"++Walk any faster and you'll find the next fox hole,++" Aike called back, their poncho wrapped around their arms to keep their hands covered after the bout in the snow. They kept pace with Atsida and the little one, however, no matter Enoka's goading, comforting though it was. The tension was easing more and more, relief finally washing into the ground as they returned to the Taluvan camp.

Aike watched in curiousity as Lawona was looked after, their head tilted as they observed the ritual of gourd and powders. Their eyebrows rose steadily as they watched the child become more and more irritated, feeling what was coming underfoot before finally Lawona barked out her displeasure and ran off. Aike chuckled at the face she made to them. A very spirited little one, indeed.

The Governor watched as the same ritual was not done to the other adults, and they remembered the mask that had been left in the fox's den. In Cortla, there was the belief that the masks were there to hide true intentions, and Aike themself had believed such a thing when they were a young scout. This moment, however, did seem to call that particular belief in question.

Their thoughts were interrupted, of course, as they found themself face-to-mask with the old woman. They glanced to Enoka as he translated, and withdrew their hands from where they had bundled them into the poncho. The knuckles were still red with cold, but feeling and warmth had already returned, and they held their hands out with palms upward for the woman to take, taking their eyes from Enoka to settle on her mask instead.

{NAME}
Lord Euan of Northwood

{ALIASES}
Euan, Bear

{AGE}
41

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, ???

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Human, Serenian

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
5'11", sturdy

{OCCUPATION}
Grovekeeper in the deep of the Northwood

{RESIDENCE}
In the wood, in the Grove, Caer Northwood



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Build; Euan is tall and well built, with thick muscles and a broad chest.

Color; Like most of his relatives, Euan is brown-skinned, with medium-dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. He is covered head to toe in freckles.

Alterations; He is human, human shape!

Modifications; Euan lost his right leg just below the knee, and so uses a wooden prosthetic to walk around on. He has a smattering of other scars along his torso, and almost always has at least a scratch on him.

Dress; In the Grove, Euan keeps to the Circle's typical practical wear, though he's willing to "dress up" when he's visiting Caer Northwood for a long period of time.

{PERSONALITY}
Warm, jovial, easy-going, slow-tempered, famously unimpressed with pomp and circumstance and not shy about voicing it.

Fun Facts!:

• Gives the best hugs ever.
• Babysitting will involve your kids being taken out into the woods.
• Is especially hard on poachers.
• Has a fondness for certain wild mushrooms.

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}
He's versed in druidic magics, a good healer, and has a knack for Neighbor speech, though he's not nearly as talented as his babiest brother is.

{RELATIONSHIPS}
So. Many. Family members.

Jewel; youngest brother but one of the ones he has the closest bond with, given their mutual preference for staying out of the city.

Gawain; Nephew. Keeps in touch fairly often, especially since Gawain is the Firstborn and will be taking over his father's duties eventually.

{HISTORY}
Wild noble family produces wild children, news at 8.


_________________

He had to admit, he was more than a bit surprised. When had he mentioned bread? The previous day had had so much happen in it, he wasn't quite sure what all they had talked about. Well, it wasn't some great secret, anyway, and stars knew how often the Starstriders had grumbled and griped in private at the southern obsession with bread. Perhaps Hero had simply heard enough rumors to just know better.

Still, the fact it was remembered, known, at all was enough to give Rhosiris a very pleasant warm feeling, amplified by the touch to his shoulder. The emptiness left behind when Hero pulled away was markedly more pronounced, as if a chill draft had sprung up in exactly that spot. Rho was tempted, just for a moment, to follow Hero to the food table just to be rid of the chill.

"I... yes, no bread, thank you." A far more sensible response, despite that temptation only growing by the minute. "I'm not especially familiar with local cuisine, I'll just ask you to bring back what you think is good."

Firmly resembling a particularly ripe pepper, Aike only just managed to get their thoughts in order to remember that this was, in fact, a diplomatic endeavor, and not a night at the city bonfire. They looked from Enoka to Atside, giving a smile and an incline of their head.

"Please, it's no trouble. Children are children, after all, and I've terrified my own mother far worse, in my time." They paused, considering that this was perhaps not the best time to talk about childhood mischief so soon after a genuinely frightening incident. "But that is a story for later, I think."

Aike had to take a moment to let their mind catch up with the world around them. The residual fear of something befalling the child was still a tang in the air, though one that was quickly fading. As it did, Aike took note of how warm Enoka's hands felt around their own. Very, very warm.

"++I believe I have enough in me for one more adventure,++" they replied, looking through the eyes of Enoka's mask, "++once the little one is back home, of course.++"

On Ven's request for some distance, Jewel retreated to a bench by the far window, listening to the patter of the raindrops against the individual glass panes. It was good, for the moment, to be able to just sit back and observe -- he did not often have guests besides family, and he certainly did not often have guests who were invited into his study, and it was a bit of a relief to be able to put aside the act of being a good host for the few minutes it took Ven to look over the maps.

Jewel had tried, of course, to be fairly thorough in his choices. There was the Northwood map, of course, and the one of Northwatch in total, of Serendipity, of the northern countries, of the world itself... surely one of them would provide the information needed, right?

But as Jewel observed, half-watching and half-packing a smoking pipe, Ven seemed only more defeated. And then, very quickly, defeated turned into distress.

At the first 'no', Jewel sat up a bit straighter, pipe still unlit and brows furrowed in concern. Ven was looking at him oddly, accusing him of joking, and for the life of him Jewel could not understand why. The maps were there, they were in good shape, they had all the information that Jewel could possibly provide-- what was wrong?

Just as quickly, it seemed, the distress sank back into disappointment, and Ven put the maps back in their cases. Jewel considered what he could say in this moment. Was there anything that could be said? Jewel was good with illnesses and injuries, and what it took to soothe someone when they were bright with fever. But heartbreak was different, and none of his bedside manner seemed appropriate, here.

Jewel nodded immediately upon Ven's request. Tea. Tea, he could provide. Tea was easy.

"Of course you may. I'll return shortly."

Pipe completely forgotten, Jewel left both it and the satchel behind on the bench, and walked quickly to the study doors. He'd left his own cup out there by it, he realized, and picked the cup and saucer up on his way back down the narrow stairs to the kitchen. If he was going to make tea, he may as well brew himself a fresh cup as well.

It was never easy, not knowing what was wrong, and Ven seemed to have a lot going on in that category. His condition was a mystery, his past was a mystery, and now after all the trouble and the incarceration, even a map had not been of much help. While the kettle boiled, Jewel stared at the assortment of tins of tea leaves. Nothing in those tins could rid a man of (for lack of a more accurate term) vampirism, or memory loss.

Jewel took a breath, and brought a tin down from its shelf. It would provide no miracles, but it was full of his best leaves. That much comfort, he could give. He set about preparing a tray while the kettle boiled. Jewel hesitated for a moment, before deciding to include some dried fruits and nuts and cheeses to a plate, along with jars of of honey, cream and sugar. A bit more luxurious than he'd usually set out for himself, but a guest was a guest, and he was sure Aderyn would know if he'd done anything less.

She always knew.

Tea ready, Jewel brought the tray carefully up the stairs. He hesitated outside the doors of his study, considering one of the potted plants beside the door. Opting against offering up one of the poor things without a need to, Jewel instead brought the tray over to an empty table nearer to the bookshelves.

"I'd offer to serve you, Mr Ven, but that would put very little distance between us. Please help yourself to as much as you like."

Jewel retreated with his own cup to the window he had abandoned earlier, giving just that extra few feet of space and also allowing him to finally light his pipe.

"...Did you not recognize anything on the maps, then?"

{NAME}
Unknown

{ALIASES}
Gabriel

{AGE}
40

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, bisexual but never talks about that sort of thing

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Human, Connlaothian

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
5'7", dadbod

{OCCUPATION}
Outlaw

{RESIDENCE}
In various hideouts



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Build; Average height and sturdy, it will take more than a strong breeze to knock Gabriel off his feet.

Color; Pale, with greying dirty-blond hair. His eyes are a deep forest green.

Alterations; He's human, got a human shape.

Modifications; He's got a few scars, some rough callouses on his hands, and a general appearance of a rough life.

Dress; He dresses simple, with clothing that has definitely seen its fair share of years, with how it's been mended several times over.

{PERSONALITY}
Quiet, patient, calculating, distant, vengeful

Fun Facts!:

• Can fall asleep in a tree.
• Favorite color is blue.
• Doesn't smoke or drink.
• Will absolutely make fun of you if you're a snotty gloryhound.

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}
None.

{RELATIONSHIPS}
A wife; Now no longer his wife, but hopefully safe and sound in a little village several duchies away. He hasn't seen her in a long time.

Two children; Twins, though separated and in the custody of the church. They'd be about ten, now.

A cause; Gabriel is the unofficial "leader" of an outlaw pro-mage group. They keep decentralized, and work in small cells, and are known for their violence towards anti-mage individuals.

{HISTORY}
A sad one, but one he keeps to himself.


_________________

{NAME}
Lord Gawain of Northwood, of Northwatch

{ALIASES}
The Firstborn

{AGE}
28

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, "Thought you'd never ask!"

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Human, Serenian

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
5'10", Lean musculature

{OCCUPATION}
The next High Lord of Northwatch, Guardian of the Northwood

{RESIDENCE}
Caer Northwood, Northwatch, Serendipity



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Build; Tall and lean, Gawain certainly strikes a beautiful figure. A healthy amount of combat training as well as plenty of wild hikes in the Northwood have left him well built for agility.

Color; Gawain has warm brown skin, deep brown hair and dark brown eyes. Everything about him seems to possess a vivid liveliness, as if he's constantly standing in the sunlight.

Alterations; Human, human shape!

Modifications; Gawain has some piercings in his ears.

Dress; The firstborn son of the High Lord of Northwatch, Gawain dresses the part. His tunics are made of fine fabrics and carefully trimmed or embroidered in gold or with some other such embellishment. He prefers gold jewelry and plenty of it, as well as emeralds and pearls. While he does lean towards a casual presentation, there is no doubt that his appearance is something he takes particular pride in.

{PERSONALITY}
Warm, jovial, welcoming, diplomatic, optimistic, flirty.

Fun Facts!:

• The fact he doesn't have more than one kid already is a statistical anomaly. No one is sure how he's managed.
• Prefers vegetarian fare, and will absolutely wrestle his own best friend for the last stuffed mushroom.
• Loves party planning.
• Still comes home covered in mud with a small animal sometimes.

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}
As the Firstborn, Gawain has inherited the charge of his House - to one day take on the mantle of Guardian and shield his lands from all danger. The Northwood has, in turn, granted him the same gifts as his father, and his father's father, and every firstborn that came before them. Gawain can commune with the flora and fauna around him, turn into a massive black stag at will, and other nature-based magics.

{RELATIONSHIPS}
His family; Gawain adores his family, all five billion of them currently running around, and keeps in regular contact with what few of them not still living in the Northwood castle.

His wee bairn; Beathan was an utter surprise, but Gawain could not be a prouder father. He adores his son and dotes on the toddler regularly. As Gawain's firstborn, Beathan will one day take on the same role as Gawain and his forebears, as heir to the High Lord throne.

Tighearán Eoforwine; Gawain's absolute best mate in all the universe, who is currently burrowed in a bunch of stuffy magic books at Airelos University. Even though they are separated by distance, Gawain writes his friend regularly and they visit one another as often as they can.

{HISTORY}
I rolled an Oath of the Ancients paladin and gave him a Scottish accent.

That had been both the wrong and right series of questions to ask. Jewel watched as Ven's entire countenance changed, shifted from guarded to worn down and lost and so...

Terribly alone.

In all Jewel's life, he had never been completely alone. He hadn't even been born alone, and growing up he'd always been surrounded by brothers and sisters in law and nieces and nephews and every kind of tenuous relation there ever was.

To not even know who he was? Where home was? Nothing?

That was not a solitude Jewel thought he would ever envy, as much as he enjoyed the peace away from Caer Northwood. He took a breath, and gestured at Ven to come further forward into the house.

"Follow me." Jewel said, turning to climb the nearby stairs, looping upwards past the second floor to the third. As he ascended, more lights twinkled into existence, revealing even more shelves and tables laden with plants lining the narrow landing. Jewel set his teacup down on what little space there was on a table beside a large, thick door, and produced yet another key from the ring on his belt. A quick turn of the key, and the door opened to let them into the study.

Above, swirls of metal held glass panes together in ornate, floral patterns, though it was somewhat difficult to tell against the backdrop of stormy night. Raindrops pattered against the glass roof, and chains of lanterns winked to life same as the ones before. Jewel stepped past several tables set up with jars and mortars and pestles, and pulled an armful of leather cylinders down from bookshelves loaded with worn tomes.

Each of the cylinders was brought to the desk at the center of the room, where Jewel unfurled parchment after parchment under the lantern lights, revealing carefully etched drawings of mountains, roads, woods, rivers, and cities. 

"Maps." He said plainly, gesturing down at them.

The problem with taverns was that they always reeked of other people. The scents mixed together, or traveled from room to room through thin walls and drafty floorboards. The fact that the Boys had been kenneled to avoid offending any other guests with their odor was deeply ironic.

It was almost too easy to write off the strange scent, almost too easy to keep his guard down, almost too easy to just flop onto the bed face-first and leave his back wide open. A second irony -- the Boys also had been deemed too much a risk to safety and security. Van's own safety and security be damned, apparently.

Van continued in his undress as if the intruder wasn't there, breathing deep through his nose and letting out a sigh as any worn and weary traveler might. His skin prickled, heat pooled in his belly. Maybe pissing Kharon off had been a bad idea, after all. But it wasn't like Van was unused to fighting alone.

He slid his belt off his waist, and considered the heavy metal rings at the one end. His jaw clenched tight, and the heat grew to a roaring flame, surging up into his lungs. Teeth bared, Van spun abruptly and hurled the heavy belt as hard as he could at the intruder in the corner.

Jewel turned his head, eyes still fixed on Ven's face as the other man spoke. It gave him a moment to observe, to truly take in the whole of him outside of a small cell and considerable defensiveness and hostility. 

Well. Outside of the small cell at least. The stranger still held onto his defensiveness plenty, but that was understandable. Jewel certainly didn't possess such a fragile ego to take offense to it, at any rate.

"Honestly, Mr Ven, I would like to know who you are, where you are from, and what you plan on doing once you leave my home." Jewel stated, matter-of-factly but without any added bite. He took another sip of his tea. "While I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt to this point, considering certain... character witnesses, I do require some understanding as to why a man of unknown origin is sneaking through a wood he should not be able to sneak through."

Jewel fixed him with a steady stare.

"What do you want?"

Shea looked curiously to the side to the woman who had just boarded the cart beside him. Here was another person who seemed thoroughly out of place amidst a local, small-town festival. Even more out of place, still, was her choice to sit directly next to him. In his overall experience of sharing transportation with others, most tended to keep to themselves, only filling in the closer places the more crowded it became.

More importantly, her eyes were the most violent shade of red.

It made Shea want to know more. So, as was typically custom in these lands, he gave a quick and easy smile and a nod of his head in acknowledgment of the woman beside him. His attention, however, was pulled away as another body -- this time of a young boy, no older than twelve winters by Shea's estimate -- settled into the cart just behind Shea and the pale woman.

The child also drew attention in his own oddity -- while the fairgrounds were awash with laughter and delighted yells and packs of young friends running this way and that, the boy was alone, sitting quietly and politely in the center of the cart seat behind Shea. He certainly wasn't lost in the joy of the carnival, but instead looked completely lost in his own thoughts.

Also very interesting. So here they were, three people who clearly had no business sitting on a painted cart about to go through some quick, fleeting thrill ride, sitting on a painted cart nonetheless.

The clowns about them seemed to feel much the same way, and rather than try to fill the cart more, began the process of pulling down safety levers that (while providing only the barest of security, if one were to truly test it) did succeed in making sure Shea couldn't just decide to stand up all of a sudden.

"Hold on tight, friends!" said the clown who had taken Shea's money, and Shea noted that his addition of 'friends' was not at all genuine, even in the most shallow sense. The clown looked to a blue haired lady clown stood to the side of the funhouse entrance, her hand on a much larger lever. They exchanged a hand signal, and she pulled hard down on the lever.

The effect was instantaneous. Later, Shea would most certainly want to consider the mechanics of such a thing, as the cart rocketed forward without any sign of any kind of propulsion system. They shot through the darkness of the funhouse gate, passing through the huge painted mouth, and the last he heard of the carnival outside was another laughing "yum!".

They continued in darkness for a moment, before the cart suddenly veered to the right, the small boy in the back making a soft 'oof' underneath the blaring music that came from apparently nowhere at all. Once the turn was made, the darkness gave way to bright, glowing lights, mapping out images of fireworks and dancing beasts and more clowns. Shea found the fact that the beasts were smiling just as wide as the clowns to be the most unpleasant part of it.

Still, the cart carried on, with sharp rises and steep drops, and more turns than he could keep count with. The entirety of the mechanism genuinely could not have been within the tent itself - as large as it was, it wasn't that large. The music playing, as loud as it was, also couldn't completely mask the fact that there was no sound of life outside of their little cart. This space was well beyond where the fairgrounds were. Quite a robust application of magic, Shea thought, even if it was being used on a circus.

Eventually the rails straightened out, and they passed through several open clown and beast mouths, one after the other, until darkness took them again. The cart slowed, and as it did they passed through one final gate, slowing to a crawl and then a stop right by a wooden dock. Once the cart stopped, their safety levers lifted, presumably to allow them to leave the cart and step out onto the dock itself.

Shea gathered himself and rose up out of the cart, stepping down the stairs onto the ground below. He didn't pay his fellow riders much mind, at first -- no, there was something else going on, something profoundly incorrect about this place. It was quiet, and dusty, and had none of the trappings of a vibrant lively festive place.

And Shea still couldn't hear the carnival.

{NAME}
Silas Cowen

{ALIASES}
N/A

{AGE}
75

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, yes

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Half-elven Serenian

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
5'9", slender

{OCCUPATION}
Professional courtesan, under the Guild of Silver Whispers

{RESIDENCE}
Client estates as contracts determine, otherwise a guild House.



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Build; Slender, graceful, and long-legged. He definitely looks quite delicate.

Color; Silas has long, black hair streaked with grey. His eyes are a dark hazel. His skin is pale but warm-toned.

Alterations; He's half-elven, so his ears are pointed and his movements particularly fluid.

Modifications; None.

Dress; Silas always dresses to impress. No matter the audience, he will be perfectly put together. He favors rich green clothing and golden jewelry, with plenty of pearls and emeralds.

{PERSONALITY}
Calm, collected, polite, congenial.

Fun Facts!:

• Has a considerable collection of perfumes that he rotates through.
• Likes fresh fruit the best, though he does need it to be properly cut and utensils provided to prevent mess.
• Loves reading.
• .

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}
As a member of the Guild of Silver Whispers, Silas has been extensively trained in courtly manners, etiquette, history, politics, current events, poetry, formal dance, calligraphy, horseback riding, conversation, and psychology.

{RELATIONSHIPS}
Brag - Silas' bodyguard/chaperone, almost always just a few steps away from Silas at any given moment. A Connlaothian ex-pat, he doesn't talk much about his personal history, nor does Silas ever disclose what he knows.

{HISTORY}
The only son of a minor Serenian noblewoman and an elf, Silas was never important enough to his family line to be granted any considerable inheritances or roles. Instead, he was taught and tutored by his mother, and then when he was old enough, applied to join the Guild of Silver Whispers. His application was accepted, and he spent several years in training to hone his skills as a very high-end courtesan. The guild has many Houses across Serendipity, and Silas travels to meet clients as appropriate by contract.


_________________

{NAME}
Mavko Nadjy-lo

{ALIASES}
"Mav"

{AGE}
30

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, ???

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Oratok Orc

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
6'10", very built

{OCCUPATION}
Fisherman, trader, general boat things

{RESIDENCE}
The Ora River between Serendipity and Adela



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Build; Big and built, Mav has thick biceps and strong shoulders and a solid core. Nothing about him is delicate, and he is prosperous enough to appear well fed.

Color; Mav has a deep cattail coloration to his skin, and rich dark brown hair. His eyes are a stormy grey blue.

Alterations; Mav's an orc! He's got pointy ears and big ol' shiny tusks.

Modifications; Mav boasts not just one but two sleeves worth of scarification, going from the tops of his hands all the way up to the tops of his shoulders. Each ear has two lobe piercings, where he wears thick golden hoops.

Dress; Despite being well-off, Mav dresses fairly simply. He prefers to wear a light long sleeved tunic and wide-legged pants that end just below his knee. He has a net-weave collar necklace and a string of beads, and several different rings and bracelets made from various metals or woven thread. For special occasions he'll throw on a silk jacket over a deep navy tunic.

{PERSONALITY}
Steady, dependable, observant, diplomatic, intelligent, good-humored

Fun Facts!:

• His hair is his pride and joy, and he has a nightly routine to take care of it and keep it silky smooth and growing thick. His beard he's less concerned with.
• Likes cats and will share a catch with any nearby strays he spots.
• Polyglot.
• Has a rich baritone singing voice.

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}
No magical or supernatural abilities, just standard orc levels of strength and endurance.

{RELATIONSHIPS}
Despite being Prime Orc Material, Mavko is still on a bachelor boat with one of his cousins. He jokes that he's already married to the boat itself when someone asks why he's not been snapped up yet.
He's got a mom, who has two husbands, and is proud to be the elder brother to two sisters. He's also got a good handful of cousins, nieces, and nephews, and he'll step in to help out with his family where needed.

{HISTORY}
He was born, he learned to fish, he continues to do very well for himself.


_________________

Relations:
Oratok orcs have repeated contact with a myriad of different cultures between Serendipity, Adela, Thanatos, and the more independent areas closer to the Draconi forest. The quality of these relationships depends on how trustworthy they have found their dealings, and so it can vary quite a bit between different groups of Oratok orcs.

Slavery:
Oratok orcs don't find slavery to be a particularly useful practice, considering how space is usually a premium and they prefer to do their own work. They aren't bothered by the practice, however, until it directly affects them.

Local Laws:
Disputes are usually handled within a group by their Captain, who also determines compensation where appropriate. Suitably terrible crimes may see an Oratok's hand removed, permanently marking them as a criminal to be avoided.

Major Sources of Income:
Fish and trade.

Culture:
Greetings are done by showing the other person your dominant hand, palm facing out and fingers spread. Hands feature heavily in their interpersonal interactions, as deals are not considered dealt until hands are shook, and that is considered more weighty than the words an orc has spoken. Going back on something you shook on is extremely dishonorable, and an orc who does so can expect to never be able to make deals with anyone locally again. Similarly, humans who go back on a deal they've shaken on can expect considerable hostility from the orc group they made that deal with.

Values:
Knowledge, ingenuity, and courage are considered the best traits an Oratok orc can possess. Curiousity and exploration are highly encouraged, as times change and it's better to adapt and go with the current than try to fight it.

Naming and Language:
Names are often one to two syllables, with a matronymic following. The matronymic changes some depending on the gender of the orc in question. Their language puts an emphasis on consonants, and the vowels tend to be barely enunciated if at all, with the strongest vowel sound being Y. While hard consonants are the most common, some may be softened, depending on which local human dialects have been the most influential through trade.

An example name for an Oratok orc would be Nadjy Yskra-la for a daughter of Yskra, or Styon Yskra-lo for a son of Yskra.

Art, Music and Dance:
Music is done in the style of call and response shanty songs, used as work songs. Musical instruments tend to be various flutes made from the reeds along the river, though a few particularly well-off orcs may have an instrument they traded for and have kept on their boat.

Art is usually done in the way of painting their sails and other canvases that may be lowered or raised inside of a houseboat to keep out the worst of the weather.

Food:
Oratok cuisine typically centers around freshwater fish and crustaceans, along with foraged vegetation. Agricultural staples such as flour are traded for, but Oratoks have taken to these items quite soundly, often frying up dough to make wraps.

Housing:
Most Oratoks live on modest house boats, often sharing space with one or two other orcs in either a family unit or in kind of bachelor/ette pads until they are ready to make a family unit of their own. Oratoks live almost their entire lives on the water, and rarely go further inland than stilt-house communities some have built along the riverbanks.

Sexuality, Gender, Marriage, and Divorce:
Oratok orcs live in small family units of two parents and one child at a time. They are careful to space their births so there is at least five years between children, to best give their young child the attention they need, especially as they're first learning to live on the water and all the dangers that go with that lifestyle. Twins can be somewhat problematic, and often extended family are brought in to assist with childcare as necessary.

Families are matrilineal, with the mother being the head of the household. Even if her husband was the one to own a boat before their marriage, the boat becomes hers upon marriage, and will remain with her even if she and her husband divorce later on. While not especially common, polyandry is not unheard of, nor looked at as something out of place but rather something practical.

Demonym: Oratok

Governance:
The Oratok orcs group by clusters of houseboats, rafts, and other smaller craft on the river Ora and its connecting waters. The leadership is an informal series of decisions regarding skill, boat ownership, and experience. The Oratok orcs have borrowed the word "captain" from the local human populations, and call their current leader as such.

Geographic Location:
The Oratok orcs are found primarily along the Ora river, but may also be found in the various branching rivers both north into Serendipity and south into Adela.

Borders:
Being nomadic, the Oratok orcs do not have a specific set border for their territory, instead traveling and trading along the waters, with only a few permanent settlements along the riverbanks.

Ethnic Diversity by Percentage:
95% orc, 5% other.

Appearance:
The Oratok orcs are tall and broad, averaging about 6 to 7 feet in stature with thick musculature. The average lifespan of an Oratok orc is about 80 years.
Their skin tends toward dark, reedy greens and deep grey-browns. They tend to decorate their arms from the tops of their hands up to their shoulders in interlocking scars, with small pebbles inserted at the crossing sections to resemble a fishing net. These ornate body modifications take time to do and properly heal, and so not every orc will undertake the process, but might do so as a show of their wealth and prosperity since they were able to take the time away from work.

Oratok orcs grow their hair long, and they take great pains to keep their hair shiny and silky, with regular washing, combing, and oiling. During work, they'll coil their hair up into a high bun, but during their day to day they wear it loose. Letting their hair knot or mat is seen as being extremely unhygienic.

Tusks are common, and similar to their hair, are very well kept. Missing tusks tend to be due to injury, and are typically repaired or replaced with metal.

Having considerable contact with various cultures and peoples along the rivers, the Oratok orcs have picked up several different influences in their general style and dress from as far east as the Hivan ocean shore and Thanati trade, to as far northwest as the Draconi Forest and Serenian trade. Both genders wear wide-legged pants that reach just past their knees, and loose fitting shirts that don't restrict their arms.

Accessories can vary, and be borrowed from many different other cultures along the riverbanks. However, some common forms of Oratok jewelry are wide net-weave collar necklaces, strings of snail-shell beads, and thick gold hoop earrings. The earrings are the most common, as the Oratok will use them as a kind of emergency payment in case a sailor dies far from his group.

Religion:
Heavy on ancestor worship, the Territok orcs seek guidance and assistance from those that came before them. If an orc were looking for assistance in a particular matter, they would as the ancestor best known for the same task in life. This seeking of assistance is often done through a shaman, who would commune with the spirits of those ancestors via special rituals.

The greatest of the ancestors, though, don't remain in the spirit world. Particularly legendary orcs, both male and female, are believed to be reincarnated upon their death. Their souls go into the mountains, where they are reborn as dragons.

As such, dragons are incredibly sacred to them, and the orcs will regularly leave offerings of cattle for the Thunderblack dragons to eat. When speaking of or to one of these dragons, the orcs adopt a very respectful manner, and often affectionately call the dragons Grandfather or Grandmother. Killing a dragon, even accidentally, is an unspeakable crime. Poachers are killed on sight.

Superstitions:
The smoke and rumbling from the more active Thunderblack mountains are believed to be the souls of ancestors being reborn. The more intense the weather, the greater the spirit being reborn as a dragon.

Relations:
The Territok orcs get along well enough with the local human population, though this really depends on how the local human population chooses to treat them. Repeated abuses are not tolerated, but are very much specific to the people committing the crime rather than applied to humans as a whole. Showing due respect is met with their standard values of generosity.

Slavery:
The Territok orcs don't possess slavery. According to their values of personal strength, owning a person to complete work for you just makes you a weak, lazy person, and lower in status. To them, a slave-owner is next to worthless. They also do not see how one can actually own another person, and so the practice is overall alien to them.

Local Laws:
The first and foremost law is to never harm or even disrespect a dragon. Even if an orc were to make it out of a fight with a dragon alive, he most certainly wouldn't survive what the rest of the tribe would do to him. These orcs often will live in exile, never returning to the mountains again.

Otherwise, laws usually fall into what the severity of the wrong is. If one orc wrongs another, it is expected that they help fix the damage that had been done, whether in payment or with labor. If the damage is deemed to much for money to ever compensate, the orc may redeem themself through combat. If the crime is even more heinous than that, the entirety of the tribe will turn on him and put him to death with no chance for redemption.

More common disputes are often simply handled by the nearest, eldest orc, though if the dispute is intense enough, it may be settled by the Chieftain.

Major Sources of Income:
The Territok orcs are cattle herders. While they mostly are concerned with being self-sufficient, and do not often rely on trade, they are well known for their very large cattles, their even larger horses, and their particularly sturdy craftsmanship.

Ana smiled, soft and reassuring, as he reached to touch at Segari's arm.

"Of course there's something. Please. I would love to know."