Birth of the Nuel-Orokh
In the beginning, there were the orcs. As the Dynasties shaped the other races of the Material Plane together, the Titan Gruumsh worked alone on his own race of mortals. He watched from the shadows and feverishly copied down the best parts of all nature-- the hardiness of the Dwarf, the sleek ferocity of the yuan-ti, the cunning of the crocodile, the cleverness of the Gnome, the spirit of the wolf. Beautiful, he thought. A race to rival any other. The Orokh.
But the gods shunned Gruumsh and his creation. "Gone are the days of the Titans," they said. "Your people have no place among the mortals we have made."
They captured Gruumsh as he wept over his people, tortured him, ripped out his eye, and cast him out to Limbo with the rest of the Titans forlorn. He swore, then, he would drive his people to conquer and destroy the other races. Nothing mattered to Gruumsh, now, but power and merciless spite.
None but Prometheus, lonely Prometheus, saw the beauty in his brother's creation. He remained alone in the mountains of the Gods, the last Titan to escape the Dynasties' wrath. Quietly, quietly he waited and watched, until he could take no more of the orcs' cold, lonely isolation. In the night he appeared to a young outcast, Ilga, and her faithful wolf companion Balán. And he gave them the first kindness ever shown to the orokh: the gift of fire.
No mortal in this young world had yet learned fire's secrets. Fire came from storms and fiends. Fire meant destruction, chaos, ruin and doom. But brave Ilga, keen-eyed Ilga, wolf-hearted Ilga, did not flinch. She did not beg or grovel. She did not rage or demand. She stated, simply and plainly: "Benefactor, teach me the nature of this gift. My people need warmth. My people need light."
And so Prometheus, gentle Prometheus, quick-thinking Prometheus, taught Ilga the secrets of fire: how to make it, how to keep it, how to stop its frightening spread. She listened well, and kept her notes knotted in the fur of faithful Balán. She brought the secrets to her chieftan Hakan, who studied them closely. After seven days and seven nights of pondering Ilga's words, Hakan proclaimed to the people:
"The gods have smiled on us, after so long in darkness. Brave Ilga, keen-eyed Ilga, wolf-hearted Ilga, has brought us the love and the light of Prometheus. No longer are we to rage against the peoples the gods hold in favor. From now on, we bring them light. We bring them freedom and power and truth. The peoples of the world are our brothers."
And so this tribe, these Nuel-Orokh, born anew in Prometheus' light, ventured forth to the people of Belcantas, bringing fire and light to all corners of the earth. Some places welcomed them with open arms. Others shunned them, until they realized the beauty of the light they brought. Still others carried the warmth and the light forward into lands the nuel-orokhim could not yet reach.
At every step, the old orokhim tribes fought them. We are destruction, they cried. We are the children of Gruumsh the Forgotten, Gruumsh the Reviled. We are to bring the desolation he felt upon all we survey. But their weapons could not stop the nuel-orokh. They knew the will of the gods was to make them bearers of the light. They fought back, tribe against tribe, brother against brother, to keep the rest of the world safe.
And so they still fight today, defenders of all they survey. May we all seek to emulate their selflessness! May we all walk eternally in brave Ilga's light!
Comments