Orcs and Goblin-Kin
The Varnokh are the children of stone and storm—born of hunger, forged by betrayal, and tempered by the sea. They are not a people defined by rage alone, but by endurance, sacred memory, and the unyielding will to carve a future from ruin. In the shattered world that followed the Cataclysm, it was the Varnokh who remembered the Red Pact—and it was their god, Kharvulok, who led them through despair into purpose.
The Red Pact and the Betrayal
The Red Pact was born of desperation and necessity. For generations, the orcs of Khassid had endured in the realm’s most unforgiving landscapes—rugged mountains and shifting wilds that demanded resilience and cunning. Their nomadic ways were dictated by the seasons, their survival by the strength of their kin. Yet their lack of unity left them vulnerable to larger, more organized peoples.
Then came the Great Famine. Crops withered, prey vanished, and winter came early and hard. The orcs, already isolated and mistrusted, were driven to the brink. Just when survival seemed impossible, an olive branch was extended by King Garvain the Resolute of Dalenvar—a human kingdom known for both ambition and strategy.
The offer: alliance. Food, livestock, and trade in exchange for the orcs’ unmatched strength of arms. The pact was sealed with blood-oaths and named the Red Pact, a symbol of mutual survival and, seemingly, of shared future. For a time, it worked. The orc clans began to unite. Dalenvar flourished under the protection of orcish warriors. Dreams of coexistence flickered.
Then came the feast.
Orcish leaders gathered in Dalenvar’s great hall beneath banners of peace, unarmed and unguarded. Their hosts raised glasses in friendship. And then they raised blades.
The massacre was swift. On that night, Dalenvar’s soldiers murdered the orcish emissaries and sacked their villages. What had begun as salvation became betrayal. Trust, already scarce, was shattered beyond repair. Those who survived fled into exile, scarred not just in body but in soul.
From that wound came fire.
The One Who Called
In the darkness that followed, a new voice rose—not from the heavens, but from the Deep. Kharvulok, god of strength, will, and sacred becoming, spoke not in promises but in trials. He did not offer rescue. He offered purpose.
The scattered orcs and their goblin-kin gathered once more—drawn by visions, signs, and dreams carried on thunder and salt wind. Kharvulok taught that exile was not the end—it was the crucible. That strength without unity is fleeting. That wounds remember.
The Varnokh were born not of conquest, but of resolve.
The Founding of Gharnakthul
Led by Kharvulok’s vision, the clans crossed tempestuous waters to the very edge of the known world. There, where storm and silence reign, Kharvulok descended into the Deep Abyss and came before the elder powers of the elements: Morgdhav, god of oceans, waterways, and weather; Antaz, god of primordial air and water; and Sujaz, twin god of primordial earth and fire. Karmorr, the Varnokh god of death and guardian of the Veiled Deep, stood watch as witness.
Kharvulok did not beg. He did not offer worship. He made his demand—not for mercy, but for land. A place where his people could endure, and become.
The gods of sea, air, stone, and fire conferred in silence, their judgment weighing more than mountains. Then they relented—not out of pity, but in recognition of Kharvulok’s unbreakable will. The Unbroken Lord plunged his spear into the ocean floor. The abyss churned. Storms rose. The sea boiled.
For seven days and nights the waters screamed. On the eighth, land rose—a jagged, black expanse thrust from the deep: Gharnakthul. A place not granted, but earned. Not given, but taken.
The orcs came on tide-bound ships, guided by divine fire and survivor’s will. They built not with mortar and fear, but with unity, vow, and remembrance. The rivers, cliffs, and volcanic spine of Gharnakthul were consecrated in that forging—infused with the elemental balance of sea, storm, earth, and death.
Kinbound
The Varnokh are more than orcs and goblins. They are a blood-bound brotherhood of goblin-kin:
- The Grask – inventors, smiths, and cunning trapmakers.
- The Brel – oracles, memory-keepers, and lorebinders.
- The Khuzhen – scouts, tide-riders, and saboteurs of uncanny precision.
Each serves a vital purpose in the wheel of Varnokh society. Among them, strength is not domination—it is resilience, truth, and remembrance. The Red Pact is not forgotten. Nor is Garvain. His name is a curse—and a warning.
The Varnokh do not forget.
And they do not break.