Legend of the Pig-Faced Orc

Of all the mighty cities of yesteryear, Ulyaabus was the greatest. 

Her marble towers reached into the clouds and heavenly gardens floated between her spires. The citizens of Ulyaabus lived in utmost luxury, as all their wants were seen to by the learned sorcerers who dwelt among them. Many serfs farmed the lands outside their walls, and many paupers would travel to the city, hoping to be taken into the house of a great lord or lady.

The City That Was - Tim Hildebrandt

Indeed, the wonders of magic performed there were unmatched in all the ancient world, and never will be again, for the magicians of Ulyaabus had untold epochs to learn and perfect their craft. You see, the people of Ulyaabus—at least those dwelling in the marble spires—did not age. Nor did they fall sick in the winter, have any pains or any troubles of the body at all.

 

The undying of great Ulyaabus had a terrible secret. In the lowest chamber of their most guarded tower, far beneath the ground, was a huge machine of great complexity and evil design. Into this terrible machine were fed thousands of the destitute from the outer slums, debtors from the grand gambling houses, and injured slaves of the great lords of the city—and for every hundred fed into its rending jaws, a tiny vial of vital essence would be distilled.

This essence was the secret of their ever-youthful lives. Their want for it was great, as their numbers slowly grew and the efficacy of the essence slowly waned. Eventually their consumption was noticed, and after the poorest fled the city, the undying turned to warring and other means unspeakable vile to acquire their crop of people.

Unable to meet their need, they began to expire, and so a substitution was attempted. Into the terrible machine were fed a hundred swine, and it produced a single drop of vital essence. And so with great haste, they razed the forests and leveled the hills to farm untold millions of swine. Their need was met—and the cost was paid in full.

What humanity the people of Ulyaabus lost through their cannibalistic greed was replaced with the essence of the swine. They became feral, subsumed by hunger, mutated by their evil need. They became Orc. 

Turning to dark caves and dungeons they abandoned their spires, and Ulyaabus was lost to the eons.

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And so that nation—once thought the greatest—became exposed as the vilest. Their towers didn’t rise into the heavens, but descended into the depths of depravity. There is nothing remaining in the Orc save their own distillation of hunger and hatred. They are their own self design. The Orcs of today aren't the descendants of Ulyaabus, inheritors of some ancient curse—no, they are their clones.

You see, there is no coupling or natural reproduction amongst them. Instead, a fully satiated Orc has a good chance of swelling with a cancerous abdominal sac.  After a month or so, a litter of Orclets will gnaw their way out. The orclets will be identical flesh-patterns of their host. The great Magician Rhizobakar claims there are 542 extant clone-lines of Orc.

As their reward, Orcs still do not fall sick or age if they are fed—and they are only satisfied with the flesh of the sons and daughters of that ancient people: the humans, dwarves, elves, and halflings of our time.

Perhaps Ulyaabus lies buried under some desert or mountain. Its horrid machine mercifully hidden from the world.