Orc (Brute, Warchief, Warrior)

Ah, yes, the good old Orc. Popularized by Tolkien who—by his own admission—took the name from Beowulf. This particular monster has become a staple of the fantasy genre, especially when it comes to gaming. Despite the departure from Tolkien's idea (a race of corrupted elves), the core of this species remains the same—violent, evil, and disorganized. From a race of barbaric brutes in a certain game that involves underground ruins and big flying lizards, to even more barbaric brutes that are also fungi in a certain game that has "war" and the number "40,000" in its name.

So, as long as it is big, mean, and green, it might be considered an orc. And this is reflected in orcs' statblocks in the bestiary—they don't have a whole lot going for them compared to other monsters that could be considered the standard low-level fare. Goblins have their Scuttle to move around the battlefield, Gnolls use Pack Attack to accumulate ludicrous amounts of damage, Kobolds have Hurried Retreat plus Sneak Attack to best emulate their hit and run tactics. Orcs, unfortunately, get the short end of the stick here and have to resort to brute strength, which comparatively doesn't make for an interesting enemy. And that may very well be why I, personally, see them scarcely used in games.

Now, since we know the orc's shortcomings, let us think of ways to spice the bugger up without taking away its core identity. They operate in warbands, so who's to say they shouldn't be using guerilla warfare as well? They believe in the rule of the strongest. Their chieftains are bound to be boasting some impressive items taken from the rivals they have defeated over the years. Small changes, but I think you see where I am going with this.

So next time you scoff at the good old Orc and his quite bland abilities, try to think of ways to use its straightforwardness to your advantage.

Hook 1 (Max) - THE GREEN WAR

The GREEN KNIGHTS believe in one thing and one thing only, and that thing is the GREEN WAR. They all dedicate themselves to the WAR, for the GREEN KNIGHTS know only WAR. For them, might makes right and the GREAT GREEN KNIGHT is decided by combat that takes place annually. Or monthly, if they feel like it. Sometimes weekly.

They roam the lands in search of good fights. If they can't find any, they fight themselves, for the flames of GREEN WAR must never be quenched. The current GREAT GREEN KNIGHT, Kharath Skulltaker is an undisputed champion, having held the title for three years straight. And he claims to know the purpose of the GREEN WAR. The GREEN KNIGHTS have been traveling far and wide, finding tribes of their brethren and beating the ever-living shit out of them accepting them into their order. Now, a mighty army under the thrall of Skulltaker marches forth to lay siege to the so-called civilized world, for the GREEN WAR has finally commenced in earnest.

Hook 2 (Nemanja) - Copius Competition

The orcs of Velurian's Vale are often misinterpreted as violent, brutal, and competitive to a fault in the written sources of the so-called Civilized South.

While the brutality and violence are often overstated, the competitiveness is both understated and heavily misunderstood. Indeed, the one elven scholar that spent four centuries living with the orcs finally managed to describe their social order as "Radically anarchistic dynamically hierarchical meritocracy" though no sane (or otherwise) orc has ever uttered those words.

What does this mean in practice? It means that orcs will follow the best warrior in matters of war, the best diplomat in matters of diplomacy, the best shaman in matters of spirit...

And how do these best among the best get chosen? Easily, by continuously competing with their peers. An orc might hear that another orc is claiming to be a better cook than him, and he will go up to him, slam a bowl and some ingredients in his face, and challenge him to a cook-off. Refusing a challenge is the absolute biggest taboo in orc society, and often ends up with the refusing party being completely shunned.

Now, two big factors paint the southerners' picture of the orcs.

The first one is that almost no communication across the Gallawallahara desert dividing the two civilizations exists in peacetime. Any and all orcs met by the dwarven and human legions are warriors, children of war who have known nothing but the struggle for martial dominance for the entireties of their short lives.

The second, somewhat tragic factor, is that those few orcs skilled and dominant enough to unite the tribes under their banner even for a short while, are also always the only ones with the breadth of knowledge to realize that the Orcs' ancestral home has a scarcity of resources, and cannot support the dying civilization. Hence, they launch invasions against the fertile, rich lands to the south becoming the harbingers of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Hook 3 (Reece) - The Last Chieftan

Segu-r'not was very tired. Tired and old. Being the last orc in the world was rather exhausting. Having already set the firewood for the evening, he knelt down in front of the heart and crossed his arms in the traditional Nak.

"Forgotten father. So too I am lost. In your light, I may rest warm, but never safe." He stoked the coals and kindled the flames into a roaring cookfire. While seventy years were for others of his kin, he felt much older than he should—running from the empire's kill squads was beginning to wear on him after forty years of running. His voice felt raw from lack of use, save for his occasional reverence

The clan, once mightier than any other of The Deepland, was in ashes. His father, the last chief, had been executed near two decades previous. The small hovel he had discovered in the deepest part of the mountains had been a welcome respite. By the time Segu-r'not stumbled upon it, it looked as though it had already been abandoned for several years. The unbroken quiet of the last five years was pleasant in a morbid sort of way. The silence felt the final cruelty due to the last of the Ornu'ch.

That is what made the knock on the door so shocking. Someone. After so long alone. Segu-r'not took up his axe and ran to the door, tackling it open to knock the intruder off balance. Upon raising his axe, he finally caught sight of the one he thought would kill him—a child. An elven child who couldn't be more than fifteen harvests old.

"H- Help me." The shivering boy stammered, reaching his shaking hands towards Segu-r'not.

Segu-r'not had a choice to make.