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At the western edge of the northern highlands stands the ancient shield volcano of Mons Orochos, the tallest mountain on Veehra - indeed, the tallest in all of Tekhum, barring some colossal peak hiding in the outer system. Despite this, Mons Orochos is not impressive to look at; it's simply too big for the human eye to properly grasp its scale, save perhaps when looking down from orbit. Stand at the lip of the caldera, and the base of the mountain will be beyond the horizon. There are no jagged peaks or breathtaking clifftop vistas, as one might expect to find among Sansar's violent tectonic upthrusts, just hundreds upon hundreds of klicks of the land sloping ever upward.

Like many of Veehra's mountains, Orochos offers a refuge from the desert. The dust storms that plague the open plains are buffered by the slope and gentled by the thinning atmosphere; the higher one rises, the weaker they become. Fog, rain and snow are common at higher altitudes, as the mountain catches whatever moisture escapes from the northern oasis, and ancient glaciers nestle on the upper slopes, feeding rivers and streams. Barren dust gives way to rich volcanic soil. With water and soil comes life: the native flora and fauna of the Orochon shieldplains must adapt to thin air and bitter cold, but adapt they have. Gnarled trees and thick brambles form a girdle of sorts around the lower slopes; burrowing mammals make nests in snow and soil; flightless birds stalk the rocky scree. Humans dwell here too, farming the fertile slopes during the warmer seasons and huddling in underground communal dens when winter comes. Notable flora and fauna include:

The highest reaches of the mountain are uninhabited, save for lichens and one implausibly hardy species of microscopic arthropod; the atmosphere here is too thin to sustain human life without an oxygen mask. The stars are visible even by day, the blackness of space creeping into the meager sky. The caldera itself contains a frozen lake; Loop-born surveyors suspect it is artificial, given the total lack of rainfall at this altitude, but no trace is left of whatever city or aqueduct it might have once fed.  Strange fish and algae live in the depths, many as yet uncatalogued by Tekhum's scientists.

Like most of Tekhum, the Orochon Shieldplains suffered badly in the War of Eternal Bombardments (referred to in local stories as either the Eleventh or Fourteenth Great War). The glittering domed cities of High Orochos were easily shattered by orbital strikes, dooming hundreds of thousands to death by suffocation and exposure; carefully targeted bombardments of the great glaciers unleashed catastrophic floods on the densely populated middle slopes. A few escaped unscathed by taking refuge in the massive bunker complex buried beneath the mountain, built for just such a purpose - among them the very lords and princes whose hubris had brought the sky's wrath down in the first place. Yet even they had only delayed their fate. The war lasted longer than they ever imagined it could, and over the course of decades starvation and infighting thinned their numbers to nothing, leaving only a mausoleum dedicated to their past and future glories.

The story of Orochos since the war is one of long, slow decay. Though the people were nearly wiped out, the land itself remained alive. The survivors regrouped and rebuilt as best they could. City-states arose in the ruins, dreaming of reclaiming the glories of the lost age... but the trade networks that had allowed the metropoli of the pre-war era to flourish were gone. The devices of the old world became precious relics, hoarded jealously and passed down from generation to generation until something broke that they had not the knowledge or resources to fix. Ancient steel buildings wore away to nothing under the endless assault of rain, snow and dust, to be replaced by stone huts and underground warrens. Petty kings and would-be tyrants fought with spears and slings as often as guns - and as the long centuries passed, even that grew rarer. Mons Orochos passed into a twilight era, its people content to eke out humble lives beneath the great glaciers...

... until outsiders began to visit - not to rob and plunder, but bearing precious metals and furs as gifts, and offering word from beyond the sky. Some of the Orochons are wary of the newcomers, believing that this is the first step on the road to the next great war. Others believe the long night has passed, and it is time for Orochos's people to wake and join the wider world again. The wise suspect both may be true.

Most of the inhabitants of the Orochon shieldplains live on the middle slopes, high enough to avoid most dust storms, but below the snow line. They are akin to their desert-dwelling neighbors in form: human, or close enough that it's hard to tell the difference by sight. Unlike the desert clans, they are not nomadic: the bitter cold and rocky terrain makes traveling arduous, while the rich volcanic soil is fertile ground (literally) for agriculture. Small towns and villages dot the mountainside, each one laying claim to dozens if not hundreds of terrace farms.

Violent conflict is much less common among the Orochon tribes than their desert-dwelling neighbors. Food and water are plentiful, removing the need to fight over basic necessities; conversely, they lack the technology to easily travel long distances. Trade is arduous, conquest difficult. No polity claims more territory than they can walk across in a day or two. Some of the lower villages feud with one another, engaging in ceremonial raids to seize captives and luxury goods. These ritualized clashes bear little resemblance to the life-or-death raids of the open desert, but they do keep some semblance of a martial tradition alive, which is useful on the occasions when desert marauders make their way onto the slopes. The higher villages shun these customs, believing the mountain herself frowns on it - tradition holds that she will bury her children in snow to stop them from fighting one another.

The Orochon communities are primitive by Tekhum standards; although not wholly unfamiliar with modern science, they have almost no industrial capacity of their own. What little technology they possess is either salvaged from ancient ruins, or made by hand: water-driven mills, flintlock rifles, electric heaters, solar power collectors. They favor simple, sturdy tools that anyone can take apart and put back together with a little trial and error. What good is a fancy calculating machine if you have to travel a thousand klicks to find the parts needed to keep it working? Better to rely on something the local smith knows how to make, using what can be dug out of the mountain. Their knowledge and history is passed on largely through oral tradition; writing is impractical without paper or parchment.

There are stories of people living above the snow line, inside ancient sealed habitats. Most of these sound more like fanciful tales than historical accounts: ancient warlords biding their time until they can unleash their nightmarish war machines on the world once more, savage frozen-hearted marauders who kidnap unwary or disobedient children... Of particular interest to the Castaways is the tale of the City-in-a-Bottle, which on the eve of the war sealed itself away from the world; legends say that they relive the halcyon day before the war endlessly, although whether they saved or damned themselves depends on the teller.

There is no unified government among the Orochon shieldplains; each community has its own leader, typically either a chief or a council of elders. How much power these rulers hold, and how they choose to exercise it, varies widely. Some villages pass authority down family lines, while others select based on merit (typically determined by contests of wits, strength or skill) or by polling the leaders of respected local families. None can claim leadership over more than a handful of towns or villages - the difficulty of traversing the slopes without vehicles or beasts of burden (both in short supply) makes it hard to exert authority farther than a day's walk or so. The days of kings and empires are long gone in Orochos, and most of its inhabitants feel that's probably for the best.

Like many cultures on Veehra, the Orochon people revere the land around them and the cycle of death and rebirth; but where their lowland neighbors see Mother Serpent as the embodiment of the land, the Orochon focus on the mountain herself and the slow passing of Veehran seasons. Snow yields to rain; flowers bloom and rivers run; crops spring from the ground and bear fruit, then wither again; rain yields to snow. Human history is no different; its arc is longer than any one person will live to see, but no less inevitable. What once was, will be again. Everything that may happen, has already happened. To think otherwise is folly.

Though the Orochons lack any formal religious structure, every community has at least one Storyteller, responsible for keeping the oral history of their people. These histories are extraordinarily long and detailed, though they do not always agree with one other across communities; the Orochons themselves simply shrug and say their neighbors have remembered the same events from a different cycle. Storytellers are also the keepers of practical knowledge - few Orochons are literate, and the basic principles of electronics, metallurgy and agronomics must be encoded in song and verse alongside myth and history.

Most of the Orochons regard the cycle of history as an inevitability, to be celebrated or at least accepted with good grace. A few disagree, viewing the structure of the cosmos as inherently cruel and injust. What comfort is there in knowing all the tragedies of the past will inevitably repeat? A few - mostly those living among the majority faith- rage against the cycle but see no hope of escape. Others believe in a promised path to freedom: that if the right people undertake the right actions at the right time, the shackles of history can be broken forever. This messianic belief is typically in the few towns where this is the majority view. Unsurprisingly, the two sects get on poorly; there hasn't been (much) overt violence in the last hundred years, but wars and pogroms have been waged on both sides in the past, and neither side has forgotten.

Veehran Wheat
Though the volcanic soil found on the slopes of Orochos is richer than anything outside Veehra's greenlands, not many plants can withstand the thin air and the bitter cold. The most useful of those plants is the redthistle plant, colloquially known as Veehran Wheat. The grain it produces is small and bitter-tasting, but edible; as a result it is widely farmed, and forms the bulk of the local diet.

Veehran Wheat has an unusually high mineral content, due to the iron-rich soil it grows in; this often leads to long-term health problems among the Orochons. Loop-born scientists speculate that it was one of the base organisms the Sorcerers of New Kildora altered to create their famous Silver Serpent crops.

Desired Import: Fabrics and Textile Products
Thin air and frigid temperatures are a constant hardship on Mons Orochos, especially in winter. Orochon homes are well-insulated, built into the mountain itself and heated by fire or electric heater... but eventually, one has to venture outside. There are few local animals large enough to yield useful furs, and the flax-like plant the Orochons use to weave most of their clothing is poorly insulated. The best cold-weather clothes they have use downy feather linings to keep body heat in, but there's rarely enough of these to satisfy demand.