ZOGLING

Zoglings: The Mind That Outmaneuvers
“A sharp thought breaks thicker bone.”
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.
The Orkren charged it.
The Zoglings studied it.
The Orkren struck its legs.
The Zoglings found its weak spot beneath the rib plating.
They stopped fighting each other.
They began hunting together.
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.
The Orkren brought muscle.
The Zoglings brought strategy.
Where Orkren charged, Zoglings flanked.
Where Orkren roared, Zoglings calculated terrain, wind, and escape paths.
Where Orkren bonked, Zoglings ensured the bonk landed true.
They learned to tame the Gravtusk Boars—horse-sized, iron-skinned war boars with tusks curved like sickles and tempers like thunder. Gravtusks carried them across jungle and canyon, smashing through brush, crushing bone beneath hoof.
Fast travel.
Faster bonk.
Smarter ambush.
A warrior without a Gravtusk was not yet ready.
A Gravtusk without a Zogling rider was not fully optimized.
III. Totems and Skullrush
Between hunts, they did not sit idle.
They painted cave walls with scenes of victory—Orkren strokes bold and heavy, Zogling etchings precise and annotated.
They built towering bone totems to warn outsiders.
They carved skull-lanterns to glow in the night.
And they played Skullrush—a brutal sport where warriors hurled stone-spheres across marked sand fields. Orkren relied on force. Zoglings mastered angles, feints, and timing.
Dodge.
Strike.
Or eat rock.
It was not cruelty.
It was sharpening.
IV. The Dragon That Did Not Flinch
One day, they marched deep south.
Past conquered beasts.
Past lands where even Gravtusks hesitated.
They found him.
A mountain that breathed.
His name was Drolk.
The Orkren advanced first—speed, roar, raised stick.
The Zoglings fanned out to assess the terrain.
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 Marauders faced a creature that could not be outmuscled nor outmaneuvered.
They swore an oath:
Grow stronger.
Return.
Bonk the dragon.
But next time—
They would study first.
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, irritated by the arrogance of the question, 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.”
The Zoglings countered:
“Not yet.”
Drolk answered neither.
Steel and flame crushed the Marauders beneath Drakeward armor and discipline. Gravtusks fell. Totems burned.
Orkren strength met forged steel.
Zogling tactics met organized ranks.
Some bent the knee.
Others spat at it.
VI. The Pit and the Crossing
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. The Greenwards remembered too well earlier territorial clashes.
So they did what few dared.
They crossed the Azure Rift.
The Orkren swam.
The Zoglings planned the route.
Zoglings rode upon Orkren shoulders and backs, mapping currents, shouting directional corrections, calculating tide shifts and endurance cycles.
“Left! Stronger current!”
“Dive at next swell!”
“Hold formation!”
Storms broke over them.
Some sank.
Most did not.
They emerged in Scorrachai—scarred, furious, alive.
There they found the Scaverin and the Lunar Corsairs.
Piracy suited them.
Not for greed.
For preparation.
Loot meant gear.
Gear meant power.
Power meant return.
The Zoglings began cataloging weaknesses in Drakeward supply lines.
The Orkren began training for the day they would meet dragon-fire again.
VII. 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 experiment with new tactics—Orkren shock assaults paired with Zogling sabotage.
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 Marauder oath ends without a greater beast.