Aveli

Aveli is an Elf scholar responsible for decoding much of the Orc's culture through myth, in his writings.

The accuracy of these stories to the actual lore doesn't really matter; because, for the most part, those living in the "modern" world aren't educated or even aware of the beginnings of the world. Aveli is an over-ambitious, (relatively) young historian who takes on the task of decoding Orc culture and history in hopes of fame in the later years of his life, or after his death, for his work. He is relatively elitist, racist, and arrogant; but still believes in the value of history. His character progresses over-time as he becomes more accustomed their culture.

Aveli, The Travels of Aveli, Bk. 1; 1322 I. Preface In the year of 1322, I upped from my home to study the curious orcs of Krugmar for several months. I have what many would consider to be a mastery of orc culture - over seven years of study of this strange civilization. I set out to write a series of books describing their culture and history. These are the researches of Aveli of Laurelin, which I publish in the hope of thereby preserving from decay the remembrances of what the they have done; too often have the obscure been allowed to vanish from this world without a trace. One should understand the difficulties I have gone through in order to translate this myth, in hopes that future generations may look upon the orcs as a fascinating species of study; after they have long been extincted by their own self-destructive behaviours. In fine, I have written my work, not as an essay which is to win the applause of the moment, but as a possession for all time.

II. The Legend of Kragor In my travels to Krugmar, I saw two orcs fight, with gleaming iron swords, to the death over a petty dispute. I stopped to speak to a shaman-in-training, who explained to me that one orc had not shown him the respect he deserved and had thus challenged him to a duel to the death. The small quarrel had left the accused in four different parts; his face peeled off and worn as a bloody mask as the winner paraded the arena, mocking his dead opponent. The shaman-in-training went on to recount the legend of Nub'osh. He tells of the orc, who lived many generations past; but his name had been immortalized. Nub'osh was the chieftain of a very prosperous orc tribe. He was loved by the members of his tribe, and envied by those of other tribes. Legends of his deeds had spread among the tribes of Krugmar; he was depicted a god walking amongst mere mortals. He considered himself to be both the wealthiest and most fortunate of orcs, favoured by the gods; that his legend would live forever. He would, in fact, find that his legend lived forever; perhaps not how he had expected, however. One day, the elder shaman of a poor tribe visited Nub'osh - this was not uncommon - to see the tribe of the god-like chieftain. Nub'osh showed the shaman his tribe, his beautiful farms and diverse livestock, and his collection of gold artifacts. Nub'osh interrupted the tour to ask the shaman who he believed to be the most fortunate orc. Expecting his name, he was astonished at how quickly the shaman responded, "Kragor".

"Why do you say that?", Nub'osh asked, trying to hide his anger, in respect. Or rather, that's what the orc would have said, had he not had a ghastly tongue which perverted the words which came from his mouth into misconstrued monstrosities; but I digress. "Kragor was a peasant who worked in the mill, over his life, for fifty thousand days; took up arms to defend our tribe; and died doing so.", the shaman replied. "A peasant, you say?", Nub'osh could no longer hold his anger,"Then, tell me, shaman; how fortunate do you take me to be, if not as fortunate as a peasant?" "While the wealthy orc is better able to content his desires, and to bear up against a sudden buffet of calamity, I cannot say. Call him however, until he die, not fortunate but happy."

With this, the shaman was expelled from the village, and given a single loaf of bread and cut of meat to make his trip back. And as the tribes that were at present powerful, were weak in the olden time, and as the formerly great tribes fell to his own, becoming insignificant; such a fate befell his own tribe. Nub'osh, however, did not take up arms like his brethren, convinced his army was unbeatable. And while no army is, or ever was, invincible, he had foolishly believed otherwise. Nub'osh was dragged by his hair from his tent to the town centre, where dozens of orcs took their turn spitting and urinating on him. He was burned alive, as he cried the shaman's name,to be eaten. His brother, Bub'osh, however, had fought most valiantly; slaying three invaders before being subdued; and was rewarded as such. His body honoured by the invaders, his soul blessed by Krug, and his name immortalized through legend.

(Based off of Solon and Croesus)

III. Hirka Legend tells of a female orc who was cursed with abnormally long hair. The Elder recounting the tale says that the hair spanned the distance of three long-swords; but I discard this as humbug, seeing as how an orc with any amount of hair is considered to them as obscenely long hair. In either case, the orc, Hirka, was considered to be "normal" at one point in her life. She had won the affection of a particular orc who later became her life-mate. Of course, from what I understood of what the Elder had explained to me, a certain shaman was jealous that Hirka had selected this orc over himself.

He cursed Hirka, to be disgustingly ugly, vile smelling, and rancid beyond imagination. I must, however, interject with the notion that what the Elder described to me as being "ugly" and "vile" to be the exact opposite of what they are. It is things like this that fascinate me about this particular species of creatures; or mammal, more specifically. In any case, Hirka morphed from a beautiful orc into some sort of vile creature; apparently so ugly that it is not even within one's capacity to think it. Among other effects, she was cursed with long, thick, hair which would grow back onto her head after cutting it like a weed; "like da 'umies", according to the Elder.

Hirka was exiled from her tribe, with her new-born baby, to live alone in the desert for the unsightly creatures of the night to pretty upon. But Hirka was resilient. The first night, she used her hair to fashion a tarp, in order to make a tent to sleep. The second night, she used her hair fashion a cradle, for her baby to rest. The third, she used her hair to fashion a blanket, to keep the baby warm.The fourth night, she used her hair to fashion a rope for the cradle, and slung it over a high branch with the baby; as she was subdued by the relentless creatures of the night.

Hirka was later found, and her baby, still alive. The baby later grew up to become a great warrior and the chieftain of the tribe; and Hirka was worshiped as a goddess for her long hair which kept the great chieftain alive.

IV. Virenti Cuttitus I've read through many dozens of orc epics; most poorly written and ridiculous - not worth my recognition. However, after having read the Chronicles Of The Ancient History, one particular legend stood out to me as conflicting with that of The Wandering Wizard. It has long been accepted that the Wandering Wizard be the most valuable source of ancient history to Aegis; although, were he to be wrong, I may very well find myself in his place…

The real conflict finds itself in the middle of a different legend, one of war; which I will not discuss, but rather the conflict in histories instead. The legend states that rather than Krug having been turned mutant by Iblees, the opposite was true. It tells of an age when all mortals who walked the land bore a certain colour skin which corresponded to their valour. The children of Krug, most pure of them all, took on the colour of green, as did the great trees and grass. Of them all, green was the most pure, black the most corrupted; the colour of darkness and rot. Among others, pink was also a colour of treachery; as the parasites which ate away at beings and mushrooms which ate away at trees and disrupted the balance of nature.

As the children of Krug continued as the supreme race of valour, the other races slowly become more and more envious of the skin of Krug's children. Ironically, their jealously slowly turned their skin pink as the other races plotted against Krug; and even against each-other in order to get the upper hand. Eventually, the humans, elves, and dwarves had all lost their valour and purity through envy. Such is the argument presented in the legend, and whether the former or the latter be true, I will not discuss.

V. Grogak There lived a goblin, Grogak, out in the desert because he appreciated the solitude. One day, however, he saw a dwarf digging through the sand in search of some treasure. Grogak was displeased because he was disrespecting the desert. The young goblin approached the dwarf and attempted to reason with him that there were no diamonds to be found under the sand; but to no avail. Grogak then puffed out his chest and demanded that he leave; the puny dwarf complied. Some years later, an elf came along, who sought to turn the desert into a forest. The goblin demanded that the elf leave, but he had too much pride in his work. Grogak then reasoned with him, and convinced him that the desert must exist to bring balance to the world. Some years later, a band of humans arrived in the desert, and set up camp. They began to dig aimlessly, and as with all human actions, it is unclear if even they knew what they were doing. Whatever the reason, the humans dug with up the sand with zest and purpose. Grogak was outraged, but he knew that the humans were both too proud to stand down, and too irrational to be reasoned with. The old goblin approached the humans and said,

"Oh how I love the way you till the sand and bring upon new zest to the stale desert. I will pay you 50 minas if you return to do the same tomorrow."

The humans gladly accepted the offer, as they would have returned regardless. The next day, they worked with more vigour and enthusiasm than the day before. Grogak paid them, and offered them the same for the next day; only this time they would only receive 25. This continued for a few days; Grogak asked them again to return for only 5 minas. The humans disagreed, saying it would be foolish to accept this amount of work for so little pay. They packed up their camp and left.

Aveli, Contemporaneous Histories, Bk. 2; 1326. I. Warook ca. 1326. Warook was a born as what is considered to be a weakling orc; weighing only slightly more than half the weight of a healthy orcling. This was reflected throughout his childhood, when he was outperformed physically by his peers. Disgraced, his father, Eh'rog expelled him into the desert for ten years; only upon returning home from the treacherous desert would he be re-accepted into society.

Warook was sent off to the desert with two melons, and a pack of tools. Contrary to their beliefs, Warook thrived in the desert; motivated by survival, and burning desire to prove his worth. Over the course of the years, his body and mind had become stronger than ever. No doubt, he had encountered brigands and bandits; none of which were a match for our hero. After one hundred moons, he returned to Krugmar, with a sense of worth and hard-baked skin. Much to his surprise, not a single orc was there waiting for his return. Warook spoke to some orcs; none of which recognized him, nor his name.

He wandered Sanhar for days; no one recognized him. Frustrated, he turned to leave Sanhar, when a merchant approached him. Warook immediately recognized this merchant as his father; who also recognized Warook. Warook boasted about his accomplishments and the countless humans he had slain in the desert. Eh'rog chuckled, addressing his only child as "softskin", and walked off. Warook, in his rage, shouted a challenge for this disrespect. Eh'rog turned around slowly, in shock.

The two orcs made their way to a bloodied arena, each given an especially sharp gilded ceremonial sword, typical of death matches. Warook stared down at his former father with a menacing look; but menacing looks don't kill, blades do. Warook was outperformed and struck down within only a few moments. He lay on the ground, bloodied but still alive. Eh'rog lifted his head, and smiled, staring into his only son. He ran the edge of his blade along his skin, from the chin, skinning his face off; but his screams were drowned out by the laughter of the crowd. Eh'rog donned the mask in parody while he, and various members of the crowd, urinated on the foolish orc.

II. Wargoth ca. 1320. Shortly after an attempted Undead assault which heavily damaged the city of Sanhar, the Wargoth Mogroka'Gorkil gave the funeral oration to those who had fallen in defence of the state. Though the attack is repelled, the outer city has been pillaged, and moral is low. The bodies of the dead are placed in large pits, separated by clan; and friends bring to their relatives such offerings as they please. Among these is one empty, signifying the bodies of those whose bodies could not be recovered. Only orcs participated in the procession, with the exception of one particular female human; which I suspected to be some sort of slave. The following conclusions have cost me some labour from the want of coincidence between accounts of the same occurrences by different eye-witnesses, arising sometimes from imperfect memory, sometimes from undue partiality for one side or the other.

"Many external forces have pushed that this speech should be delivered at the burial of those who fall in battle. For myself, I should have thought that the worth which had displayed itself in deeds would be sufficiently rewarded by honours also shown by deeds. And I could have wished that the reputations of many brave men were not to be imperilled in the mouth of a single individual. For it is hard to speak properly upon a subject where it is even difficult to convince your hearers that you are speaking the truth. For orcs can endure to hear others praised only so long as they can severally persuade themselves of their own ability to equal the actions recounted: when this point is passed, envy comes in and with it incredulity. However, since our ancestors have stamped this custom with their approval, it becomes my duty to obey the law and to try to satisfy your several wishes and opinions as best I may.

Our society does not copy the laws of neighbouring states; we are rather a pattern to others than imitators ourselves. Its administration favours the many instead of the few; this is why we are a nation. If we look to the laws, they afford equal justice to all in their private differences; if no social standing, advancement in public life falls to reputation for capacity, class considerations not being allowed to interfere with merit; nor again does poverty bar the way. The freedom which we enjoy in our government extends also to our ordinary life. There, far from exercising a jealous surveillance over each other, we do not feel called upon to be angry with our neighbour. But all this ease in our private relations does not make us lawless as citizens. Against this fear is our chief safeguard, teaching us to obey the superiors and the laws; they belong to that code which, although unwritten, cannot be broken without acknowledged disgrace.

The humans and the dwarves serve a king; one who does not serve them. The throne is carried down from father to son as if one's merit is determined by the colour of one's blood. But, I can assure you, from experience, that all humans and all dwarves bleed red. The crowd cheers. The elves, even when given fair leadership, will take any available chance to distance themselves from one another, not as if to perform well in their own rite; but rather to ensure the demise of their own kin. I stand before you here, today, as living proof that the Orcs of Krugmar are in fact, the greatest of them all. I stand before you here, today, as living proof that we are one in the same.

We are the quickest to extend a hand to brothers and a blade to our foes. In short, I say that as a nation, we are the school to all of Aegis; while I doubt if the world can produce a man who, where he has only himself to depend upon, is equal to so many emergencies, and graced by so happy a versatility, as the Orc of Krugmar.

And that this is no mere boast thrown out for the occasion, but plain matter of fact; we have been through more hardships than any other, and we have overcome each one with our heads high and our foe's head's higher!" The crowd cheers wildly.

((Note that this piece is not original; it is modified from Thucydides' Histories - copyright exp. Written by Alex_Pan))