“When the meteor struck inland, no region remained unbent”
–Jena Ogra, before Whitecliff
Ogre legends persist not just because of oral tradition, no. Oral tradition dies out when all the men die in battle…or all the women are taken by invaders. Ogre legends persist because we hide. Humans, dwarves, giants…they think they are superior by their eyes. We hide in places that dwarves deign no dig, humans dare not build, and giants are too proud to look.
What is now eastern Galentaspar, the cratered land of Rodorax, is the only place dwarves have actually collected adamantium from in two thousand years. Not only was the ground rent by an asteriod, the asteroid was ridden by two battling titans whos burning ends warped the continent with tricks and curses that changed a simple place into an interplanar battlefield for the rest of time. The region was turned from grassy plains to a desert of planar kaleidescopes for a century while ash of impact settled.
Planar Rifts and New Races
The great civilization of humans on the planet suffocated. There were fey in vast bamboo forests…all consumed in flames. Geology was never studied, and gnomes that dwelt in the roots of the great planes…surviing the great fires, organized armies to negotiate the sudden influx of short humanoid called dwarves that popped out of planar gates in the sky and dug up from the ground, gasping for air.
Tzoltiv, leader of Gnomes since the Dawn, formed a band of scouts: Tsildir, Psyden, Ysidril, and Wfoldin, to travel the world, learn, speak and spread hope…if the peoples of the world needed help or hope, head to the plains and join Tzoltiv’s clan. He would help.
Decades passed and Tzoltiv never heard from his band, until a single gnome from afar walked into the town of Tzova’a, proclaiming himself as Vvillin, grandson of Wfoldin Thus he spoke, “Tall folk, elves, live now in the mountains. Large folks, ogres, live far to the south along a cragged spit, and snakes live below them, fighting everyone they meet, the yuan-ti. To the east, larger peoples bigger than ogres tower over the forest, claming most of the north–they are giants. There are mountains where there were hills–there are islands where there were reefs.” Vvillin did not stay long, his sense of community was lost, and the people of Tzova did nott trust him. But a faction of Tzova’ans followed Vvillin west, intrigued to meet these people called dwarves.
Mitter meets Tsotur
Tzoltiv’s grandson, Mittir, was visited hundreds of years later by a grandson of Vvillin named Tsotur, a gnome bard who lived among the ogres. The ogres, sons and daughters of Tautus of Nuumg, live on the slopes of Whitechalk Cliffs, or Witkif, in ogre slang. They are ruled by matriachs of Eeroi, a line of ogre magi transplanted from their first home to Sing’jar by the starfall. Ogre magi of Eeroi are secretive, and enslave dwarves to build large tunnels into the Whitechalk cliffs for them.
Aaron Umgar founds Kifskuul
The sons of Eeroi are left to fend for themselves, and are mostly rough barbarians, hunting to survive. Only one of a generation is born smart enough to be a leader–a Nuum’gar. Aaron Umgar is the smartest yet, and is a sorcerer charismatic enough to have enrolled the mothers of junior orge magi to form a school and library on Witkif: Kifskuul.
Farming, ranching, and some mining are all present on the Whitechalk cliffs. Brave outcast dwarves are among the ogres, helping manage the chalk and chalcendony mines. Minotars are uncommon but welcome. Hill giants have never been welcome and have not been seen south of Sing’jar for 1200 years. Elves are very rarely found, only ones brave enough for a specific task.
Hobgoblins of R’rusk
This is peculiar because a population of High Elves lives to the east of the hobgoblins of R’rusk, forming the eastern border of Witkif. R’ruskins trade with the yuan-ti to the south confidently because the hobgoblins built a defensive zone one hundred miles long and three miles deep to defend their soverignty. Dzennin’gen Harfolk is an ancient Hobgoblin paladin that leads the community.
High elves of Innlend
There are thousands of elves in a magically protected community to northeast of R’rusk: Innlend. Mostly wizards and rangers, the borders of Innlend are invisible and manifest as unlucky encounters with wilderness hardships: rockfalls, quicksand, swam creatures, confusion and lost adventurers dead of inexplicable dehydration. This appears to be an invite-only kingdom, and the leadership is hidden. Not even general Feltor of the Sing’jar mountains knows anything of Innlend, being a son of an emmigree.
Zsolissar and the Yuan-ti
The islands to the west and south of the Whitechalk Cliffs (Witkif) are all military holdings of the Yuan-ti. This was a rough region briefly ruled by many rough reptilian tribes, and humans have been considered lunch for centuries. Just getting into the bay requires skillful negotitation of schools of gigantic squids and other sea denizens. The minotar who used to rule the southen shores were roughly beaten back to one island as slaves, the remained having fleed north four hundred years previously.
The Yuan-ti are strict about their secrecy, brief sun exposure, and never relinquishing lands. They expect counter-strikes and rebellions. To meet these threats, they take slaves and other intelligent prisoners as cattle and display them in public suffering labor or as food stock for fesival menus. High preistess Zsolissar presides the festivals and her maiden’s sharp blades turn slaves into cold cuts on the seasonal holiday festivals.
For five hundred years, no pink skinned humanoid has withstood a yuan-ti south of the Whitechalk Cliffs. Whatever deity or power protects Zsolissar or her preistesses, not even the agressive male yuan-ti have broken or subverted it in many generations.