ORKREN

Orkren: The Will That Bonks Back
A Record of the Marauders of Zakaroth
“We were here before names.
We will be here after crowns.”
I. Before Names
Zakaroth did not begin with banners.
It began with teeth.
The Orkren walked its plains and jungles long before empires declared borders. They did not write laws. They carved survival into bone and bark.
When the Zoglings first appeared, the Orkren called them:
Small.
Strange.
Overthinking dorks.
The Zoglings called the Orkren:
Loud.
Thick-skulled.
Unrefined brutes.
For a time, they fought.
Then the Great Splitback Colossus rose from the marsh and devoured twelve of each.
They stopped fighting.
They began hunting.
II. The Pact of the Big Beast
Zakaroth does not reward small grudges.
It rewards large victories.
The Orkren and Zoglings forged an unspoken law:
No matter the size.
No matter the horror.
If it breathes, we break it.
Thus began the Beast-Pact.
They learned to tame the Gravtusk Boars—horse-sized iron-skinned war boars with tusks curved like sickles and tempers like thunder. The Gravtusks carried them across jungle and canyon, smashing through brush, crushing bone beneath hoof.
Fast travel.
Faster bonk.
Gravtusks became symbol and staple. A warrior without one was not yet ready.
III. Totems and Tuskball
Between hunts, they did not sit idle.
They painted cave walls with scenes of victory.
They built towering bone totems to warn outsiders.
They carved skull-lanterns to glow in the night.
And they played Skullrush—a brutal game where warriors hurled stone-spheres at one another across marked sand fields. Dodge, strike, or eat rock. Victory was measured in bruises.
It was not cruelty.
It was sharpening.
IV. The Dragon That Did Not Flinch
One day, they marched deep south.
Past conquered beasts.
Past the lands where even Gravtusks hesitated.
They found him.
A mountain that breathed.
His name was Drolk.
They approached as they did every beast—at speed, with roar and tusk and raised stick.
Drolk did not roar.
He inhaled.
Twenty Orkren and Zoglings became vapor in less than a tick.
No duel.
No contest.
No glory.
The survivors fled.
For the first time, the Orkren tasted defeat that was not earned.
They swore an oath:
Grow stronger.
Return.
Bonk the dragon.
V. The Name We Didn’t Ask For
They conquered the middle of Zakaroth. They needed no banner.
They simply were.
Then came the Drakeward Sovereignty.
Armored. Ordered. Flashy.
They asked:
“Why do you have no name?”
A Zogling, annoyed, muttered:
“Marauders.”
The Drakeward smirked.
The name stuck.
The Marauders did not mind.
Until they learned Drolk stood beside Drakeward.
Rage followed.
The Orkren chieftain declared:
“I will claim Drolk.”
Drolk disagreed.
Steel and flame crushed the Marauders beneath Drakeward armor and discipline. Gravtusks fell. Totems burned.
Some bent the knee.
Others spat at it.
VI. The Pit and the Exile
Those who resisted were fed to The Pit.
Those who complied were fed to mines.
Those who would not accept either… fled.
North was closed to them. The Greenwards remembered too well the earlier territorial skirmishes.
So they did what few dared.
They swam.
Across ocean.
Through storm.
Toward Scorrachai.
There they found the Scaverin and the Lunar Corsairs.
And piracy suited them.
Not for greed.
For preparation.
Loot meant gear.
Gear meant power.
Power meant return.
VII. Vigdung of the Rock
Back in Zakaroth, there was an Orkren born under Drakeward rule.
His name?
Vigdung.
He worked mines.
He lifted stone.
He joined Drakeward ranks at six scores of age.
He was stationed at Yambagorn—the northern gate between South and North Rojour.
He stood guard.
For a score.
He then picked up a neat rock.
He dropped it.
Picked it up.
Dropped it again.
For twenty scores.
Until five strangers arrived.
Durad.
Flubber.
Libelia.
KC.
Rohk.
When Durad suggested throwing the rock downward instead of placing it gently…
The crater reshaped the street.
Vigdung did not move.
The strangers saw something Drakeward never did.
Potential.
He left his post.
He joined them.
He unknowingly joined agents aligned with the Mantle.
They would become known as:
The Mantle's Liberators.
Vigdung became legend.
VIII. The Dream That Refuses to Die
Under Drakeward, many forgot.
Beast-hunting turned into labor.
Oaths turned into obedience.
But the Marauders who sailed with the Lunar Corsairs did not forget.
They save their Years of Iron.
They acquire firearms.
They learn new tactics.
Their goals remain simple:
Return.
Break Drakeward.
Challenge Drolk.
And after that?
The moon.
For the Corsairs whisper of greater beasts waiting in silver dust.
And no Orkren oath ends without a greater beast.