell him just what he wants to hear.

The chiefs eventual death leaves two candidates vying for succession, one considered strong of body but weak of will, whilst the other, hiding behind a mask, turns out to be Chief’s daughter Ushruka, returning from exile.

Traditionalists will tell you that Orcs will never follow a female, even though throughout the history of men and mer Queens have proven themselves the equal of Kings; though in truth to be considered just equal they have often had to be better. Sure, there will be some of a stubborn age who may bulk at the idea of a female clan chief, but if they want meat upon the tables through the coming winter then they had best quickly get used to the idea.

And as for those Chief’s joining the upcoming King’s moot who would vocally oppose Ushruka’s reign, I would strongly advise them to do it from a distance.

S.K

Deep within the foothills of the Wrothgarian mountains lies a hidden Reachman lair known to the locals as the Coldperch Caverns. The remote cave system serves the Winterborn as a perfect base from which to launch raids upon the Northern roads out of Orsinium, and the hunting ranges of the Shatul tribe. But the caves are also home to another savage that even the Winterborn Reachmen fear. At its heart stands an alter belonging to a fearsome hagraven named Kraala Birdsong who is believed to have the power to transform both men and mer into birds to serve her. Indeed, her victims are not only the unlucky Orsimer who wander too close to the foothills, but also the Reachmen themselves.

It was a wood elf egg merchant back in Morkul who first tasked me to venture into these caves. He claimed that whilst he usually only deals in goose, kwama, loon, and spider eggs, the bird eggs found in Coldperch Caverns, whilst unnatural, are special and highly sought after.

I head into the caverns with the sole purpose of killing the hagraven and hopefully discovering a way to turn the birds back into people. But what of the eggs I find, even the wood elf admitted that they are an abomination? Some people believe that those who profit from a rotten deed are as culpable as the evil doer themselves. Yet the egg collector would argue that the Hagraven will do what it does whether he profits from it or not. Instead of fulfilling the merchants order, I could just leave the unnatural eggs with the Winterborn, or perhaps I could smash them all.

When every answer seems wrong, and there seems no lessor evil, I usually find it most prudent to go with the one that pays the most.

S.K

Deep in the ancient Orc ruins Ashaka discovers the entombed history of her clan’s most glorious traditions. Under today’s sun it paints her clan as brutal and savage, but in truth it was a necessary evil of the times in which they lived. The Orsimer muses whether tis better to rebury the past for good.

As Imperial recruits we were taught of the past horrors and atrocities that were inflicted during battle and war by both sides, often man upon fellow man. There is no way of going back and retrospectively removing these bloody deeds from our history, and nor should we. We should never cower behind modern sensibilities and entomb what shames us, tearing down old statues of sullied heroes, hiding and cancelling our past crimes and follies. We must acknowledge them for what they were, and move on.

Our ancestors were just ordinary people living in extraordinary circumstances, as are we; and to survive those circumstances they did what they had to do… as shall we.

S.K

Pride, so oft the spark that sets on fire the hearts of men, yet man’s pride is but a candle when compared to the volcanic hearts of the Orsimer. For the Orc’s wear their pride like the Breton knight wears a suit of armour, in battle it keeps them safe, but in other times it only weighs them down.

When the King of New Orsinium insisted on taking a Morkul daughter for his forge-wife, he passed over the chief’s strong-minded eldest in favour for her more accommodating younger sister. The king’s rejection wounded Ashaka’s pride and she headed off alone in search of Morkuldin, the ancient home of her clan, to recover an ancient relic and prove the King a fool for passing over her.

Whilst pride can indeed drive you to achieve great things it can also lead to greater mistakes. The caves of Morkul Descent, where the ruins of the legendary Morkuldin are rumoured to lay, has long since become home to a tribe of ogres, durzogs and giant spiders. But as I reach the bottom of the caverns I discover that perhaps the Orsinium King’s own pride may well have prevented him from choosing a more worthy forge-wife. For Ashaka had indeed discovered the hidden entrance to Morkuldin.

S.K

The Morkul Stronghold is home to one of the oldest and most respected clans in all of Wrothgar. Chief Abzug leads a proudly self sufficient stronghold, with their own market, docks, stables, forges and crafting workshops. They even boast chapters of the The Fighters and Mages Guilds within their walls.

The clan though is most famed for their blacksmiths who are said to produce the finest arms and armour of any of the Orsimer tribes. They say that every child of Morkul is born with a heart shaped like an anvil. Evan King Kurog can’t deny that it is upon the flaming forges of Morkal that the fortunes of New Orsinium are wrought.

Night and day the measured beats of heavy sledge, and the hoarse howling of their bellows can be heard echoing across the Wrothgarian Mountains, whilst captains traversing the High Rock Sea at night oft report that they navigate not by the stars, but by the burning sparks from the Morkul forges that set light to the night sky like warring torchbugs.

S.K