a gnome sigil

Orcs

Bred for war.

Overview

The Gnomes of Skazka are a people wrapped in mystery, their origins obscured in the mists of history. Unlike Elves, whose ancestry stretches clearly back to ancient lineages, or Dwarves, who can trace their roots to divine design, Gnomes seem to have simply appeared — a quiet people without fanfare, mythic event, or cosmic purpose. This lack of a definitive origin has become part of their identity, shaping them into a race defined less by destiny and more by ingenuity, adaptability, and a relentless drive to improve the world around them. Where others rely on tradition, brute strength, or divine blessing, Gnomes excel through innovation, subtle progress, and the quiet revolution of everyday invention.

At the heart of every Gnome lies an insatiable curiosity and an unshakable desire to solve problems. To them, the world is not something to be endured, but a puzzle waiting for solutions. Their smiths design weapons and tools that adapt to conditions, their alchemists brew concoctions that make life safer and easier, and their engineers devise mechanisms that save lives in mines or make simple tasks more efficient. Gnomes are not driven by conquest, wealth, or glory—though these may come as side effects—but by the joy of discovery and the satisfaction of creating something that improves the lives of others. They embody the belief that progress need not come from sacrifice, but from dedication, creativity, and the clever application of knowledge.

Gnomes fit seamlessly into the wider fabric of Skazkan society, though always in their own distinctive way. Their underground communities are masterworks of space management and clever engineering, thriving around natural resources and built with astonishing efficiency. Surface settlements, meanwhile, tend to appear in neglected corners of larger towns—areas too cramped or inconvenient for others, which Gnomes transform into vibrant districts filled with workshops, markets, and ingenious innovations. Their culture, unlike many others, values merit above bloodline, with guilds and workshops granting status based on skill and contribution rather than birthright. This meritocracy produces brilliant merchants, teachers, and craftsmen who spread their creations far and wide. Though peaceful by inclination, Gnomes are not defenseless; when threatened, their ingenuity turns to strategy, traps, and tactical warfare. In both war and peace, they prove that progress and survival alike rest on the same foundation—intelligence, creativity, and adaptability.

Physiology & Traits

Orcs are built for hard country and harder fights. Heavy bones carry rangy muscle; shoulders yoke wide, hands like tools. Tusks jut from both sexes—longer and curving in many males, shorter and razor-worn in many females—and jaws hinge with bull-strong bite. Skin runs green to ash-brown and takes scars like script. In the dark they are at home: within sixty feet they read dim light like day and true night as a gray wash—edges crisp even when color drains—so watchfires favor their enemies more than them.

When the blood drums, an orc can ignite a sudden burst—call it the battlefield surge, the old Aggressive lunge or Adrenaline Rush that sends them hammering forward before thought. Their frames bear weight like draft beasts—hauling gates, dragging comrades, counting as the next size up when lifting or shoving in many 5e tellings (Powerful Build by another name). None of this is sorcery. It’s marrow and habit: dark-sure eyes, a body that sprints through pain, and leverage enough to move the world a few inches when it matters.

Culture & Society

Orc society centers on the clan—hearth-circles of bonded partners, litter-mates, adoptees, and sworn kin led by a war-mother or elder pair. Status is earned by provision and proof: who brings meat, mends gear, guards the march, and keeps the fire lit. Law is public and proportional—oaths are witnessed, debts repaid by work or blood-price, and guest-right holds once fire is shared. Craft is rugged and modular—reworked steel, layered leather, bent-lam bows, yurts and wagon rigs—because orcs expect to move and fight soon after.

Culture prizes simple virtues: feed the young, honor the fallen, waste nothing, mistake neither cruelty for strength nor talk for deed. Leaders blend muscle with measure; scouts and quartermasters rise on endurance and calm, shock captains on nerve and surge. Markets bloom after campaigns to turn loot into tools at the weigh-stone. Faith is practical—ancestors at the cookfire, wind named at crossings, war-spirits thanked with trophies. In peace they trade labor and salvage; in war they move like weather—and always count who carried what home.

Faith & Myth

Orc faith is portable and workmanlike—ancestor tokens at the cookfire, wind-names at crossings, war-spirits thanked with trophies—but its spine is Chernabog, who forged the orcs for war and brought them to Skazka. That origin is not a shame but a charter: be the blade that chooses its cut. Shamans teach that every raid, oath, and mercy echoes the First March when the Black God set them down with purpose. Offerings are plain—black fat on coals, a broken spear, a vow spoken before witnesses—because Chernabog cares for paid costs, not pretty words.

Myths are short and cutting: the Chain Turned Back, the Night of Two Moons, the Lesson of the Quiet Shield. Each hammers home his demands—no boast you won’t pay for, no kill without need, no oath carried lightly. Orcs don’t beg him for miracles; they bargain: “balance this debt and we’ll carry the weight.” In return they claim his charge—fight clean, end feuds, protect the young, and leave the field with accounts settled—still the people he made for war, but war steered by duty rather than cruelty.