A thousand claws of light and plasma raced across the skies turning night to day. A young orc dropped his spear and simply gawked at the sky. A moment after the earth beneath his feet rumbled, sound itself shattered around him.
The entire encampment was up in arms in an instant! Thinking some dragon, or rival tribe's shaman had come to attack them. A few minutes later. Every single orc stood outside their tent, staring up at the sky.
The sound didn't abate, nor did the light of the claws wane. They only seemed to reach further and further into the horizon. As if some grand dragon god saw fit to gobble this plane up entirely. A deep - but feminine - voice rang out over the tribe, calling everyone towards the singular large bonfire that stayed lit anytime the tribe made camp.
Amara Demonsbane stood by the fire, their glorious Chieftain who had fought beside deities and struck down demons -hence her surname- despite most others looking scared or panicked, she merely strode forward, stomach heavy with her third child.
"An attack? Or angry gods battling above?"
The guards all shook their heads or shrugged after-all no one knew what to say or do when the sky was reaching down to rip this plane of existence apart. Up walked an orc in fine dark red robes, his face wrinkled and wizened with many years, his eyes a milky white held the faint glow of mana.
Amara waved one of the young orcs nearby over. To escort the Elder Shaman closer. Amara leaned in, attempting to discern the shaman's words over the seeming destruction of the sky.
"A cataclysm Chieftain! A Dragon's doing, failed words of creation!" he hissed the words.
Amara stared at him and saw blood pooling in his ears and mouth, his eyes glowing more brightly by the second. She and the others nearby knew that the shaman was already in a trance, allowing the spirits to speak through him.
"Divinity lost, the universe quakes and mourns, deities shed their own and fall to their knees. Desperate for their own masters to save them!"
The shaman slumped over, coughing up blood. His eyes brightly glowing as others dressed in similar garb rushed over to heal their elder with spells, and pouring a murky red liquid down his throat. Amara's attention was ripped away as everything went dark. Every orc turned their eyes up. They watched as four orbs of blue -mana made manifest- streaked through the skies.
The ground shuddered. The Shamans felt it first, then Amara. But soon, every living entity on the plane could feel some primal rage and anger wash over them. They watched as the spheres of light split, two-headed in one direction, the other two split in opposite directions then... the world went dark.
Amara woke hours later, slowly getting her hands under her, followed by her feet. She rose and took in the scene around her. Every orc in her encampment lay on the ground bleeding from the ears. Not a soul was spared. Children and warriors of a thousand battles lay there as if they had been smashed into the ground by some unseen angry force.
Amara was a pact-bonded mortal. It meant that a Deity took a liking to her, and offered her a pact of power. It was a simple affair. At least the deities thought as much. They would twist their own mana into a thread that could cross the universe and attach it to the soul of a mortal, allowing that mortal to live far, far beyond their years, and offering them incredible power.
In exchange, whenever the Pact-Bonded gained experience in any way, the Deity in question would receive some of the experience - A pittance as far as most mortals were concerned - a few points here, a few there. Most scholars understood that to a Pact-Bonded it meant almost nothing, but to the Deity, who pact-bonded with a hundred thousand mortals in such a way, it was a wave of experience.
And so, when the Chieftain of the Tribe of the Shattered Will panicked- being a pact-bonded, high level warrior-, it was significant.
" [Greater Area Scan] "
She spoke softly, fear creeping into her voice as she let her gaze sweep through her followers. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. None of them had died. Their Hit Points were still full. Odd, she thought. Quickly she turned her gaze to the Elder Shaman, letting the scan stay hovering within her mind and eyes, peering more deeply into his status.
Most of it she ignored, knowing his stats probably better than he did, a side effect of her being the Chieftain and an incredible leader. One thing did stand out, however.
[Status: Alive; Mana Sickness; Unconscious; Scorned Divinity]
Instantly she forced her scan to focus on that last status ailment. It wasn't one she had ever seen the system use, even during her battle next to the gods.
[Scorned Divinity: One of the three Triumvirates of the Universe has closed the channels of Divinity to this mortal plane, no new Deific Blessings can reach this creature, or the plane they are on.]
She stumbled back, slowly lowering herself to the ground. Her eyes were wide as she looked to the skies above, and her hands subconsciously moved to her stomach as tears formed in her eyes. Had the gods abandoned them? Had the mortals truly done something so abhorrent that all of the gods had been cut off from them?
It was a few hours before the others woke. Amara had ensured no one was wounded and had begun looking through her status. She was still fine and healthy Pact-Bond intact. Once the Elder Shaman awoke, Amara looked at him, speaking softly. Still in shock as well.
"Check your status Elder Lurog."
After a few seconds, the elder's eyes went wide as well, his eyes snapping to his Chieftain, who could only offer a weak nod.
"Get ready to travel, have your Shamans brew potions of Restoration and Stamina over the next few days. We must close the distance to Kincairne with all haste. Without the deities watching over our Shamans and Healers, we cannot stay in the Shattered Plains and fight alone."
The elder nodded solemnly, not one to question his Chieftain, for despite his wizened look and age; her youthful appearance, she was many decades older than him thanks to her Deific Pact. So it went. Within a week, the tribe had pulled down their tents and prepared their wagons. Hooking up a Lovax to every wagon.
- [The Lovax]: Large creatures that have the head of a goat. Their bodies are covered in plates made of hardened bone. These plates overlap by six to ten inches depending on the size and age of the Lovax. The average adult Lovax is between seven and eight feet long and weighed nearly three thousand pounds. Their feet have long claws that could dig into the hard rock of areas they often inhabit. Despite their terrifying appearance, they were generally docile creatures that survived by eating insect-class monsters. Or vegetation if they are desperate. -
Amara normally strode alongside the procession of wagons, keeping a watchful eye. Orcs were tall creatures. Males were seven to eight feet, while females were six to seven feet. Amara stood taller than even the tallest male in her tribe.
A lifetime of fighting and harsh living left her with a body that radiated power and the deadly skills of a predator and warrior. Be that as it may, she was six months along with her third child, and in a few short weeks, the child would be born.
Despite her insistence that she was fine to keep walking, the warriors of the tribe, her husband, the Elder Shaman, and basically everyone else told her to rest so that she was ready for the mighty battle of childbirth ahead of her.
She found it hard to argue with her entire tribe, and truth be told didn't mind the rest. She stroked her belly slowly, wondering what type of world she'd have to raise this child in, a world devoid of the Deities. Her worries as both a mother and a Chieftan stormed within her mind. She found herself slowly drifting off to troubled sleep.
A hand gently shook her shoulder, and her eyes went wide as she grabbed for a dagger. The dreams had not been kind. Looking at her husband's face, she saw the worry in his eyes. With his help, she slowly climbed out of the back of the wagon and moved towards the front of the procession. Both her jaw and heart sank to the ground.
Several months march before they reached Kincairn. There lay before them a ravine spanning nearly thirty feet. This may not have been a challenge for them under normal circumstances. Any Orc warrior worth their weight could clear that distance with a running leap while unburdened with equipment.
Amara huffed. Then it was merely a matter of building a bridge to cross. While the Shattered lands weren't friendly -there was plenty of wood and other materials which could be gathered- to accomplish such a feat, especially with the many skilled builders in the tribe.
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However, this wasn't simply some ravine worn through years of water or wind. It had been torn apart by the anger of the Deities. The walls glowed an angry blue and purple, and even standing close threatened mana sickness. The worst of it was every hour or so, a blast from the bottom of the ravine -some thousand feet down at the very least, her scouts told her- shot up into the sky and beyond the clouds, a blast of pure raw mana.
As Amara and Varga tried to find a new solution to the ravines, they were interrupted as a scout rushed up to them, alerting them to the fact a few of their shamans had exploded in a violent tempest of magical energy upon touching the rift’s explosive discharge.
Panicked whispers spread throughout her tribe, threatening even her own mind. But being a leader came first. She could worry and panick later once she was alone with her husband -Varga. For now, she stood at the front of the procession, seeing the last of it a few hundred feet in the back, slowly spreading out, matching the ravine.
" [Titan's Voice] " once she felt the skill settle into her vocal cords, she spoke passionately. The skill carried her voice for thousands of feet around her.
"The way to Kincairn is beyond us. Set up camp a thousand paces from the ravine itself. No one is to touch it. To touch is to invite death. We will get through this. We will find a way to survive. Lean on one another for support. We are the Tribe of the Shattered Will, generations we have conquered the Shattered Lands, bent it to our will! We have given safe passage to Kings and Queens, slain mighty warriors, and seen a thousand battles and more! This is nothing to us. We must stand strong and stand united!"
Between the content of the speech, and the various leadership passive skills she had, morale bolstered immensely. She knew it wouldn't last forever.
They would have to find a way across this ravine or head back towards other distant lands. They had to find a way to unite with others. The Shattered lands were home to many deadly monsters, most of which were only defeated because of how coordinated her tribe was.
If [Divinity Scorned] meant the system would no longer allow them to advance...they wouldn't last long.
It only took them a few hours to set up the tents surrounding the large bonfire. Amara sat in her tent. Varga and the Elder Shaman were with her. She spoke first.
"The first order of business is to ensure we have sustainable food, scavenge what we can. Ration food for the first few weeks to ensure we do not run out. While we are blessed that the Shattered Lands are too warm to ever see snow, that doesn't mean the plants grow as readily in the winter. Next.... "
Her worry was evident. Fear threatened to consume her. She placed a hand on her stomach, fighting against the urge to break into tears. Varga and Lurog said nothing. They were in the same position. They all had to remain strong for those they commanded. Once the tribe was safe and secure -then and only then- could they afford to break down even in private.
"Next we get a warband together, and slay an enemy."
The other two sharing her tent now gave her quizzical looks. She continued.
"If the status [Divinity Scorned] means we can no longer gain experience...or level. Receive new skills or new classes. "
Her voice trailed off, and the others quickly realized just how severe such a thing would be. The world would be overrun by non-sentient monsters who could breed much more rapidly than sentient creatures could. With no advancements, no skills, or classes.
It meant they could never replenish their ranks with leveled warriors and Shamans. They would slowly be whittled down by the Shattered lands until their tribe was snuffed out of existence.
" Send out warbands along the ravine, see if the gap lessens at any point and how far it stretches. Ready a scouting party, tell them to avoid all conflict. Make haste opposite the ravine. If we cannot cross it, perhaps we can make way through the Shattered Lands and arrive safely on the other side. I know it will be a many months journey, better than being stuck here I think."
-=- Three Weeks Later -=-
Much to Amara's relief, they could still gain experience, and they could still level and use skills. Her shamans and warriors reported that any skills or spells that called upon their gods were significantly weakened. The news was a double-edged sword; it gave some insight into what [Divinity Scorned] meant, but it mostly left them with more questions than answers. It couldn't merely be their skills being weakened, could it?
The ravine never grew more narrow. In fact, as the scouts got further from the apparent center, it grew wider. Eventually, two more deep ravines appeared next to the center ravine. Appearing as if some deity's claw had reached down and tried to grab the land and rip it away. The worst news was the Scout party sent away from the ravine. They returned in just two short weeks, nearly dead.
The non-sentient monsters of the Shattered Lands were in a frenzy and had grown dozens of levels in just a few short days. Amara was only now realizing how much the deities' passive power tamed the monsters of this plane.
Perhaps that was why the gods had abandoned them. Perhaps the gods had grown weary of protecting creatures that refused to be better and warred with one another endlessly.
That didn't matter now. Amara gripped her husband's arm threatening to break it with how hard she squeezed and screamed while pushing with all her might, as her midwife and shamans told her to do. She was used to this, having given birth to twins before.
Amara lay exhausted on a mountain of furs, and pillows, her pale purple skin drenched in sweat. Her poor husband show-casing several new bruises, wearing the biggest smile he could.
In his arms was a bundle of soft furs, a very tiny, very loud bundle of furs. Gently sitting next to Amara and leaning in close. Amara looked up at him, a smile on her own face as she looked down at the tiny little orc girl swaddled in fur.
The child's skin was odd for an Orc, most of whom had purple or blue hues, given their nature as creatures born mostly of mana. The baby had crimson skin. Almost as if she was part demon. Two large deep blue eyes showed an abundance of mana already in them.
Amara took the child in her arms, pulling her close to her chest. Once the baby latched, the crying stopped. Amara looked at her husband her smile hadn't faded in the slightest, exhausted as she was.
"Shall we look together?"
Varga nodded, and both said in unison.
" [Greater Scan] " Their eyes slowly peered over the status screen, that appeared above their daughter's head.
Name: {Unnamed}
[Status: Alive; Hungry; Exhausted; Scorned Divinity]
Species: [Mortal]; [Orc] Level: 1
Subspecies: [Orc-Adolescent;Runt] Level: 1
Class: {To unlock class options, raise Species or Subspecies to level 10}
Stats:
[Brawn: 10]
\Strength: 5 Vitality: 5/
[Dexterity: 10]
\Agility: 5 Wisdom: 5/
[Charisma: 10]
\Intuition: 5 Presence: 5/
Racial Skills:
[Orc Savagery - Passive]: - Level
[Orc Constitution - Passive]: - Level 0
General Skills:
Class Skills: {To Unlock Class Skills, please select a Class}
Health: 100
Stamina: 50
Mana: 50
Amara and her husband - Varga - looked at each other with concern. Focusing on [Runt] letting the status expand and explain it for them.
[Subspecies Trait: Runt- This creature is stunted in some way, there is a small chance as it grows and levels, this trait will disappear. This trait applies a negative penalty on certain Stats and can hamper some, or all racial skills.]
Next, their gaze moved to the racial skills which had been affected.
[Orc Savagery - Passive]: -Level
[Orc Constitution - Passive]: - Level 0
Amara and Varga both wore worried expressions now. The Shattered lands were an extremely harsh environment. The tribe leveled their children by capturing and tying down low-level weakened monsters and letting the children kill such monsters. While they knew every level in their daughter's species and subspecies would bring stat points to spend - four stat points, whenever one leveled - it would still significantly hamper her growth and capabilities.
All children of the Shattered Will were instructed to invest all of their Species stat points into Strength and Vitality evenly. They were instructed to save their subspecies stat points until they were at level nine, at which time they could speak with their parents or the elders for advice on how to invest the stat points to get a more favorable class. Or at least a better chance at a more favorable class.
Their daughter, however, wasn't going to get bonus experience. The children already earned next to no experience because they didn't do enough damage to the creatures, it was only because of [Orc Savagery] that the children could be leveled this way, and it was only the boost to Strength and Vitality that children could survive the harsh environment and lifestyle required of these lands. Varga seeing the concern on his wife's face, as tears welled in her eyes, quickly put a hand on her shoulder and smiled.
"She needs a name Chieftain. Give her a mighty one, that she may grow into it."
Amara blinked the tears away, worried for her daughter's future. She smiled and tried not to think about that now. Wanting to merely enjoy the fact she finally had a daughter! After two sons, both strong warriors. Finally, she had a daughter.
She thought carefully, taking her free hand, and gently stroked her daughter's head. Names were important to her tribe; a good name would shape the destiny of who it was given to.
Their Surnames were changed to whatever their greatest accomplishment had been, with the leader of any given family -whoever happened to be the strongest warrior of the family- determining everyone's surname.
Amara stood. Slowly with her husband's help. Slowly walking out of the tent where most of the tribe waited. All of them wanted good news, wanting to celebrate another mighty orc joining their cause. Amara looked out over them, smiling down at the baby who had finally had enough to eat and had begun staring intently up at her mother.
"Let us welcome to the Tribe of the Shattered Will, [Trillia Demonsbane]!"
A faint blue glow overtook the baby for a moment before the status updated, and cheers erupted from the tribe. And for the first time since the Cataclysm, the tribe breathed a little easier. Amara would find a way to help her daughter grow into a strong Orc.
Orcs weren't like most other monstrous humanoids, caring deeply for family and tribesmen. It was the job of the entire tribe to ensure that every orc was raised with the same values and morals of the tribe. It was the job of the tribe to ensure that no Orc child was without purpose. Amara had faith in her people, in her Trillia.