Orcs and Warborn

War shaped them, but war does not define them. The species gathered in this entry share a common thread: each one was forged in conflict, tempered by centuries or millennia of martial selection, survival under siege, or the cruel experiments of gods and fiends who treated sentient life as raw material. In their home spheres, that history often trapped them, reduced them to stereotypes of savagery, conscripted them into cycles of violence that served everyone's narrative except their own. Trisurus offered something different. Not absolution, because none of them committed the sins their reputations described, but context. A civilization sophisticated enough to distinguish between a people's past and their potential, and wealthy enough to provide the stability that lets traumatized cultures finally exhale.

The warborn are not a formal political bloc, and most would reject the label if it were applied with any hint of condescension. But they share refugee experiences, integration challenges, and a stubborn insistence on being seen for what they are building rather than what they survived. In the training yards, construction sites, Fleet corridors, and community halls of Trisurus, they are building quite a lot.

Orc

Origin: Refugee (multiple waves from at least seven collapsed spheres over the past three thousand years)

Population: ~320 million across the system. 180 million on Verdania, 90 million on Trisurus Prime, 40 million on Aelios, 10 million distributed across Fleet postings, orbital stations, and deep-space habitats.

Languages: Common, Orc. Many orcs speak one or more additional refugee languages from their sphere of origin, and Fleet-serving orcs frequently learn Giff Battle-Cant or Construct Cant as professional necessities.

The first orc refugees arrived in Trisurus three thousand years ago from the Sphere of Broken Shields, a crystal sphere that had been at war for so long its inhabitants had forgotten what they were fighting over. They came expecting to be treated the way orcs are treated in most of known wildspace: with suspicion at best, violence at worst. What they found instead was a processing station on Verdania staffed by hill dwarf community workers who offered them shelter, food, language courses, and something no one had offered an orc in living memory: a genuine question about what they wanted to do with their lives. The answer, for most of that first wave, was build things. And they have not stopped building since.

Orcs in Trisurus have shed the savage reputation that clings to their cousins in more primitive spheres, though they carry it like a scar that aches in bad weather. The stereotype persists in wildspace at large: the orcish raider, the mindless berserker, the disposable foot soldier of whatever dark god claims dominion this century. In Trisurus, that narrative met a civilization too advanced to accept it uncritically and too pragmatic to waste the talents of three hundred million people. Orcish strength and endurance, traits that other worlds weaponized against them, translate beautifully into construction, industrial engineering, competitive athletics, and Fleet service. An orc construction crew can raise a biodome support column in half the time it takes a mixed-species team, and they do it with a coordinated efficiency that speaks to something deeper than muscle, a culture that has always survived by working together under pressure.

Community is the beating heart of orcish culture in Trisurus. Every orc neighborhood, from the towering residential blocks of Luminar to the frontier settlements on Verdania's newer biodomes, organizes around the kith, an extended family structure that blends blood relations with chosen bonds. A kith shares meals, pools resources, mediates internal disputes through elder councils, and presents a unified face to the outside world. The system is older than any sphere the orcs remember, possibly older than their recorded history, and it has proven remarkably adaptable. Refugee kith from different spheres regularly merge, absorbing newcomers through a ceremony called the binding feast: three days of shared cooking, storytelling, and competitive games that ends with the newcomers being formally named as kin. The ceremony works. It has been working for three thousand years.

The competitive instinct runs deep, channeled through centuries of Trisuran integration into outlets that would astonish the warlords of dead spheres. Orcish athletics dominate the system's sporting culture. The Iron Games, a biannual event held on Trisurus Prime, draw competitors and spectators from all three worlds and routinely break viewership records on the sending-stone broadcast network. Events range from raw strength competitions to tactical team sports that require the kind of strategic coordination orcs perfected in war and now practice in arenas. The rivalry between orcish athletic kith and goliath clans at the Iron Games and the Tournament of Peaks has become one of the system's great sporting traditions, fierce and genuine and utterly free of the bloodshed that defined both species' competitive past.

Generational war trauma remains the shadow in orcish culture that community strength and athletic success cannot fully dispel. The older kith, those whose grandparents or great-grandparents survived the collapse of war-spheres, carry memories of atrocities committed against them and, in some cases, by them under compulsion or desperation. Trisuran mental health services have developed orcish-specific therapeutic practices in collaboration with kith elders, blending traditional storytelling and communal processing with modern psionic and alchemical treatments. The work is slow, generational by nature. Young orcs raised entirely in Trisurus sometimes struggle to understand why their elders flinch at loud noises or refuse to discuss certain spheres by name. That gap between generations, between those who remember the wars and those who have only known peace, is the central tension in modern orcish society, and it has no easy resolution.

Fleet service attracts orcs in disproportionate numbers, and they serve with distinction across all divisions. Orcish NCOs are the backbone of many Fleet ground operations units, valued for their combination of physical capability, tactical pragmatism, and an unshakeable loyalty to their crew that mirrors the kith bond. The Defense Division's Rapid Response Teams are roughly forty percent orc, a statistic that reflects both genuine aptitude and a cultural inclination to run toward danger instead of away from it. Fleet Command has worked deliberately to ensure that orcish service is not typecast into combat roles alone: orcish engineers, medics, navigators, and diplomatic corps members serve throughout the organization, though recruitment into non-martial fields remains an ongoing effort.

Current Issues: The most recent refugee wave, two hundred survivors from the Khelvar sphere collapse, arrived traumatized from a world where orcs had been systematically enslaved by an illithid occupation for six generations. Their integration has been the most challenging the kith system has ever faced. These orcs have no cultural memory of freedom, no framework for self-governance, and a deep-seated terror of authority figures that makes even routine interactions with Consortium officials agonizing. The existing orcish community has mobilized massively, with kith across all three worlds volunteering resources and elder mentors. But the Khelvar survivors are testing the limits of what communal goodwill can heal.

Names:
Feminine: Bagga, Brekka, Dura, Eshka, Fenna, Gashna, Harza, Ilkra, Jezra, Kelga, Leshka, Mogra, Nurga, Okhra, Ragsha, Shura, Tavka, Ugriza, Volka, Yazga
Masculine: Borzag, Durgash, Ezzik, Fulgrim, Gorzul, Harkun, Jurak, Kolzar, Lugdur, Mordek, Nagruk, Ogzar, Pazgul, Rolkag, Skarth, Thorzag, Urgol, Vashnak, Worzek, Yazgur
Neutral: Ash, Brek, Dur, Gash, Kren, Mog, Resh, Skar, Thek, Vorn
Kith Names (used as surnames): Ashblood, Bonehearth, Chainbreak, Deeproot, Ember-Sworn, Forgekin, Gritsteel, Hearthhold, Ironkith, Keenscar, Longstride, Moldbreaker, Nighthammer, Oathbound, Peaksworn, Rootfast, Shieldwall, Thundermark, Unbroken, Warcradle

Minotaur

Origin: Refugee (from the Sphere of Echoing Halls, collapsed approximately 1,800 years ago)
Population: ~85 million across the system. 40 million on Trisurus Prime, 25 million on Aelios, 15 million on Verdania, 5 million in Fleet service and orbital habitats.
Languages: Common, Minotaur (a language of low resonant tones and stamped rhythms that carries through stone and metal better than air). Many minotaurs learn Dwarvish, Giant, or Construct Cant depending on their professional sphere.

The bull-folk possess a spatial reasoning capacity unmatched by any other organic species in the Trisurus system. This is documented neurological fact, not cultural boasting. Millennia of evolution in the island-labyrinth culture of the Sphere of Echoing Halls, a crystal sphere where every landmass was a maze of stone, coral, and volcanic glass, produced a species for whom navigation is not a skill but a cognitive baseline. A minotaur asked for directions will provide the most precise navigational instructions you have ever heard, delivered in a rumbling baritone, accompanied by a sketch drawn from memory that could pass for an architectural blueprint, and containing at least one reference to a corridor you did not know existed.

The Echoing Halls collapsed eighteen hundred years ago, slowly enough that the minotaur fleet-clans had time to organize one of the most disciplined evacuations in refugee history. Instead of fleeing in panic, the fleet-clans mapped their escape routes with characteristic precision, assigned embarkation priorities based on a system of honor-debts and clan obligations, and departed in formation: seventeen great ships carrying the survivors of an entire civilization, their navigational charts, their architectural traditions, and the bones of their honored dead preserved in sealed vaults. They arrived in Trisurus not as desperate refugees but as a displaced nation, and they negotiated their settlement terms with a dignity that the Consortium's historians still cite as a model of refugee integration.

On Trisurus Prime, minotaurs dominate the architectural and civil engineering sectors. The labyrinthine spatial awareness that kept them alive in the Echoing Halls translates into an intuitive understanding of structural dynamics, load distribution, and traffic flow that no amount of academic training can replicate. Minotaur architects designed the expansion of Luminar's lower districts, seventeen levels of interlocking residential, commercial, and transit space that other engineers said could not be built without compromising structural integrity. The minotaurs built it. It has not shifted a millimeter in four hundred years. The architectural firm of Theros & Haleward, a minotaur-human partnership, is responsible for more large-scale construction projects in the system than any other single entity.

Fleet navigation is the other great minotaur calling. Their spatial gift extends from stone corridors to the void between stars with an ease that bewilders researchers. A minotaur navigator can hold a three-dimensional map of local wildspace in their head, updating it in real time as celestial bodies shift and currents change, and plot courses through asteroid fields or debris zones that computational models flag as impassable. The Fleet's Navigation Corps is roughly thirty percent minotaur, a proportion so far above their population share that recruitment campaigns have been quietly redirected toward other specialties. The Corps needs cognitive diversity it cannot achieve if one species fills every chair.

Honor governs minotaur society with the weight of law. The Code of the Labyrinth, an oral tradition transcribed after the evacuation, defines a system of obligations, debts, and earned privileges that regulates everything from business contracts to marriage proposals. A minotaur's word is binding. A broken oath is not merely a social failing but an existential crisis that can result in exile from one's clan. The concept of the labyrinth extends metaphorically through their entire worldview: life is a maze, every choice a branching path, and wisdom lies in understanding that dead ends are not failures but information.

Minotaur philosophers are some of the most original thinkers in the system, their work characterized by patience and tolerance for complexity that other traditions find either inspiring or maddening. The competitive streak manifests differently than in orcs or goliaths: minotaurs compete through craft and intellect. Architectural competitions, navigational challenges, and the elaborate strategy game Thauros, played on a three-dimensional board that shifts configuration mid-match, draw serious crowds on Prime. A Grandmaster of Thauros holds social status equivalent to a clan elder. Physical competition exists in minotaur wrestling and the ceremonial horn-lock, but these are considered private clan matters, not public spectacle.

Current Issues: A generational dispute has emerged between the elder fleet-clans, who maintain strict adherence to the Code of the Labyrinth, and younger minotaurs who argue that an honor system designed for island-maze survival is poorly suited to a cosmopolitan civilization where material want has been eliminated. The elders counter that the Code is exactly what prevents their culture from dissolving into the Trisuran mainstream. Neither side is wrong, and both know it.

Names:
Feminine: Alethia, Brisenna, Corastia, Damara, Euthenia, Galatea, Hypatia, Iolanthe, Kassiane, Leukothea, Myrrhine, Neaira, Ophira, Phaedria, Rhodessa, Sotera, Thekla, Urania, Xanthia, Zenovia
Masculine: Adranos, Braxos, Corrhun, Drakkos, Euandros, Gorath, Hesperon, Ixander, Korvath, Letheon, Myrthos, Naxon, Orython, Pyrrhon, Rhadamos, Stelgorn, Theron, Ulkhor, Vraxos, Xyander
Neutral: Akon, Brase, Doryx, Ethos, Grael, Kyros, Meath, North, Peran, Thael
Clan/Fleet Names: Deephorn, Echostride, Farwatch, Galewright, Hornforge, Ironpath, Keelmark, Labyrinthborn, Mornhorn, Nighthelm, Pillarstone, Ridgecrown, Starhorn, Truecourse, Vaultbrow

Gnoll

Origin: Refugee (from the Sphere of the Shattered Fang, collapsed approximately 900 years ago)
Population: ~18 million across the system. 12 million on Verdania, 4 million on Trisurus Prime, 1.5 million on Aelios, 500,000 elsewhere.
Languages: Common, Gnoll (a language heavy on growls, yips, and tonal inflection that most species can learn to understand but find physically difficult to reproduce). Many gnolls adopt a second language based on their settlement community.

Every gnoll in Trisurus carries two histories: the one the wider multiverse tells about them, and the one they are writing for themselves. In most crystal spheres, gnolls are synonymous with Yeenoghu, the demon lord of slaughter who twisted an entire species into instruments of mindless carnage, hollowing out their culture and replacing it with hunger. The gnolls of the Shattered Fang broke that chain. In their home sphere, a coalition of gnoll shamans and mortal allies managed what theologians considered impossible: they severed Yeenoghu's hold on their people, not through divine intervention but through a generations-long campaign of ritual purification, selective resistance, and sheer defiance. The freedom cost them. By the time the Shattered Fang collapsed nine hundred years ago, the gnolls who boarded the evacuation ships were a species with a hole where their culture used to be, free of demonic compulsion but left with almost nothing to replace it.

Trisurus gave them space to fill that void. Gnoll communities on Verdania operate on a pack-based social structure that predates Yeenoghu's corruption, a system the shamans recovered from fragments of oral tradition and archaeological evidence excavated from their dying world. The pack is smaller than an orcish kith, typically eight to fifteen individuals bound by choice and mutual reliance instead of blood. Packs hunt together, raise young collectively, and make decisions through a consensus model that can look chaotic from the outside but functions with startling efficiency. A gnoll pack deciding where to eat dinner deploys the same rapid-fire negotiation (barks, gestures, scent-marking agreement) that it uses to coordinate a construction project or plan a seasonal migration.

The cultural reconstruction is the great project of gnoll civilization in Trisurus, and it is far from complete. What does gnoll art look like without Yeenoghu's influence? What are gnoll spiritual practices when they are not blood-soaked rites to a demon prince? What do gnoll families become when parenthood is no longer a biological assembly line for war-spawn? Every generation answers these questions differently, and the gnoll community is remarkably tolerant of experimentation. One pack on Verdania practices contemplative meditation borrowed from githzerai traditions. Another on Prime has developed a gnoll culinary culture centered on communal hunts in managed wildlife preserves followed by elaborate feasts. A third on Aelios has channeled the species' legendary endurance into long-distance courier and patrol work. None of these paths is considered more authentically gnoll than any other, because authenticity is precisely what they are inventing.

The wider Trisuran public's relationship with gnolls is complicated by reputation. Even in a cosmopolitan civilization, the word "gnoll" carries baggage from a thousand spheres where the species served as Yeenoghu's shock troops. Gnolls in Trisurus face a prejudice more subtle than open hostility but no less exhausting: the second glance, the locked door, the assumption that the hyena-folk must be predisposed to violence despite nine centuries of evidence to the contrary. Anti-discrimination laws protect them. Cultural education programs exist. Progress is real. But a gnoll walking through an unfamiliar district on Prime still notices when conversations go quiet.

Current Issues: A faction of younger gnolls has begun pushing for the word "gnoll" itself to be retired, arguing that the name is inseparable from Yeenoghu's corruption and that a free people deserve a name they chose rather than one imposed by their tormentor. The movement has gained traction but faces opposition from elders who argue that reclaiming the name is more powerful than abandoning it. The debate is civil, passionate, and nowhere near resolution.

Names:
Feminine: Chakka, Drenna, Feshka, Grella, Hyekka, Jiska, Kreshna, Lyska, Meshka, Nyella, Rashka, Shekka, Vrenna, Yeshka, Zikka
Masculine: Brukk, Dakkar, Feshk, Grennok, Hakkar, Jukk, Kreshk, Mokkar, Neshk, Rekkul, Shukkar, Trusk, Vrennok, Yashk, Zukk
Neutral: Check, Dash, Fen, Gnash, Hrek, Rask, Shen, Yip
Pack Names (used as surnames): Clearfang, Dawnhowl, Embergrowl, Freepack, Grassrunner, Hollowbone, Laughtrack, Moonchaser, Newpath, Opensky, Ridgehowl, Sunhunt, Trailbreaker, Windscent

Ogresh

Origin: Refugee (from the Sphere of Groaning Stone, collapsed approximately 600 years ago)
Population: ~8,000 across the system. 5,000 on Aelios, 2,000 on Verdania, 1,000 on Trisurus Prime and elsewhere.
Languages: Common, Giant. Most ogresh also speak Dwarvish or Construct Cant, picked up through work on Aelios.

The Sphere of Groaning Stone was a high-gravity world of crushing tectonic pressures, and its ogre-descended inhabitants evolved into something their ancestors would not recognize. Ogresh retain the size and raw strength of ogres, standing seven to eight feet tall with dense musculature and thick, stone-grey skin. What they gained over millennia was patience, fine motor control, and a quiet thoughtfulness that surprises anyone expecting a fairy-tale brute. Their world's ambient magic shaped them as surely as its gravity did. Where standard ogres are blunt instruments, ogresh are deliberate ones: strong enough to bend hull plating bare-handed, careful enough to thread a needle with the same fingers.

Only a few thousand survived the Groaning Stone's collapse, arriving in Trisurus six centuries ago aboard three battered ships. The Consortium settled them primarily on Aelios, where their physical capabilities found immediate application in heavy industrial work: hull plating, deep-forge operations, and the kind of structural labor where a single ogresh worker replaces a three-person crew and a grav-lift. They work alongside goliaths and dwarves in the forge complexes, respected for their strength and for a temperament that makes them the best coworkers on any shift. An ogresh remembers everyone's name, brings extra food to share, and quietly fixes problems before anyone notices they existed. Forge supervisors who have worked with ogresh crews consistently report lower accident rates and higher morale, not because the ogresh enforce discipline but because their steady presence calms the rhythm of a workspace.

Their community is too small for political influence, and most ogresh prefer it that way. They maintain a single communal hall on Aelios, the Hearthstone, where the entire population could gather if it chose to, and occasionally does for seasonal festivals. These celebrations blend half-remembered traditions from the Groaning Stone with borrowed customs from their dwarven and goliath neighbors. The Hearthstone's kitchen runs for three days straight during the winter gathering, and the cooking itself is ceremonial: ogresh elders prepare dishes from memory, adjusting recipes that were never written down, tasting and correcting until the flavor matches something from a world that no longer exists. Visitors who attend a feast night describe it as one of the warmest evenings they have spent anywhere in the system.

Current Issues: With a population of eight thousand, the ogresh face a quiet demographic crisis. The community is too small for genetic diversity over the long term, and intermarriage with other species, while socially accepted, produces children who identify as mixed instead of ogresh. Elders worry that within a few centuries, the ogresh will simply dissolve into Trisurus's broader population, their identity a footnote instead of a living culture. A recently formed cultural council has begun recording oral histories and codifying Groaning Stone traditions in written form for the first time, racing against the biological clock of a population that cannot afford to lose what it remembers.

Names:
Feminine: Brolla, Durna, Gresta, Keltha, Mogra, Thurda
Masculine: Bolgar, Dursk, Grennok, Kolvar, Morvash, Thurgon
Neutral: Bren, Dask, Grul, Kol, Thek
Surnames: Deephand, Gentlestone, Hearthkeeper, Ironpalm, Quietstep, Stonecradle

Wulven

Origin: Refugee (from the Sphere of the Howling Dark, collapsed approximately 400 years ago)
Population: ~12,000 across the system. 9,000 on Verdania, 2,000 on Trisurus Prime, 1,000 elsewhere.
Languages: Common, Wulven (a language incorporating subsonic growls and ear-position signaling that carries emotional content other species cannot fully perceive). Many wulven learn Sylvan on Verdania through contact with druidic communities.

Pack bond is the wrong term for what wulven share, though no better one exists in Common. Wolf-folk with digitigrade legs, dense fur, pointed ears, and a social architecture built on connection so deep it borders on telepathic, the wulven came from the Howling Dark, a sphere of perpetual twilight where pack coordination meant the difference between eating and being eaten. A wulven knows where their packmates are the way most people know where their own hands are: without thinking, constantly, and with alarm when the connection is disrupted. Four hundred years in Trisurus has not dimmed the instinct. If anything, the relative safety of Trisuran life has allowed it to deepen, freed from the survival pressures that once kept it sharp but shallow.

Their community on Verdania clusters in the boreal forest preserves, where the climate and terrain echo the Howling Dark closely enough to ease a homesickness that four centuries has not cured. Wulven settlements are built low, partially underground, with communal sleeping dens and shared kitchens reflecting a species designed by evolution to do everything together. Privacy, as other species understand it, is a foreign concept. A wulven who spends too long alone becomes anxious, then despondent, then genuinely unwell. Pack separation is not a preference but a medical concern that Trisuran mental health services have learned to take seriously, developing protocols that prioritize keeping wulven patients connected to their pack even during treatment that would normally require isolation.

Their territorial instinct, once a survival mechanism in the Howling Dark, has been channeled into conservation and ranger work on Verdania. Wulven patrol teams maintain the boreal preserves with a possessive dedication that park administrators find both invaluable and occasionally alarming. A wulven ranger who catches poachers in their territory responds with a level of intensity that requires cultural sensitivity training on both sides. The patrols are effective: poaching rates in wulven-maintained preserves are the lowest in the system. Beyond enforcement, wulven rangers have developed tracking and ecological monitoring techniques that combine their acute senses with Consortium survey technology, producing wildlife population data of a granularity no other method achieves.

Current Issues: The wulven population is small enough that every death diminishes the community measurably. A recent industrial accident on Verdania that killed three wulven rangers triggered a grief response across the entire population, communal howling that lasted two nights and prompted worried calls to Consortium emergency services from neighboring settlements. The incident highlighted how little the broader Trisuran public understands about wulven mourning practices and how fragile a community of twelve thousand truly is.

Names:
Feminine: Ashka, Brynna, Desta, Ferra, Greysa, Hilka, Kessa, Lyska
Masculine: Aldrek, Borruk, Drenn, Falkir, Grenn, Haskul, Korran, Then
Neutral: Bark, Den, Fell, Howl, Lope, Pelt, Snarl, Track
Pack Names (used as surnames): Coldtrail, Deepden, Farscent, Greymoon, Longrun, Nightwatch, Stillhunt, Twinstar

Grudgel

Origin: Refugee (from the Sphere of the Bleeding Marches, collapsed approximately 350 years ago)
Population: ~3,000 across the system. 1,500 on Verdania, 800 on Trisurus Prime, 700 on Aelios.
Languages: Common, Giant. A handful of elder grudgel still speak Bleeding Cant, the pidgin trade language of their home sphere, though it is dying with them.

Three thousand people is not a species. It is a neighborhood. The grudgel know this with a clarity that shapes every decision their community makes, every child they celebrate, every elder they mourn with a grief that larger populations cannot fully comprehend.

Troll-blooded humanoids from the Sphere of the Bleeding Marches, the grudgel stand six to seven feet tall with mottled green-grey skin, long limbs, and the regenerative healing that marks their troll ancestry. Cuts close in minutes, broken bones knit in hours, and only fire and acid leave permanent scars. In their home sphere, that resilience made them valued and feared in equal measure: valued as soldiers, laborers, and living siege engines, feared because anything that hard to kill must, by the logic of frightened people everywhere, want to kill you.

The grudgel who escaped the Bleeding Marches carried the scars of that fear. Many bore fire-marks, deliberate burns inflicted by the other peoples of their sphere to "prove loyalty," to demonstrate that the troll-blooded could be hurt and therefore controlled. Trisuran intake workers who processed the three hundred and twelve original survivors documented the marks with clinical fury, and the Consortium's refugee integration reports from that era remain some of the most quietly angry official documents in the archive.

Three and a half centuries later, the grudgel population has grown from three hundred to three thousand. The numbers are still precarious. They live scattered across the system in small clusters, never more than a few hundred in one place, held together by a communication network of letters, sending-stone calls, and an annual gathering on Verdania called the Mending. For three days, every grudgel who can travel does. New children are formally named. Marriages are witnessed. The dead are honored. And the count is taken, because three thousand is a number small enough that every individual matters and every loss registers.

What outsiders rarely see is the grudgel talent for repair work that has nothing to do with their regeneration. Their culture on the Bleeding Marches revolved around salvage and restoration, mending broken things in a world that was always breaking. That instinct carried over. Grudgel artisans on Aelios have earned a reputation for restoring damaged magitech components that other technicians would scrap, coaxing function back into equipment through a combination of mechanical skill and a patience that borders on devotion. The work is quiet, unglamorous, and exactly the kind of contribution that keeps a forge world running without ever making headlines.

Current Issues: The grudgel's regenerative abilities have drawn interest from Trisuran medical researchers hoping to study and potentially replicate their healing factor. The community is deeply divided. Some see the research as an opportunity to contribute something irreplaceable to Trisuran society. Others see it as the Bleeding Marches all over again, their bodies treated as resources instead of people. The Consortium has promised that all participation is voluntary, and so far that promise has held. But the grudgel have long memories for broken ones.

Names:

Feminine: Brella, Gressa, Keltha, Meska, Reshka

Masculine: Drogul, Grennash, Kolvar, Reshk, Thulgon

Neutral: Grel, Kesh, Mend, Thresh, Vine

Surnames: Firescar, Greenblood, Knitmend, Lasthold, Mending, Stillgrowing

See also: Collapsed Spheres Registry