Orcs and goblins as enemies: V.V. Edition

The thing about the evil "races" debate is that I actually see a lot of potential in goblins and orcs as enemies, but not with the way they are presented in most D&D settings. Those feel incredibly icky for a lot of reasons, most of which y'all are tired of reading about.

So, in the interest of keeping them as enemies while excising the ick, here's some quick lore from my campaign setting!

DROWNED IN HELL

When people are drowned in the infernal waters of the Abyss, they emerge as orcs. Well, adults do. Children emerge as goblins, instead.
The reason why both orcs and goblins are so "violent and warlike", then, isn't biological predeterminism. They're basically possessed by infernal rabies.

And the best part is, they can be cleansed. Purging the Infernal Ur (tainted magic) that corrupts orcs and goblins alike is a campaign-long goal, and not an easy task at all. But it's doable.

If/when the PCs or NPCs manage that, the untainted orcs and goblins won't be called by those names anymore. They'll cease to be driven by rage and cruelty. They'll recover a lot of their former memories and personalities, and they won't need to drown others in the Abyss to increase their population anymore. For all intents and purposes, this will be the birth of two new Lineages of the Folk, embraced and treated as such.

That won't stop new orcs and goblins from being made in the Abyss, however. Shock troops are always useful. Callously killing them, however, won't be so easy anymore. That's the power of an informed decision.

THIS POST BROUGHT TO YOU BY...

So, there are three main influences for this take on orcs: the Super Mutants from Fallout 1, zombies, and the Deadites from Evil Dead. The "dunking regular people in evil soup" aspect of it comes from the Super Mutants, obviously, and the possibility of a cure comes from zombies. Deadites were the key ingredient, though, with their penchant for self-harm, mindless abandon, gratuitous cruelty and thirst for violence being an inspiration for the infernal angle of it all, as well as a way of keeping what makes orcs cool without the offensive bits.

As for the goblins, most of the above also applies, with the addition of a wonderful blogpost by @sandromaycry. It's a must-read if you're at all interested in different interpretations of fantasy species.

 

Werewolf: The Apocalypse and the impact of flawed representation

I have conflicting feelings about Werewolf: The Apocalypse.

As a mixed-race Indigenous person who wasn't raised by their people, Werewolf was my first contact with a true attempt at representation for Indigenous cultures. It wasn't entirely positive, nor was it responsible, sensible or accurate, bordering on the noble savage racist trope, but given that everything else treated us like less-than, it mattered.

Seeing my ancestry being portrayed as this interesting, vibrant and deeply spiritual collection of cultures sparked an awakening of sorts.

Now, I grew up deeply ashamed of my skin and my features, even resenting the fact that I didn't look like the White protagonists I was force-fed by Hollywood throughout my childhood. My hair didn't look like everyone else's, and no one knew how to cut it properly. My eyes were "too slanted", and I constantly had to endure jokes about Japan, a deeply racist practice here in Brazil. I was often told to avoid the sun so my skin would look whiter and I would "fit in" better.

I didn't want to be an Indigenous person. I felt Othered, alone, isolated. But Werewolf: The Apocalypse, with all its many, MANY flaws, somehow helped me see just how deep, powerful and beautiful my ancestry is.

In spite of all its faults, WtA was the push I needed to get in touch with my roots. After years of research and healing, I started to notice something funny. I no longer felt ashamed of what I looked like and of being who I am. On the contrary: I was proud. My skin is beautiful. My culture is rich, diverse and full of wonder.

Embracing the spiritual side of my heritage was an act of self-love, too. I was forcibly inducted into Christianity as a child, and that was a traumatic experience, to say the least. I closed myself off to anything that felt remotely religious due to that trauma for at least half my life. But now I know where I come from. I appreciate it. I am empowered by it. I know who's looking after me, and I trust and appreciate their protection.

And if I hadn't bought Werewolf: The Apocalypse on impulse when I was 17, I'm not sure this is where I'd be today.

But I can't talk about WtA without mentioning its recent controversies, which range from plagiarism (including the tracing of a Maōri activist's likeness and sacred Tā moko) to a toxic, oppressive work environment detailed by J.F. Sambrano in harrowing detail here. Werewolf: The Apocalypse has never been perfect, but these were brand new lows.

So, how do I reconcile WtA's issues with the massive impact it had on my life? Not easily, I suppose. I will forever be grateful for that first push, and Werewolf: The Apocalypse will always have a place on my shelf as the first TTRPG I ever bought, but I can't and won't endorse its dark side.

Still, the fact of the matter is that representation always matters, no matter how flawed.

It can save lives.

It probably saved mine.