The Bronthok Reaches

Land and Boundaries

The Bronthok Reaches spread across a high belt of redstone shelves, broken mesas, and steep gullies south and east of the Varnhollow cliffs. Wind channels through the gaps and turns talk into short phrases. After storms, thunder repeats across the walls, and travelers lose direction if they follow echoes instead of marks. Hot springs breathe out of shattered seams and stain the rock white and black. Thornbrush and low salt grass hold to ledges where a little soil gathers, and goat herds range between patches when the season is kind. Old ley paths run under the Reaches, but they are crooked and thin. Some cut near the surface and leave green bands of crystal in the stone. Others sag and pool in caves where the air stings and oil lamps burn low. Lorekeepers list the Reaches as unstable ground. Castings that are steady in Naath may twist or fizzle here, and long rites fail unless a seam is calm.

The Reaches touch three neighbors and do not forget it. The Varnhollow Peaks stand to the west and push cold air over the border. The Hulderhorn heights lie to the far north and send down sudden weather. The Verdwood presses the low edge with timber, water, and game that the Redfang want but do not own. Wardens say Bronthok is the mouth of the ridge. Paths narrow as they enter, and every choice leads to a place where someone can watch you. The ground holds many signs. Shrines from an older people still sit at passheads with chipped images and shallow bowls. A few are intact enough to use for shelter or to hold a short rite that calms a seam for a time. Most carry new marks burned in by Redfang scouts. These marks set tolls, hunting bans, and blood-prices. The marks change when power shifts between bands. That is why Naath keeps tallies and why Seekers bring back rubbings before they bring back coin.

Redfang Law, Life, and War

The Redfang orcs rule Bronthok by force, oath, and memory. They build on shelves and in cliff mouths, bracing walls with bone and timber and iron taken from caravans, patrol posts, and older ruins. Chieftains hold a camp by feeding it and by keeping it alive in hard weather. Elders keep the names, births, and graves. Shamans bind the oaths, brand warriors, and speak for the ground when the seams shift. Redfang speech is direct. Honor is counted in kept promises and proven strength. Betrayal is answered the same day. Cruelty is common. They break enemies in pits to test their own and to teach the young. Prisoners work, trade for their freedom, or die. Yet they can be reasoned with when the offer is clear and the cost is paid at once.

Rites mark every turn in a Redfang life. At Varruk’s Teeth, young fighters climb razor ridges barefoot, fight on narrow crests, and bleed into the stone while shamans burn thorn resin and coat them with mud and bone ash. Survivors receive a brand of flame and bone and take a war-name. The old tribal meeting place, Vrahn-Ur Hearth, still holds a ring of thrones and a bed of coals fed by a hot spring under the ash. Few thrones are filled now. Bands drift, split, and harden under new leaders. Even so, elders come to the Hearth for blood memory rites, to voice claims on trails and pastures, and to settle feuds that waste strength. Pacts are short. A season of peace can end with the first lean hunt.

Work follows war. Camps run rough forges that turn scrap into spears, knives, hooks, and boot rings. Hunters track goats, boar, and the lean ridge deer that move at night. Scavengers strip iron from old watchposts and carve bone into armor plates. Women and elders sew layered leather and set horn studs for shock and sound. Children fetch water and fuel and learn the whistles and drum-calls that move a band across a gorge without words. The clan law holds one strong rule that others respect. Howlstone Spring is neutral. Wounded from any band receive care there, and those who draw blood at the pool answer to every clan in reach. Trade under watch happens there when a season turns bad. Salt, resin, iron nails, tanning liquor, and goats change hands without speeches.

Roads, Watch, and Outside Powers

Bridle-width roads and rope paths bind the Reaches to the world beyond it. Three-Ledge Way climbs out of the Verdwood and enters a toll ledge where Redfang drums speak before anyone moves. Thunderpath Gorge runs deep through the center. The wind turns it into a horn. Scouts shift along its shadow and signal with stones and notches cut into the walls. Side cuts reach Skorvul Crag, the main rally camp for raids into lower shelves. From that ledge, chieftains can see the whole run of the central passes. The Shattered Warden Outpost sits on a spur that once watched ley surges and counted campfires. The Redfang took it and left parts of the old maps on the walls. Some marks are scratched out. Others remain for those who can read them. Bone whistles from that spur set ambush lines in moments.

Naath’s reach is careful here. The Wardens of Rootwatch map shrine marks and storm cuts, take down traps that threaten the tree line, and post skull-cairns where goblins nest in cracks near the border. They avoid deep runs unless a Seeker charter or a Council writ calls for it. The Merchant Guild pays for rope pins, guide posts, and rescue bounties, but Guild law does not carry into the high shelves. Deals are written in simple lines and backed by goods, not by courts. The Lorekeepers watch the seams, gather samples of green crystal under rule, and warn when the air goes sharp in caves. The Seekers go where coin and need send them. They escort carts to the last safe ledge, run hostage trades, pull lost runners out of gullies, and break snare lines that could drag raids into the Verdwood.

The Redfang treat with outsiders when it suits them. Toll courts accept iron, salt, hard bread, and goats. They reject promises. If a contract needs longer trust, bands take hostages and bind them with a shard oath. Breaking such an oath stains the shard. Shamans know how to read that stain. Skeliri contact is rare. The border with Varnhollow is a cliff and a web line. A few Redfang bands trade silk for bone saws and resin in cold seasons, but fear and silence rule that edge. The Lake-Wardens do not climb this high, yet their storm and flood warnings pass through Naath to Ezra’s and then to the ridge boards. In bad years, giants from the Hulderhorns push south and strip whole valleys. Then every path is watched, and even the Redfang step aside when they must.

Sites of Power and Risk

The Reaches hold places that pull people to them even when sense says to turn back. Varruk’s Teeth is a forest of thin spires that once stood over a ley cross. It is a Redfang trial ground now. The rock is cut with footholds and rope bites. The floor is broken with chasms where screams drop and do not return. The Echo Nest sits in a dead-end ravine behind a fold of redstone. It is a small chamber with weak anchors set into the walls. The air hums in there and words arrive in the wrong order. Shamans say the Nest speaks in dreams. Seekers say it breaks weak minds. The Cracked Shrine of Kol-Daraz stands near a narrow pass with half a roof and carvings rubbed flat by hands and weather. The old mountain faith is gone, but the site still holds a quiet that settles a line before it climbs. Elders use it for names, grief, and vows before a campaign.

Skorvul Crag is the iron heart of Redfang raids. A wide ledge holds rough barracks, a pit ringed with stones for sparring, drying racks for meat and leather, and forge pits that burn hot and dirty. Runners come and go with orders to seal a path, bait a caravan, or pull a band back from a storm. The Shattered Warden Outpost, a short march away, stores trap gear and spare weapons. Ley maps still hide behind grime in two cells. When the light hits them right, green lines show how power once moved under the shelves. The Howlstone Spring, set inside a split rock, heals burns and cleans wounds. Bone tools and leather soak there to harden and seal. It is watched but not owned. Even rivals speak softly in that crevice.

Vrahn-Ur Hearth keeps the old Redfang center. The coals never cool. The thrones stand in a ring with many empty. When chiefs meet, the heat and the steam blur their faces, and words are short. When they do not meet, the Hearth draws elders and shamans who still hold to a larger name than their own band. Thunderpath Gorge remains the fastest way to shift force through the Reaches, and also the easiest place to fall into a trap. Notches mark safer footing and kill zones. A wrong step or a wrong echo can turn a column into a pile. Beyond these places, the Reaches hide small caves where goblins hoard bent iron and tainted meat, and their traps fill the mouths of cracks with stakes and dung. Wardens burn them out when they can reach them. When they cannot, they block the air and leave skull signs that turn folk around.

The Reaches change each season. Spring opens side shelves, but rockfall and melt cut paths in an hour. Summer brings trade to the borders and raids to the low trails. Autumn calls for cross-ridge runs before storms seal the high ways. Winter drives most life into caves and camps, and avalanches erase a year of careful work. Through all of it, the ground keeps its price. Those who learn the marks and pay the tolls can pass. Those who do not, feed the wind and leave their gear for the next band.