The Mas'soul Orcs
The Mas’soul Orcs are divided into ten “Clans,” each distinct in habits and culture, but still related by common beliefs, kinship ties, and ancestral history.
The Orcs of Mas’soul believe they are not native to this continent, but rather originate from an island far out at sea, an Island they called Soul. This Island was a marvel of magic and engineering, every inch of its rocky mass carved with elegance and grace unknown to the orcs on [This Continent.] The Orcs of the Mas’soul lived happy and content, their legends say, ruled wisely by an Immortal Emperor who communed with the gods to learn their wisdom. The Floating ships of the Soul Island travelled the world over, bringing back wonders from the four corners of the world: finely wrought gems, exotic animals, Secrets of the magical arts. But like all proud people, the Soul Orcs became consumed by hubris. The Legends of the Mas’soul differ on what happened: Some claim that the Emperor Offended a god, others that the Emperor was struck down by treachery, and with him, the Island. Still others claim that the Soul Orcs had tampered with the very fabric of reality in their magic workings, allowing in a dark foulness. All that the Mas’soul Orcs know is that in a day and a night, the Island sank beneath the waves.
The Mas’soul orcs were the ones lucky enough to make it to the Air-Harbors and climb aboard one of the massive floating trade vessels. Because of proximity to the harbors, the population aboard the vessels were the lower born orcs: Sailors, Soldiers, craftsmen, the occasional Hedge-Wizard, and very little of Soul High Culture survived. The only thing of Magical Worth that were on the ships themselves were the Seeingstones, magical artifacts that allowed a captain of an airship to see ahead for storms and other dangers, communicate with home, and talk to other ships.
For months, years, even, the Ships drifted, supplies became scarce, and storms took their toll. Tens of ships were lost at sea, their cargo of refugees drowning.
Finally, the enchantments holding the great ships aloft unraveling, the ten remaining vessels drifted into view of [This Continent.] The ships crashed at a certain distance from each other along the coastline, and the people aboard were forced to make do with what little skill and knowledge they had, forming each of the Ten Clans, and spreading far and wide over the land. Raids, and once they grew strong enough, conquests against the local people became barbaric necessities and eventually a way of life. The Soul Orcs slowly diverged, though none lost the memory of who they were: The Mas’soul, the Exiles of Soul. They dream of their lost homeland, dream of their lost splendor and glory, and hope, against all hope, to find some evidence that they are not the only survivors of the Glorious Island of Soul.