[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zuj4htr.png[/img] [url=https://discord.gg/54NNqKV4bj]Discord![/url][/center] [hr] [right][h2][color=#e8d982]INTRO[/color][/h2][/right] [color=#c9bc6d]Rhau. A universe in a bottle. At its very core sits the Sun, suspended by massive pillars—relics of a time long past. At the base of these monoliths, these vigilant obelisks: the Ocean. The Ocean Absolute. All that is, all that has ever been, all that ever will exist is bound by its watery shell, which has devoured civilization after civilization, nation after nation, country after country, bringing gods, kings, and man to heel beneath its riptide eternity. The shape of the Ocean is vaguely like an egg, with a wide southerly pole and a narrow northern terminus, with the man-made terrain of long-dead worlds reaching their spires towards the pinnacle like the clutching fingers of the damned. The Ocean knows no salvation, no peace, no solace. Countless ships have broken themselves upon its impenetrable surface, countless men lost to the depths, littering ruins with salt-caked skeletons. The coral feasts upon their remains, turning already-treacherous waters into thousands upon thousands of miles of impassable terrain, too tempestuous for rafts or canoes and too shallow and damaging for greater ships to tread. This is the black truth of the Ocean: it will kill you, eventually. It has had time to practice. Between watery firmament and gleaming solar body, there exists the sky, filled with birds accustomed to live above the water, and their roosts: the continents that dwell above the Ocean, suspended on invisible strings, orbiting forever around the Sun. These rocky, craggy surfaces exist in their own range of habitability, from awful desert climes barely leaving the Sun’s gaze to frozen, rime-hardened wastelands, tundra created from their distance from the only body of heat, and, worse yet, in lockstep with the shadow of other lands. As a result, days can be anywhere from long to nearly eternal, halted only by the dimming of the Sun, an act said to be performed by the twin spires that harness its glow. Even the black of night does not last forever, but it is in night that the truest beauty of Rhau comes to bear. Basking in the Sun’s quieted radiance—the light beneath the waves pushes through the cracks, a constellation of breathtaking and unfathomable dimension, echoed underfoot by glistering prominences painting their golden brush against the easel-edges of ships drifting hither and yon. Many wonder what could glitter so, if not gold—then surely, treasure. The men of the countries floating so far above demanded to know, in times millennia past; and so, they set about creating methods to reach those perfect lights, and in the process, accidentally crafted the ecosystem of the sapient world. You see, men were not always aware of the watery dangers endemic to Rhau. They saw it eddy and flow, musing philosophically about the great dancing hills of water that roamed beneath their floating demesne. They desired to dance in its shallows, to know its secrets. Then came the Rot. The Rot was a teaching tool, a weapon of disillusionment. An implement for growth beyond reckoning. In the ancient days, Rot was seen as a terrible plague, slaughtering the weak-bodied and sapping strength from the able. However, the Rot bore a peculiarity—though plague it might have been, with awful fungal pustules flowering from the weak and weary, these people did not need to eat, to sleep, even to drink. They found other ways of gaining sustenance. A nobleman, proclaiming himself a ‘scientist,’ set about the study of this Rot, and in the process, would come to discover all that it could be. It could bind. It could camouflage. It could [i]spread. Propagate.[/i] Workers. Thousands upon thousands of them, loyal to the false promise of a cure for their ailment, took of the Rot and began the nobleman’s toil, crafting the first Great Chain that would moor his stately abode to the spot. Their progress was astounding, but they were dying. Limbs fell away. Gangrene festered as the fungus choked the life out of their veins. Agony abounded. The nobleman watched from his stately manor as the first man drew Wax from his mollified carcass and used it to craft pure, white brick from the soil beneath, sticking it vaguely in the socket where his leg once resided. The Rot was not some simple fungus. [i]All[/i] was Rot. This nobleman would come to publish a journal of his findings, rudimentary for our time, but it would serve to pen his name down in history: Ephraim Claviger, the first God-Pope of the Papacy of Law. Knowledge circulated. The ruling class gleefully infected their populace, growing Great Chains and fishing villages from the rotting flesh of their ‘lessers.’ These white-brick harbors were perfect—immune to the salty tides, drifting along as anchor for the Chains, keeping the countries above mobile while still able to access the bounty of the Ocean below. This was the Golden Age of Rot, where nautical science and infrastructure grew in the same breath, where maths and anatomy and medicine bloomed with every sample of Rot. Rust, Wax, Plague, Age, Mold, Cancer… Rots upon Rots upon Rots came to public knowledge, and the imperial powers set each and every one to work. Centuries passed, and Rhau grew more recognizable as the swirling tide of man and Rot that it has become. In Kamdi, a grand and sprawling nation second only to the majestic Wax-white Lawlands, placed a creature of empathy in power who demanded that his nobility cease their wanton subjugation of his people. He would be later found in the town square of Mezdec, the greatest domain of his civilian supporters, impaled upon a Brine-caked, Rusted pike. And thus began the Plague Wars. Empires struck out against one another to wrest control of fresh-water sources, Chaining entire continents together to widen their lofty fiefdoms. Droves of peasants died for the glorious crusade of their country… And then, finally, came the revolts. Kings died. Noblemen were tossed over the edges of continents by the hundreds. Hye and Camir established themselves on the remnants of dead kingdoms, nations dedicated to their people in a way no kingdom had before. Kamdi shrunk, giving its landmass away to war-torn countries like Slastey and Rebonaude, barely surviving its own power vacuum. When the burning hate of war grew thin, after treaties were signed and peasantry were finally treated as more than fodder, the glimmering of the ocean floor once again caught the eye of man, and the Age of Exploration commenced. Refugees of the war sought solace on the Ocean beneath, old mercenaries and young men and women alike coming down and giving of themselves to create the foundation upon which Tortuga was built, the Roaming Country, unbound by any nation or creed, a home for those who would deny their homes, come to roost in a breathtaking patchwork of engineering, wrought from driftwood and Wax. Divers, brigands, cutthroats, merchants, academics, [i]pirates.[/i] Whether in search of the night-shimmering secrets or their next meal, Tortuga became the de facto home of all those who did not belong, and all those who did not care to belong. It has only grown in the centuries since then. As it drifts along the Ocean, lightly crashing into the coral ruins and leaving naught but pennies in their treasure-grabbing wake, it has eventually become a home to you, as well. Whether addled by Rot or greed, learned or unable to read, Tortuga stands for all that you want, and exactly what you need. Welcome to Rhau.[/color] [hr] [center][color=#b5e6e6][h2]A Brief Intermission In Order To Explain Some Ground Rules[/h2] Avast, ahoy, something-something ye-hearties and sea dogs and something-something scallywags! Pirate words! Now, the high seas or whatever sure are lawless and there are plenty other lore-friendly ways to say these things while I calmly adjust my cardboard pirate hat, but you knew rules were going to come into this at some point. Alright, groans done? Here's the gist: [list] [*] [b]Engagement is key.[/b] Get in on this. Feel the vibe. Get tight with your crew. Ask questions, ask [i]dumb[/i] questions. Whatever floats your boat is what's going to get you sailing all that much faster. [*] [b]We're all here to have a good time.[/b] Love thy neighbor. Be swell to each other. If I catch word that y'all are out talking shit about one another, you'd best believe your stay won't be long. [*] [b]Don't rock the boat.[/b] Yeah, not-so-lovely things are going on in the world right now. However, we're not going to blow the sanctity of the space on bad vibes that most people will doubtlessly hear from somewhere else. [*] [b]Meme first, avoid thirst.[/b] Listen, I get it. You live and die by the booty, double entendre intended. That said, this is an adventure, not a sexcapade. Do a credit to your character and your other roleplayers by putting a little more into it than a horny faceclaim, you know? Especially considering there's a high chance that pretty face is gonna get covered head to toe in magic fungus. Pretty folks and attractive faceclaims are fine but leave the softcore in your horny folder. [*] [b]Nothing happens in a vacuum, including GM thoughts.[/b] Do you have a particular idea for how you want your character arc to go? Do you have some specific limits of things you [i]don't[/i] want me doing? Do you just wanna shoot the shit and ask about trappings? Ask away. My DMs are open to people in the Discord. [*] [b]Nothing happens in a vacuum, including the world.[/b] I have smartly designed this such that it will go on without you. If your crew finds that you're suddenly catatonic, they'll either huck you overboard or staple you to a bed. It's fine, it happens, we all get seashock. There aren't any posting 'requirements,' in terms of frequency, but that comes with the distinct caveat of being sure your crewmates are apprised and know you're going to be gone for a short period, and letting either them or myself know what to do with your character in the meanwhile, or whether we need to put your crew's particular thread on a brief pause. All I ask is that you toss in a little more than a paragraph every time you post, and if you can, try to collaborate with myself and others so you can make every post mean something and move things along! [*] [b]Seriously, for real, 100%. Just talk to me and I will give you bits to describe that will move the plot along so things are always happening.[/b] This should go without saying, but I'm giving you a lot of power by telling you a piece of what happens next. I'm not the kind of GM who's gonna rub her grubby little mitts and hide all her secrets away. I'm gonna tell you what you can do to keep the story moving when I'm not making a plot advancement post, because it not only gives you agency and makes your posts important to read beyond them being your character moments which are equally important, but they make it so [i]I don't have to write them,[/i] which is equally fun because it makes the storytelling more collaborative even though I'm the conductor. [/list][/color][/center] [hr] [right][color=#e8d982][h2]TORTUGA[/h2][/color][/right] [color=#fff6bf]From Eddystrip to Sablegrey, the flotsam sprawl of the Roving Country spreads its tetanus-ridden floorboards across six square miles of open Ocean, run not by some gold-laced hegemony, knuckling fingers full of rings and dining upon feasts while their peasantry starves, but rather a body of academics affectionately referred to as the ‘Libertarchy.’ Sponsored by the dreadlords, small academies dedicated to the study of all the things that keep Tortuga afloat—specialties ranging from navigation to commercial fishing to decidology, the study of Rot. While the literacy rate remains low—somewhere around 70% compared to the rest of the world’s average of 85%—this is more evidence of its original status as a refugee colony than it is a lack of desire for education. Because Rot peasantry were seldom educated to begin with, it is better to look at the sharp increase in literacy between generations, going from an average of 40% to an average of 90%, with third generation Tortugans too young to measure with any degree of accuracy. With its 50th anniversary but a year away, Tortuga is a success story of man’s tenacity and ingenuity, and the power of cooperation. The dreadlords—making up the equivalent of aristocracy merely in terms of their wealth—generally sit at odds with one another, speaking in hours-long debates over how best to run Tortuga, but all eight—representing seven of the fifteen races endemic to Rhau—harbor a vested interest in investing in safe harbor. The eight dreadlords—Barbary, DuGongue, Niwonhe, Vargle, Perring, Hondlesby, Ginkou, and Mansu. Hailing from all corners of the Ocean, these eight were locked in bitter combat during the Plague Wars, before realizing that as nations rose and fell in bitter conflict, they had no reason to meet the same end. Colluding instead to foster a “better” nation, they first attempted to capture one of the smaller continents, before realizing the fatal flaw: it was all too easy to shut off or clip the Chain. So instead, they held the fishing villages captive, before a representative from the newly-founded Hye came to explain the situation to the well-armed cadre of cutthroats. This was Professor Ngwedi, the founder of the academy of Tortuga, and the architect for the Glory-Rot that would come to be its eternally floating base. Ngwedi was in her twenties at the time, and recalls fondly the first time she set out upon the open sea, describing it in [i]The Fondness of Piracy,[/i] (published 662 PR, at 71) her autobiography, thus: [i]”At first brush, I was terrified. Barbary stood out among even the rest, a woman of singular ambition who had given up both arms in pursuit of her goal. She was terrifying. Her shoulders were covered in Rust, and I remember wondering how a creature who lived in such terrible agony could stand with her back so straight, her face so firm, her eyes… So kind. I came to find that she shared a dream and a demeanor that all of the great pirates shared: a home for the homeless, a place for the displaced. I could not help but respect that, to respect their will, determination, and earnest souls. Perhaps their methods seem cruel, but the care of their research, the sleepless nights I’d see Ginkou toiling over the coffers, their fingers raw from mold-Rot, a vestige of their former life… I am permanently convinced that black deeds can be done by good hearts in pursuit of a finer goal.”[/i] The first Chaintower would complete construction less than a year after Professor Ngwedi availed the dreadlords of Tortuga of her services. Constructed with the Glory-Rot, a non-infectious concoction of Rot strains studied in Hye and the dead kingdom that preceded it, the Chaintower reached high into the heavens, close enough to launch raiding parties to continents in low orbit. Within the span of ten years, Tortuga had blossomed to a square mile of commerce and freedom, where people could live their lives with relative comfort so long as they gave back to the blossoming community. This created unfortunate issues with those so consumed by Rot that they were unable to work, but even then, a gruesome ecosystem emerged: if they could not assist in life, then Tortuga would give them shelter until death, and use their bodies as grist for the Glory-Rot that kept the Ocean at bay. Another decade passed. Freshwater—a scarce resource at the best of times—had become difficult to source for Tortugans, as the heavy rainfall present near the base of the Sun’s pillars was difficult to traverse, even if it yielded a great deal of potable water. Instead of braving the torrent month after month, Hyean academics—led by the renowned Dr. Ngwedi—set to work devising methods of stealing water away from continental aquifers from beneath, settling on an easy-to-set-up reservoir from which they could refuel. While their main aquifer—nestled squarely beneath the Papacy of Law’s mainland—remains easily accessible, the other nations have caught on to their secret pipelines and have set about researching countermeasures. To this day they remain undisturbed, but Frasnost has begun work on a flying machine that threatens to rule the skies, placing Tortuga’s freshwater supply on a time limit. As Tortuga grew over the years, the dreadlords sponsored a small legion of academics at the behest of Dr. Ngwedi, in an effort to fashion curricula for the youth and provide trades for those uninterested in dedicating themselves to learning their letters so late in life. Chief among these academies was the Academy of Navigation, whose focus was entirely on accurately reading the seascape, the surrounding continents, and the positions of the pillars to assess one’s place in the world. Tortuga’s dreadlords took special interest in the methods of its pedagogy, taking great pains to bring deeper understanding and acumen to their future generations. Many of the dreadlords themselves have retired from piracy, but their crews still act on their behalf, robbing the barges of the nobles and liberating the Rot-addled men and women that toil still in indentured servitude. The final passage in Dr. Ngwedi’s [i]The Fondness of Piracy[/i] reads thus: [i]”In Tortuga, work is no longer a sacrifice. It’s a public good. Even if the locals are irascible and sharp-edged, they’re kind. I’ve seen sahagi play with hodnan, I’ve seen pinians have their own walkways built on guiderails, and even the largest bulbor respects that little space. Old oningen watch aridine children dance and sing with wonder in their eyes—not hate. I think we all see a future where we don’t have to rely on Rot anymore. That’s when I see hate, when I see anger in the faces of Tortuga. Everyone has lost someone to the Rot. Lost parts of themselves. They’re tired of the fighting. The young are rowdier than ever, and the second generation is furious at one nation or another, but in the end, we’re all here because there isn’t anywhere else that’s safe for people like us. For outsiders, visionaries. For pirates.” [/i][/color] [hr] [right][color=#e8d982][h2]CURRENT AFFAIRS[/h2][/color][/right] [color=#d4c77b]Tortuga has made a name for itself as the epicenter of the free world. Maintaining a close relationship with the pinian democracy of Hye, it has for the past 50 years enjoyed a steady flow of innovation and progress, drawing ire from Hye’s neighbors, the Camiran States and Pedraugh. The pressure of maintaining aspish good graces is no difficult task—Dreadqueen Barbary has become something of a cultural icon in her own right—but Pedraugh’s parent state, the Lawlands, has always been a contentious sort and moreso in the face of concepts they consider ‘indecent,’ like ‘healthcare’ and ‘respecting the working class.’ The Camir territory of Raskitt have been particularly covetous of their trade routes with Hye’s research prefecture, Frasnost, and have set about condemning the Hyeans for their favoritism of a ‘pirate colony’ despite their disposition towards Tortuga’s primary ideological nemeses, the Lawlands and the reclusive ariadi aristocracy of Rebonaude. The once-great nation of Silpoca, the homeland of hodnan, has fallen into civil war, with the onin sharing their support for the similarly-minded Glimden, which has physically split itself from the Silpocan mainland and enjoyed close neighborship with the quiet and self-interested archipelago of Honmato. This occurred in the wake of Silpoca opening its borders in solidarity with Hye, Camir, and the bulboran Frecore, countries that had already adopted other races but were now ready to do so on a grand scale. This era of cultural trade has heralded a fresh distaste for the alfin papacy, placing the once-supreme Lawlands under the tremendous pressure of a newfound international unity. While Frecore has for the most part managed to soothe the mustine into accepting Tortuga—which has long brokered a harmonious relationship with the profit-minded oligarchs, despite their significant political differences—the Free Lands of Raskitt have been in close communication with their Camiran neighbor of Kamdi, and their collective distaste has turned Camir itself into something of a powder keg. In these tense post-war times, with diplomacy hanging by a thread, the collective nations have once again turned towards the Ocean—able now to explore its depths using all manner of wonderful devices, from the freshly-designed and hellishly expensive submarine cruiser, courtesy of the metal-rich nation of Ablisque, now interested in the goings-on of the world around them—to the promising flying machines of Frasnost, set to change the world with the freedom of flight the pinians have long enjoyed. Though the times are changing, and curiosities like Tortuga hang delicately in the balance of public opinion, this is an age of piracy like none other. Braving new lands above and dowsing the depths for ruins and secrets alike, Tortuga dances a delicate waltz, picking away at the weakened nation of the Lawlands one raided ship at a time, with their eyes set on liberation; however, not all ships fly a Tortugan flag, and menace the seas with impunity, seeking only to amass the wealth to survive these times where flores are tight and the waters muddy with Rot.[/color] [hr] [right][color=#e8d982][h2]RACES[/h2][/color][/right] [hider=Races] [center]Note: The races herein are organized with the major race first, and then their 'Ebbing,' a form of racial Rot that stresses the body in various ways immediately following. [/center] [color=#b9ed5f][b]ASPISH:[/b] The aspish! Sharp-fanged, snake-legged leaders of the free world! Barbary’s reputation has spread to the aspish as a stereotype, with their regal shoulders, strong features, and deep, vivid scaletones. Though from the waist up they possess skin much as the elves or the ariadi do, their snakelike ancestry works its scales all the way up their spines, coating their neck and lower jaw in a choker of glittering coppers, greens, reds or sandy beiges. Hailing from Camir, the aspish generally seat themselves at eye level with whomever they’re speaking to, with an average length from tip to tail of almost 13 feet, but the general build of a person within the range of 5 to 6 feet tall. Their arms are similarly covered in scales, and as a general rule the aspish are known to be peerless swimmers, owing to their long, aerodynamic bodies. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] The aspish are known for the ability to molt. Their Ebbing allows them to molt on command, granting them a unique resistance to Rots of all kinds, so long as they’re careful, but molting routinely also has its price—skin cracks and splits, and with enough overuse they gain an ailment similar to leprosy.[/indent][/color] [color=#9ba5c7][b]SLAKE:[/b] Among the many creatures that live in Rhau, the slake are among the most striking. Bearing the long launching horn of a beetle, with an outer carapace and general character of a crab’s chitin, their stout forms swallow the attention of any room they’re in. Their faces and underbellies are humanoid enough, though blindingly pallid, but it is their shells that draw the eye more than any other aspect. Wrapping every appendage in a thorny shell, their large hands strongly resemble the ball-and-joint nature of a porcelain doll’s fingers and the exoskeleton itself bears a vibrant variety of colors. Hailing from the crescent-country of Slastey, the slake have a long and storied cultural intolerance for the bulbor, who utterly dwarf them yet lack the fiery nature endemic to their war-torn oligarchy. Men and women of slakin descent rarely break 5 feet in height, and possess long tendrils of chitin that act as hair, much in the way that llaman have quills. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] The slake put great merit into the upkeep of their shells. Their Ebbing is a natural part of their culture, an ability that allows them to suffuse oils from their underskin and create new layers of shell, lengthening their horn and thickening their armor. With this, of course, comes the unfortunate reprise of heart failure, taking thousands of slakin warriors before their time as their body simply gives out on them and speaks to their short average lifespan of 35 years, even if they’re capable of living much longer. [/indent][/color] [color=#6d68e8][b]SATID:[/b] The satid, part of the trio of lizardfolk races, is generally seen as the most humanoid among them. Bearing quite-regular five-digit hands, quite-regular five-digit toes, and a quite-irregular salamander tail, these scaly-limbed, membrane-faced residents of Pedraugh are a common sight toiling in the hot summer fields where their natural heat resistance can shine. However, this heat resistance comes at a price—while they could brave even the Underpillar’s scorching rays, hardly breaking a sweat while the varnish chips off the boat, they require substantially more water than any other race, quaffing a unit average of 1.5 gallons for every gallon a creature of their dimension would normally drink. Coming in all colorful flavors under the sun, ranging from golden coppers to resounding indigoes to breathtaking greens, and their membrane-skin mirroring this palette in pastel, the satid are a similarly colorful people, known for their intellectual curiosity and sticky fingers. Rarely coming in at over 4’5”, they possess a particular fear of the regal height of hodnan, sahagi and the aspish, quite used to laboring under the alfs who dwarf them by mere half-feet. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] The true value of a satid is not in their heat resistance, but rather, in their heat generation. The satid are capable of venting heat, their scales bristling as they push their naturally high internal temperatures out through their pores, resulting in a cloud of steam that can be anywhere from pleasantly warm to scalding on contact. However, this puts even greater emphasis on their water consumption, leading to kidney failure, internal bleeding, and a horrible affliction known as ‘scaleblisters.’ [/indent][/color] [color=#d6b672][b]MUSTINE:[/b] The mustine, chief members of the Free Lands of Raskitt, are beings of a mustelid form, being long, fuzzy things with digitigrade legs ending in small paw-like protrusions. A proud culture that puts special emphasis on ensuring that their scent—which, much like the regular weasel, reeks heavily of ammonia—is cleaned away with startling regularity, taking as many as two to three baths a day to ensure their natural ‘stench’ remains inoffensive to themselves and others. With such a cultural taboo ever at the forefront of their minds, the mustines are known to be a proud and even foppish race, stereotyped as the layman’s nobleman and known to avoid places that limit the usage of sanitary water, preferring instead their free and unchecked market, with its inane demand for soap causing the prices to skyrocket, but a wealth of freshwater at their disposal. Their thin fur—which looks almost like skin to the untrained eye, coupled with their generally-pleasant and humanoid features—comes in all varieties of natural hues, from deep reds to ruddy browns, their ‘undersides’—from the lower half of their face leading all the way down to the thighs—usually being colored a bright, contrasting white. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] The mustine are a proud race, a clever race, and most of all, a hungry race. Though slim and lithe, these fursnakes can unhinge their jaws wider than any other, consuming prey several times their size at the severe risk of lockjaw, a distended stomach, herniation, and a host of other medical problems when used on objects too often or too large.[/indent][/color] [color=#906dc2][b]ARIADI:[/b] The reclusive ariadi, spiderlike, many-eyed adorers of the dark—make their home beneath the desert continent of Subaris, preferring the radiant warmth and eternal darkness of Rebonaude. Ariadi, being staunch traditionalists, participated little in the war, instead preferring to tighten their grip around their elven allies and focus inward, producing poetry and literature known as well as the Ocean tide. Though they generally keep to themselves, the ariadi—slender, tall things with sharp black carapaces binding their arms and dagger-edge legs—they are known for their great fondness for literature and learning, and hold galas for the aristocracy that are said to be utterly spectacular. To see an ariadi in the wild, in the flesh, is much like seeing a dog with a gun: out of place and certainly dangerous. The ariadi swept out from under the Rebounade rug are rarely criminals and murderers, but far more likely simply ‘not up to standard,’ by which they generally mean ‘poor’ or ‘hates slavery.’ Still, the small sample size has given them a reputation. They possess a set of eight eyes, with one primary humanoid pair, two above the brow and four beneath, either configured vertically or in a canted pattern, a dimorphism that is seen as an indicator of class; the perfectly vertical-aligned ariadi are seen as ‘pure.’ This has led to some… Troubles with inbreeding. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] How [i]do[/i] the ariadi balance on such slender legs? Is it luck? Is it survival? It turns out, it’s goo. Owing to an arachnid ancestry, the ariadi suffuse a sticky, invisible ooze on their carapaced arms and legs, adhering them easily to any surface they like. Obviously, more must be used the more difficult the surface is to balance upon, and their Ebbing allows them to do just that at the risk of calcifying their joints and rendering them paralyzed, or worse yet, simply clotting their arteries and capillaries with the stuff and causing an embolism.[/indent][/color] [color=#b0cfd6][b]SAHAGI:[/b] By tooth or by claw, the sahagi will rise! These furious Recumey natives are the long-time friends of the equally power-hungry slake, known for their prominent noses, refined features, brutal size and ferocity, and boundless adoration for ritualistic tattooing and scarification. Though they are not tribal in nature—bearing a homeland similar to a stately Victorian city, and a sense in fashion to match—the sahagi settle many conflicts by way of the duel, and put great credence into the merit of honor and sacrifice. Sahagi are seen all over the world, known for their insight, ferocity, and general good humor. Plus, they have thick locks of glossy hair, smooth skin, and powerful gills for long spans of time underwater. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] It has long been wondered if fish can talk. The sahagi know that they can scream. Though their ear canals are simple in outward appearance, these sharky goons can attune their hearing, blocking out certain noise and amplifying others. However, the further away it gets, and the harder you listen, the more likely you are to blow out an eardrum and go permanently deaf, or worse yet, break your brain open like glass resonating to C sharp.[/indent][/color] [color=#b4dbba][b]LLAMEN:[/b] Llamen. Oh, llamen. Time and time again, these noble ancestral citizens of Kamdi have seen prejudice and hatred, blamed forever and again for inciting the Plague Wars, when no llamen alive even remembers the Kamdi monarchy, much less participated in its decline. Still, with the decades-long war behind Rhau, these tall, slender serpentfolk have further still to go before tempers fall like their once-great home. Possessed of little innate sexual dimorphism and a culture that puts yet less weight in such things, many have taken to simply asking before specifying their racial slurs, for fear of a double jeopardy of inaccuracy and hateful rhetoric. Llamen can come in all flavors, tall, short, wide, slim, sharp, smooth—festooned in any variety of patterns and colors, wearing their soft quill-hair in all manner of lengths, hues, and styles. There was once a time where llamen were known to bring color to a room; hopefully, one day, they will again. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] The secret weapon of the llamen is not their tenacity in the face of prejudice. It’s quite a bit more literal than that. Quills actually grow all over the body of a llaman, but most of them remain underneath their scales. Much like the satids, they can ‘vent’ these quills outward, protruding inch after inch of razor-sharp spines. However, these quills can cause serious nerve damage if they’re pushed too far, and the cases of llamen who have overstressed their quills by pushing them out too far or too fast number in the thousands, resulting in severe bleeding and commonly death by exsanguination.[/indent][/color] [color=#ede2c7][b]HODNAN:[/b] The hodnan, possessed of four arms and a veritable tapestry of unique patterns, exist as walking paintings in the eyes of the other races. Long, lithe, and mysterious, these thinly-segmented creatures are prized among Lolland collectors, who gleefully pluck them from their Silpocan homes and house them in their excessive mansions like chattel. The hodnan commonly protest, but if there’s anything Lollands does best, it’s blackmail of a mortal accord. It is to this end that they broker a certain familiarity with the pinian, not on any cultural grounds but rather on shared misery at the hands of alfs. The features of a hodnan are discreet, subtle, but their sclera, painted the inky black that the oningen so treasure, can bring a hush to the room with the sheer passionate contrast. Segmentation traces their cheekbones and chin, and similarly about their ribs and joints—the hodnan possess an insectoid ancestor, but their plates are soft and smooth, acting much as elven skin. Instead, the segments can be seen more as sable-hued gills, as their Ebbing attests. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] Never challenge a hodnan to a jumping context, because they will win. Not only are they capable of the most incredible deep breathing exercises you’ll ever listen to, but venting air forcefully through their gills from their large and extremely advanced lungs allows them to move with incredible speed and efficacy. However, those advanced lungs are also their downfall, as lacerations from exertion are almost as common as seeing a hodnan in a surgery waiting room. It also puts an unfortunate stress on their voices, causing older hodnan to sound like a bunch of chainsmokers who swallow the cigarette butts after they’re done.[/indent][/color] [color=#e6a6a1][b]ONINGEN: [/b]Ah, the men and women of the oningen. Referred in shorthand as “onin,” pronounced oh-neen, these tall, horned creatures are widely regarded as devastatingly attractive, with many working as models and thespians alike. Bearing one horn or two, and a variety of deep, powerful skintones from brick red to ocean blue to deep woody browns, their tight, coily hair and voluminous features have given them a reputation for vanity, a reputation solidified by the aesthetics-driven Honmato from which they hail. Standing anywhere from 5 and a half to even 7 feet, the onin brush elbows with even the hodnan and sahagi. The onin come in all flavors and walks of life, but the well-known stereotype of the traditionalist, artful oningen whose legs step with the sound of poetry and whose weapons sing like symphony is pervasive and commonly depicted in literature. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] Don’t. Stab. Onin. The only thing higher than their pressure to be beautiful is their blood pressure, which they can loose from any hole on their body, whether it be their eyes, their wounds, their mouth, nose, or… The point is, they can vent their blood like a power washer, and even if they don’t cut your head clean off they’ll at least give you a seriously ugly scar. The price of this Ebbing should be obvious, and anemia is extremely common among onin as a result. It also adds a great deal to death scenes on the theatre stage. They’re really quite dedicated.[/indent][/color] [color=#ad9d40][b]BULBOR:[/b] The bulbor. These ponderous merchants of Frecore are known for their business acumen and prodigious mass, standing well over 7 feet at the shortest. It is said that to see a slim bulbor is to see the Ocean sit still, which is to say that bulbor live up to their ungulate heritage and carry quite a bit of weight with them. That said, though you might never see a bulbor skip a meal, it is not because they are fat, it is because they have the densest network of muscle of any race, period. Bulbor in bodybuilding shape are terrifying to behold, with mitts that could swallow the head of a sahagi and a face with all the ferocity of the leopard seal it mimicks. Generally, however, bulbor present themselves with a certain roundness, a softness that warms the heart, and an earnest, businesslike demeanor that belies the brutal truth of their history with war profiteering. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] Possessed originally of a four-chambered stomach much like a lamb or a cow, these chambers have long since grown vestigial, and are now instead used as air bladders, granting them great agility and buoyancy in the water, and even as a reservoir of oxygen if they elect to undergo a small, common outpatient surgery. Moreover, they can forcibly push air into these bladders, expanding their stomachs with a pneumatic force that can break concrete and bow metal. However, embolisms are common, especially after the surgery, if these air bladders are used in such a way too judiciously, leading to swift and incredibly sudden death. Moreover, the pressure it places on the gastrointestinal tract is incredible, leading to a network of organ failures if one isn’t careful, and often even if one is.[/indent][/color] [color=#bbc0c4][b]ADAMAN:[/b] The history of the great and pious adamen is a difficult one to hear, but is one they will tell with great patience for those who have brought them harm. Hailing from the alfin demesne of Ephradd, the tortoise-shelled, thick-limbed adamen are regarded as the eldest race of them all, predating even the entish. This past is engraved into their muscular frames, with their family patterns painted all along their arms and across their contoured shell that follows the natural inward slope of their ribs, waist, and hips. Standing at an average of 6 feet and bearing physical traits otherwise similar to the pseudomammals like the satid, where soft membrane meets thick hide as one grows closer to their face. Notably possessed of short, rocky horns that spread hide across their neck and jaw, many associate the adamen with stone as a result of their bulky morphology. [indent][b]EBB:[/b]And perhaps stone is not so inaccurate an association—the adamen’s Ebbing allows them to produce Rust from the fine mineral that make up their horns, shell, and nails, and Rust thus naturally grows from those points, turning many adamen warriors into jagged creatures with long, brilliant coppery horns and a staggering gait from the spears of Rust that have long since sunk their way through their shell and into their sides. Brain damage, paralysis, tetanus—any variety of awful afflictions can result from this Ebbing, much to the benefit of their alfin masters. [/indent] [/color] [color=#95eb94][b]PINIAN:[/b] The pixie-sized pinians of Hye are known throughout the world for their scientific and humanitarian pursuits, but known better still for the centuries they were shelved as house pets among the aristocratic races of the bulbor, alfs and ariadi. When Dr. Ngwedi asserted herself as the preeminent architect behind the nautical marvel that is Tortuga, it ushered in a new age of enlightenment for the pinians, who have sought knowledge with a ferocity never before seen. Bookish and clever, the lilliputian Hye natives flit from one continent to the next, academy by academy, taking to the skies on their robin-wings. They bear great resemblance to small birds, bearing discrete wings that fold beneath their arms and follow their movements in tandem, as the limbs share a shoulder joint. Small bird talons sit at the base of their feathered legs, and though their height never ascends past a foot and a half, their ambitions soar higher than any other. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] As birds regurgitate to feed their young, so too can the pinians produce Bile with relative ease, and require significantly less Rot overall to perform intense and fantastical magics. This does, however, lead to all variety of stomach issues, as well as esophageal erosion and enamel loss. Pinians are known to avoid such measures, and instead find the largest bulbor and approach them with a prescription for ipecac. [/indent][/color] [b]ALFS:[/b] The oft-mentioned, oft-despised ‘proper’ elves of the Papacy of Law, known better as alfs by nearly everyone else, are a beautiful insectoid race with a sense of superiority that remains unabated to this day. Their fine segmenting, steep curvature, large eyes and youthful faces bring to mind porcelain dolls in a much greater way than slakin hands might, but their appetites are anything but dollish. Caligulean in the extreme, the alfs are a self-centered race of xenophobes who lock themselves up tight in Lollands, bringing in people from all around to ‘experience’ the great city… And in the end all they experience is enslavement and eternal servitude. Their iron grip on the most widely practiced religion in Rhau—Obelism—has ensured a steady flow of servants, and their Ebbing an even steadier flow of Rot. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] The claim to alfin fame is their immunity to all things Rot. Though they cannot perform Rot themselves, they can cast it through others, at the regular physical expense. They are a race built off the backs of others, until the bitter end. Ephraim would be proud of what his legacy.[/indent] [color=#b573eb][b]ELVES:[/b] The elves, long-subjugated by the ariadi in their dusky home of Thansleigh, also proclaim that they are elves. This causes some contention between their insectoid alfin neighbors, as elves are explicitly mammalian, in much the same vein as mustine and the halvish are. Tall creatures with a color palette that ranges from deep purples to blues and reds and even greens, the elves possess a waxy skin that insulates them against the cold and a love of literature imposed upon them by their ariadi masters. Their ears range from long and pointed to short and triangular, often festooned in piercings in order to make better use of their Ebbing. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] Elves can produce Wax on command, much as the adamen produce Rust. However, as the nature of Wax stems from mollification, so too do the elves run the risk of rotting their bodies beyond repair. As a result, deep care is put into the usage of Wax, and it is considered customary to avoid using it until later in life when one assumes the title of elf-crone. [/indent][/color] [color=#d16da6][b]HALVISH:[/b] The skittish and squirrely ‘don’t-call-me-Squirley’ natives of the frigid reaches of Ablisque, nestled far from all other continents and rotating ever around Rhau’s northerly pole. These 3 to 4 foot powerhouses of industry and engineering are responsible for the modern fishing city, and furthermore responsible for the sudden and inexplicable loss of one’s wallet the world over. The halvish are a lithe and nimble little bunch, known for their inquisitive minds and exquisite metalwork, shown in spades in the heavily insulated suits of armor they use to outfit their border guards. Owing to a great vein of rust metals running through their remote home, the halvish are known to open their florepurses with little thought or regard, knowing that they are well cared for by the nature of Rot commerce. As they bear collapsible skeletons and nearly-invisible whiskers designed for sensing pressure, these bright-eyed, mousey-eared midgets are commonly found in factories and mineshafts, where they can make their egress long before a gas leak kills them. Moreover, their cowled skin patterns are the subject of much discussion, sometimes emulated in the textiles of high fashion. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] The halvish are naturally quite adept at feats of dexterity, a nature owed in part to their Ebbing. Their collapsible skeletons can be granted yet further degrees of articulation, stretching and twisting them in all manner of horrid ways, whether it’s to splay one’s ribs out wide to glide and break one’s fall, turning a slender finger into a natural lockpick, or even temporarily changing their face, the halvish run the risk of fractures and internal bleeding in exchange for incredible adaptability.[/indent][/color] [color=#78c445][b]ENTISH:[/b] The fragile and legendary entish have found alienage in the pinian prefecture of Frasnost, finally away from the Rot they so fear. These plantlike beings easily adopt the appearance and blooms of their current habitat, being universally of deep, chlorophyll-rich skin and soulful, humanesque faces. Their hair drapes like vines, festooned in their favorite flora, and though their appearances are storied and much-beloved, their inherent mortality in the face of Rot forces them into isolation, meaning few except for the pinians themselves ever see an entish in their lifetime. They stand at average height, with long, claw-like fingers and brambleroot legs, and are treated as druids and dryads worthy of myth by the rest of Rhau, despite their own and the pinian’s protests. In truth, they’re quite regular people, and the only true power they possess is their Ebbing. [indent][b]EBB:[/b] Though inherently weak in the face of all forms of Rot, the entish do have one weapon against it: they can transfer Rot to the plantlife around them, even going so far as to strip it from themselves with relative ease. However, in doing so, they run the risk of Rotting their cells, bleaching them and leaving them unable to produce the nutrients they so desperately need from the Sun.[/indent][/color] [/hider] [right][color=#e8d982][h2]ROT[/h2][/color][/right] [hider=Rot] [color=#b4c78b][center]Rot is a harbinger. A catalyst of misery. No creature cursed with a pulse and a brain is ever truly safe from the Rot, but its most insidious aspect is its usefulness, its attractive power. Though the word ‘Rot’ refers specifically to the ephraim toadstool, it connotatively refers to any number of sources of decay. The rules of Rot are quite simple: a bad apple spoils the bunch. Rot begets more Rot. To use Rot is to spur it into propagation. The further you stretch its functions, the more it will grow to meet your needs. Different Rots have different methods of treatment, but it is a known fact that [i]all[/i] Rot, no matter its form, can never truly be cured. It can only be placed in remission. The trick is to ensure that it doesn’t kill you until you’re ready to die. Rot, though its side effects are severe and patently lethal, is not all bad: as with anything, moderation is key. Many have extended their lives beyond a century through its careful ministration, as it is as much pall as panacea. The following is a general and incomplete list of Rot, in no particular order, as more Rots are discovered year by year:[/center][/color] [color=#cae099] [b]ROT:[/b] The one, the only, the ephraim toadstool. This classical Rot has been around since time immemorial, and served as the point from which all other Rots were discovered. Incredibly versatile, Rot is capable of doing all that fungi might; whether stretching its myconic veins across objects to bind them, gaining water and nutrients from its surroundings, stretching limbs or used as camouflage, Rot is an incredible tool for the modern adventurer. Moreover, the body’s chemical processes change as a result of Rot infection, greatly enhancing its resistances to things like impure water, rotten food, or even poison. Its method of transmission is surprisingly mild, as Rots go, in that one must ingest it before it begins to take hold. However, this includes spores, meaning that large concentrations of the stuff are so infectious as to be considered a pandemic threat. The Rot prefers cool, moist places, offering ample treatment options: high heat, active dehydration, drinking any of a variety of potable fungicides (that really aren’t so great for anything else, either), or simple amputation of the infected area. Rot progresses quite slowly on its own, meaning active use is necessary to worsen the condition; many people use Rot on a daily basis to consume salt water when freshwater is scarce, and get the resultant condition treated every month or so. [b]RUST:[/b] The favorite of warmongerers and swashbucklers, Rust metals are known for their brutal efficiency, their rapid and prominent expansion, and their ease of treatment. Different Rust metals have mildly different effects, but in this instance, the Rust of choice is iron, as it is the most widespread and widely documented. Rust, the Adaman’s Accomplice, offers a variety of magical tools, the foremost of which being pseudomagnetic telekinesis. Though an object may be comprised of no ferrous metals, Rust can still act upon it, attracting or repelling the item with startling velocity. The more massive the object, the more Rust propagates to pull it; the most famous example of which being the assassination of the Plague Pope, Anecdoca II, where renowned pirate Anise Barbary surrendered both of her arms to pull his entire ship into the prow of the Fat Mosquito. The lance-like nature of Rust protrusions are in their own way useful, creating long, ragged spires great for giving others the worst case of tetanus they’ve had in their lives, and are furthermore easy to remove, usually requiring nothing more than a mild corrosive to treat. With no shortage of moist and salty air, Rust is extremely easy to create, and implantation of a Rust metal beneath the skin is all it takes to put it to use without Rust anywhere nearby. It is easily one of the most benign Rots that exist. [b]MOLD:[/b] Ah, the lowly Mold. The sandwich-ruining, cheese-enhancing stuff that makes noblemen blanch and peasants break out the pairing knife with muttered curses. Unique among Rots in that it only lasts while it is imbibed, and propagating it only worsens one’s indigestion, it requires a great deal of effort to make lethal but is still quite unpleasant. Mold is fantastic for getting around; whether eating a hole through organic surfaces or stretching one’s perception along the intricate web of Mold grown at their touch, it is the friend of spendthrifts everywhere, though the stomach pains that follow its presence leave many bedridden for days at a time if overused. Great for setting traps and sabotaging larders. [b]BLIGHT:[/b] Desiccant! The choking sands of the desert, made manifest in horrid Blight! At the price of dehydration, skin drying beyond repair and flaying dead and away, Blight allows one to harness the power of the Sun, of the slaughtering heat of the Subarish wastelands. At the mere cost of blisters and burns, one may dry the world around them, even burn it at the risk of self-immolation. Blight is a strange Rot, taking not of life, but of water, hydration, even stealing it for oneself. No amount of ill-gained liquid will restore their chapped lips, their chafing skin, or their barren soul, however. [b]CANCER:[/b] Cancer may be a death sentence, but it is up to its owner to insert as many commas as possible. It is not a Rot that one can simply acquire; nor, notably, would they want to. Cancer, as with all Rots, is in its own way unique; though its every use propagates it further, its propagation is infinitely survivable if one is willing to spread it to others, reducing their personal store of the stuff at the expense of another. It is a vitality-stealing, life-ebbing creature, whose function is as close to vampirism as any will get. [b]PLAGUE:[/b] The touch of disease! My kingdom for a doctor! While beak-masked plague doctors are the thing of the past, the diseases they fought—known archetypically as Plagues—still remain. Plague has perhaps one great use, and that is to spread it. This is hardly magic, considering how contagious disease can be on its own, but the function of Plagues goes a step further than that. To be diseased in the same way as another is like a Rotten resonance; feelings, even thoughts can be sent to other Plagued, and even—insidiously—impel others to do your bidding. Death soon follows such an edict, however, and being Plague-cursed is seen as an unbreakable geas from beyond the grave. [b]PUS:[/b] Though merely a collection of white blood cells and bacteria, these weeping sacs are harbingers of their own rot, growing and multiplying with use. Treatment being simple—and generally necessary—gives Pus a reputation as a relatively benign if ugly Rot, to be drained when it grows and thought little of thereafter. What makes Pus unique among its Rot peers, however, is its method of transmission. Rather than simple contact, Pus may be taken by the pustule and encapsulated in a fine membrane of skin, and thrown like a highly volatile grenade. When released from physical bonds, its pressure rises nearly to bursting, acting as a stellar method of egress from difficult situations. This has the added benefit of the Pus no longer being on your body, meaning that it does not propagate among itself. This Rot can also be solidified, however, to be used as a shield or as building material, much in the way that Wax might; however, it decays over a mere few days, making it better as scaffold than foundation. [b]AGE:[/b] When the body withers and dies, the soul soldiers on. The Rot of Age is inherent to all, with decrepitude sinking its bony tendrils one day at a time. However, Age is its own device, its own tool to be used, for which the only treatment is death. In exchange for one’s years, they gain methods by which to extend them—or extend another’s. All of that life does not simply evaporate; it is expended in exchange for immediate and awesome power, a surge of unmatched strength of agility. Age grants a communion with one’s immortal soul, allowing them to pour their time—their being—into it, leaving it time to wander the mortal plane after their parting. However, this act requires not years, but decades, a desire for immortality that takes more than it confers. However, it is said that there are ways to bind one’s soul to a being unborn, though no living soul would know the way in which it is done. There are other Rots that can be used to glimpse beyond the veil, however… [b]BRINE:[/b] The ways of salt, carried across the world on the Ocean’s tides. Salt isolates, salt preserves, salt desiccates. So too does Brine. Caking beneath the skin, breaking nails and deforming muscle as it breaches the surface like sprouts of white cauliflower, Brine is an effective if painful method of producing salt, but with it, one may freeze themselves in time, cocooned until they are once again awakened. Brine, too, is a form of control, a method by which to bring salt under your whim. Part the sea! Bring the Ocean’s rage to heel! Stand forever, as the Man-On-Land does, a monument of halite unfettered by your mortal coil, proof that even the sea may come to heel. Treatment of Brine is difficult and requires skilled surgery, but the use of other Rots like Bile and Rust can extrude it, though not perfectly and with great effort. [b]WAX:[/b] The building block of civilization. Wax. The semi-solid stuff that leaves the body during mollification, hand-in-hand with its progenitive Rot, Festering. Wax cannot propagate in the same way other Rots can; only produced over Festering, it takes time for it to form, and cannot be rushed. The art of refining Wax, of carefully killing part of a body while keeping the rest intact, is a difficult one indeed. However, once Wax is produced, it can be used to create brick of incredible resilience and immunity to the ocean’s salty air. Wax is something else, something beyond other Rots; though its main function is obvious, it can also be used to pierce the veil, to divine greater truths and see beyond oneself. Wax is a mirror, a looking glass wrought of death, and therefore inextricably linked to it. Beyond the Wax is a world where dead men walk, and it is the mold that those specters can be poured into, an awful, writhing corpse wrought of souls screaming for release. Wax cannot be treated. The body cannot be revivified. However, amputation can stop its parent Festering from spreading. [b]FESTERING:[/b] The Festering is death, pure and simple. Gangrene. This loose, black Rot can be found where the body has lost its ability to survive, and bears few abilities beyond causing all around it to Fester in turn. It is said that where Wax sees beyond the veil, Festering may touch it; the dead may touch the dead, rip them from the beyond and force them to apparate. Festering is the Rot of necromancers and industrialists, who act through their lessers in the hopes of creating precious, precious Wax. Treated only by amputation and immediate cautery. [b]INFESTATION:[/b] Is it a tapeworm? Simply a gut full of maggots? Whatever it is, you have made the mistake of inviting a parasite into your body. This Rot of symbiosis and necessity, Infestation, is one that forces you to look beyond yourself. To become a [i]we.[/i] There is no greater story of companionship than the story of a boy and his dog and his dog’s horrible parasites. To allow Infestation to fester is to allow the parasite to grow, and to bring its innate properties to bear. To devour ravenously. To desire blood. To reconfigure your body to house it, and in turn, eventually it will become a part of you. Gain mouths. Gain eyes. Gain all that you were and more, as you become a monster whose only waking thought is locating their next meal, little more than a bundle of instincts and raw, brutal power. Alternatively, start taking some antibiotics and get a grip. Just hope the parasite isn’t smarter than you are, for the magics Infestation can work are plentiful and the creatures themselves are often unbelievably convincing. [b]BILE:[/b] Ah, Bile. The corrosive substance known for its simple nature, ease of production, and the ire which it brings dentists the world over. Bile is quite easy to propagate, given that it is a natural part of the body, and beyond its natural properties, really isn’t terribly much to write home about. It becomes immediately more corrosive once it leaves the mouth, and can be moreover used to isolate minerals from living matter, making it a strong solution for the treatment of Brine and Rust… And having skin. Just… Brush your teeth afterwards. [b]MIASMA:[/b] The miner’s lung produces more than just horrid coughing. Miasma, characterized by smoke, smog, and other such hazardous gases, is a Rot of spectacle and aplomb, filling entire rooms with pitch-black smoke with a single exhalation. Capable of producing asphyxiants and irritants alike, Miasma is in all ways a weapon, a method of combat. However, its functionality comes at a serious price: it creates Tar in the lungs, which is far more damaging and life-threatening than it is useful. Treat Miasma by avoiding it, and please see your doctor if you experience a coughing fit lasting more than four hours. [b]TAR:[/b] A horrid thing, Tar is the Rot of burning, of oil, of sticky and poisonous things. A noxious goo on its own, propagating Tar is not only inadvisable—as it naturally gravitates towards the lungs—but outright lethal. It is better to treat it than to test it, but even still, you’ll find a pirate or two with a cigar in their mouth and the black stuff leaking from their lip to use like liquid gunpowder, as its explosive properties are well-documented, scattering Tar-slag to the nines and melting all but metal at the merest touch. [center]There are more Rots than these—this is merely a general list of a few of the many that exist, both more general and more specific than even this list could properly describe. Decidologists commonly specialize in one Rot or another, exploring all of its subsets and relationships, and as a result, it is best to direct your queries to one more educated on the subject.[/center] [/color] [/hider] [right][h2][color=#e8d982]COUNTRIES[/color][/h2][/right] [hider=Countries] [b]PAPACY OF LAW:[/b] The home of the Alfin theocracy, the Papacy of Law, otherwise known as [b]The Lawlands[/b] or [b]Lollands[/b]. The Lawlands, obsessed with order and hierarchy, place their insectoid overlords high above all else, where laborers work and Rot to ensure the comfort of their masters, their bishops and priests, all in the name of the great religion of Obelism. Its major cities include the capitol of Greater Basilica, Godsthumb, and Ephradia. A major importer of Wax and Rust. Major exports: fresh water, agriculture, and religious zeal. [indent][b]ABBEY-STATE OF PEDRAUGH:[/b] The satids call the desolate and sandy Pedraugh home, naturally suited to its Blight-heavy climes. Known occasionally as the [b]Riversands[/b], Pedraugh is characterized by the Longcity of Gannesmarsh, settled along the Gannes River. All else is swallowed up by the Pedraugh Desert. Major imports: fertilizer, steel, and lumber. Major exports: agriculture, paper, glass, glassware, and glass starter. [b]ABBEY-STATE OF EPHRADD:[/b] In pure opposition to the sands of Pedraugh and the comfortable middle ground of the Lawlands, the [b]Ocean Country[/b] of Ephradd is so low as to have its tip brush the waters of the Ocean, its unique crescent shape the subject of a thousand myths and endless poetry. The adamen live mostly in its capitol, Schaden Quay, whose Wax architecture descends all the way to the fishing villages below, referred to as Outer Quay. The largest fish exporter by far, the adamen also specialize in unique and beautiful pottery, emulating the Rust-ridden shells the adamen are so known for using the rich clay deposits native to Ephradd. [/indent] [color=#95eb94][b]THE UNION OF HYE:[/b] From indoor plumbing to decidology, the [b]Hye Society[/b] is widely regarded as the source of all innovation, a citadel for all things knowledge. This is not necessarily true, but the pinian country of Hye exports little more than patents and specialized laborers, and has long since accepted all races and all creeds, so long as they exhibit a desire for learning. College town after college town dot the mountainous landscape, with train systems in lieu of trade thoroughfares as the pinians have little use for overland travel, preferring instead to suspend their freight above the forest canopy and leave a great deal of Hye’s natural wonder untouched. At its epicenter sits the capitol of Sagacar, a gorgeous and resplendent city that illustrates the best of architecture, designed for all races to visit and see the ‘splendor’ of the Hyean nation, whereas other major cities are mainly designed for pinians alone, like Gerwe and Minado. A long-time trade partner with the halvish country of Ablisque, the pinians are among the few to carry anatomical materials on every single race, including the entish whose alienage stands in the special prefecture of Frasnost. [indent][b]DELEGATED SPECIAL PREFECTURE OF FRASNOST: [/b] Frasnost, or simply the [b]Heights,[/b] is the result of decades of research. Originally a piece of the Hyean mainland, Frasnost was painstakingly segmented from its parent island, lashed in Chains and elevated high into the sky, creating the world’s first artificial biome. Rot was cleared away from the forest floor and research enclosures were built where once only mushroom forests thrived, leaving only a small country, devoid of the Rot that so characterizes the rest of the world. Naturally, the pinian reached out to the entish, searching far and wide for their last hold-outs and hamlets, and invited them to stay in Frasnost, an offer which many entish gratefully accepted. Now the home of a research institute dedicated to ending mankind’s dependency on the Rot, the thirty square mile plot of land is seen as Hye’s crowning achievement, where all manner of scientific vocations may ply their craft in the pursuit of Hye’s idealistic views. [/indent][/color] [color=#d16da6][b]MONARCHY OF ABLISQUE:[/b] Ablisque, the halvish land known best as [b]The South[/b], is exactly that—the southernmost nation, far away from any other, rotating forever on the pillar axis near the wide southerly pole. Rich in metals of all kinds—from Rust mainstays like iron to the well-loved elements of the pewter-minted flore, lead and tin. From the capitol of Barosa to the battlement-towns of Deucegard and Tisille, the Ablisquean monarchy is absolute, yet its current king is taking pains to change that, being of a particularly enlightened mind and moved by the evolution of Hye from backwater fief to respected academic union. Chilly at the best of times, the art of insulation has taught the halvin yet further marvels about construction and design, meaning their architects are in nearly as high a demand as their tin. They import a great number of agricultural goods, as their harvest season is short and their winters are horribly long, as well as leather and furs from the wide-spanning plains of the Frecoran oligarchy. [/color] [color=#ad9d40][b]OLIGARCHY OF FRECORE:[/b] Ah, the hegemony of the bulbor. Frecore, the profit-minded prairie owned mainly by the bulboran aristocracies, has blossomed into a crown jewel of commerce and economic achievement, considered the heartblood of flores the world over. Though Camir acts as an arbiter for minting new coin, Frecore has long been their partner in circulating the fresh currency, a working relationship that has long fostered an agreed-upon currency in most—but not all—of the nations, with Honmato, the Lawlands, and Rebonaude proudly carrying their own currency, preferring a more central form of economic exchange. Still, trade continues, and bulboran moneylenders make a tidy sum from the three countries looking to exchange and do business. Exporters of bounteous amounts of game and furs, the mainstay of the Frecoran economy is not necessarily its physical worth, but rather its function as a reducer of transaction costs. The post-war capitol, [b]Pewters,[/b] is named for its flows of flores through its banks and lenders, and even the nation of Frecore itself is synonymous with the word. [indent][b]ARCHDUCHY OF RECUMEY:[/b] And lo, the great bog of [b]Sharksborough[/b]! Recumey, known for its swampy and sloppy terrain, has made great use of Brine dams and Wax to ward off the slimy deep, allowing its heavily vertical cities like Biresang and Derbloudd to sit atop gorgeous, freshwater canals even surrounded by the murky bayou below. Known for their great love of blood sport and even greater love for the chivalric philosophies of balderism, the sahagi natives of Recumey have fully adopted a culture both spartan and athenian—where a bar brawl can have the words of philosophers slung in joyous fullisade and knife fights can occur with a look of absolute jubilation and both participants looking their church best. This does, however, lead to an unfortunate degree of reductive sexism, to the point that ‘rowdy’ women will often be quietly shuffled off to Frecore to pursue something other than a sahagi way of life, usually meaning an education, sometimes meaning an education in the school of hard knocks. Naturally, the clever sahagi make wonderful mercenaries, and are generally bankrolled by their bulbor oligarchs, with little worry about things like ‘exports’ so long as they continue to protect Frecoran interests. [b]ARCHDUCHY OF SLASTEY:[/b] Ah, the home of the slake. [b]Crabsbucket[/b] has forever been home to all manner of curious things, from mile-deep ravines to breathtaking waterfalls, but the slake have long occupied their jungle home with a sense of brutality, their walls festooned with chitin-husks of all shapes and sizes as ‘survival of the fittest’ is the name of the game. Though the slake would never fight their own, they readily invite the dangers of the jungle, seeking to best it in combat as a test of strength. This has bred a hitherto unmatched method of private domestication, and many breeds of dog, cat, bird, and horse alike find their lineage-thread spun in Thabers or Polderg. Heading up the other half of the bulbor’s impregnable defenses protecting their market control, the only stumbling block is that the slake themselves despise the bulbor but find their money hard to deny, as they import not only animals for breeding purposes, but an unseemly amount of opiates for the sake of tending to the wounded. This is, as one can expect, a coffer-exhausting adventure that keeps Frecore and Slastey in good graces with one another. [/indent][/color] [color=#b9ed5f][b]EMPOWERED STATES OF CAMIR:[/b] If one were to name a country that could upend the unsteady throne of the alfin Lawlands, it would be the [b]Asp’s Nest.[/b] Democratic to a fault, however, the aspish have long since dispensed with the gauntlets of war, rather preferring to broker peace among the people of Rhau. With Barbary’s Tortuga the idol of every young asp and the Plague Wars fifty years behind them, Camir has nestled itself into a comfortable position, rustled only by the quibblings of Kamdi and Raskitt. From Leiman to Subul, Camir is a place of learning, a place of trade, and a place of diplomacy that evolved from era after era of war-loving monarchies, palaces and castles changing hands with the tides for centuries. It is, as a result, a place of beauty and a place of ruin alike, and its natural bounty allows it to export all manner of hard-to-source medicines and luxuries like spices and dye. [indent][b]UNION OF KAMDI:[/b] The [b]Grave of Peace.[/b] Where the Plague Wars began so long ago, Kamdi has remained, having given itself over to Camir in exchange for its benevolence and protection. Possessed of a rich natural bounty, the llaman lands are far smaller than they once were, but the techniques used to grow rarities like ivorywood and silk are secrets kept well by the denizens of Kulbi, placing great value on Kamdi trade—a value that Camir could see. [b]FREE LANDS OF RASKITT:[/b] Camir has allowed the mustine to do as they like, granting them the wild expanse of Raskitt to build and trade and invest entirely too much in perfumes. The mustine profession of whale-hunting is seen as a natural duty, as harvesting their ambrosia is vital to their manufacture of all manner of perfumes, but overfishing has led to quotas and quotas have led to a reliance on the entish of Frasnost—with pinians as middlemen—to produce floral concentrates, whose scarcity has shot the price up to apocalyptic sums. The [b]Bramblings[/b], as they’re called, mostly by the native Yorksbay and Larksboroans, refers to the sea of nettles in the undergrowth of Raskitt, and use of the nickname is seen almost the same as citizenship. Raskitt exports all manner of perfumes and extracts, as well as a great deal of the freshwater from their soaking wet near-pillar summers. [/indent][/color] [color=#906dc2][b]KINGDOM OF REBONAUDE:[/b] Rebonaude, Chained beneath the Subaris desert continent, will forever be known as the [b]Lurk[/b] to Tortugans, named for the way it ‘lurks’ in the shadows of the desert above it. Isolated and independent, Rebonaude relies on its good graces with the Papacy of Law to ensure its continued protection and by extension existence, as their papal adversaries would love nothing more than to take down the symbol of ariadi extravagance, those spiderlike subjugators of the elves. Taking all they could need from the papacy and giving nothing but research and poetry back, the relative comfort of the ariadi comes from the desire for the alfin to have an ally, as their means have left them quite thoroughly unlikeable. Thus, out of pure convenience and comfort, the ariadi stand happily blind to the Law’s humanitarian crimes, instead focusing on fetes and parties and convincing their rivals that the great gilded age of Ceria has shown no signs of fading. [indent][b]FIEFDOM OF THANSLEIGH:[/b] The dogmatic and Wax-laden elves of Thansleigh have long since marched to the beat of their own drum, but came under ariadi rule against their will, alienated not only from their original culture but even their nomenclature almost two hundred years ago. Though some still remember the ways, they are spoken only of in the whispers of elf-crones, secreted away in the comparatively well-lit dark corners of this ariadi fief. The ghost-worship of the Selist faith stems from the elves’ deep connection with the Wax, and this fact in tandem with Thansleigh’s natural mountains have given this country the affectionate moniker of [b]the Spine[/b]. Exporting a great deal of Wax to the Papacy and importing whatever their ariadi masters will allow them, Thansleigh elves are quite well-read, but terribly, terribly poor. [/indent][/color] [color=#e6a6a1][b]MONARCHIC DEMOCRACY OF HONMATO:[/b] Honmato—one knows they’re in the [b]Foggery[/b] by just that—the thick fog that surrounds the lower pillars. For centuries, few even knew Honmato existed, much less that it would become the center of a great deal of international attention during the Plague Wars, when it joined the world with a splash of blood and a flourish of the wrist, taking theatres and battlegrounds alike by storm. After the Wars ended, Honmato returned to its isolationist policies, taking half of Silpoca with them—however, despite this, their tourism industry has grown immensely, and the onin cannot help but allow the wallets of the wealthy into their great country in exchange for favor. Though they need import little—Honmato is a land of great natural bounty and where it lacks certain elements its people make up for in ingenuity—the onin have come to enjoy certain creature comforts, most especially dye and perfumes from Camir and Glimden, and thus maintain trade routes with the two, cutting out Silpoca entirely.[/color] [color=#ede2c7][b]DEMOCRACY OF SILPOCA / REPUBLIC OF GLIMDEN:[/b] It has been a difficult few years for the hodnan. Now embroiled in a hateful civil war between globalism and nationalism, Silpoca stands ready to open its gates to the world, while Glimden has decided to segregate itself wholesale, instead enjoying the benefits of the similarly-minded onin of Honmato. This has earned Silpoca and Glimden alike the nickname of [b]the Splits[/b], with much of hodnan commerce caught between the two warring factions of the segregationists and the diplomats. Normally, the massive nation of Silpoca would be considered the third largest in the world, but with these wars stymying their usually-consistent trade routes that once dealt in all things luxury and lumber, they have instead become a consumption economy, buying halvish weapons and sahagi mercenaries as the two sides are locked in bitter combat, neither willing to give up their lands to the other. [/color] [/hider] [color=#b5e6e6][center][h1][b]CHARACTER SHEET[/b][/h1][/center] [b]Note: PM all Character Sheets directly to me for an approval conversation. Format them however you please so long as it isn't an eyesore.[/b] [b]Name:[/b] [What do we call you? This does [b]not have to be your full name. It can be a moniker when you post it, but I need to know.[/b]] [b]Gender:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PRIVATE IF NOT READILY APPARENT. Pronouns are helpful if they're non-binary, but not necessary otherwise.] [b]Age:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PRIVATE. A century is end-of-life in general unless you're a hinky little Rotter doing hinky little Rot shit.] [b]Race:[/b] [Which of the races are you? Are you a strange subspecies (ask me about your favorite idea and we'll talk shop!)?] [b]Profession:[/b] [Pirate? Academic? Drunk? What do you even do for a living?] [b]Origin:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PRIVATE, but when you PM this to me I need to know.] [b]Skills / Rot:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PARTIALLY PRIVATE, but you need to tell people at least two or three things and also if your Rot is visible, if you already have any.] [b]Appearance:[/b] [Unless I drew it myself (which I'll do! I could use the cash), you're probably going to need to get descriptive if you're using a faceclaim thanks to how these races are.] [b]Background:[/b] [This can be long-form or we can just talk for a while until I'm satisfied you know your character, in which case I'll ask you to summarize for both our sakes. [b]KEEP PRIVATE.[/b]] [b]Goals:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PRIVATE. What's your dream? What's your plan? Whether it's making it to your next meal or becoming a world-renowned pirate chef sexcapadist, let me know.] [/color] [hider=CS w/ Code] [code] [b]Name:[/b] [What do we call you? This does [b]not have to be your full name. It can be a moniker when you post it, but I need to know.[/b]] [b]Gender:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PRIVATE IF NOT READILY APPARENT. Pronouns are helpful if they're non-binary, but not necessary otherwise.] [b]Age:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PRIVATE. A century is end-of-life in general unless you're a hinky little Rotter doing hinky little Rot shit.] [b]Race:[/b] [Which of the races are you? Are you a strange subspecies (ask me about your favorite idea and we'll talk shop!)?] [b]Profession:[/b] [Pirate? Academic? Drunk? What do you even do for a living?] [b]Origin:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PRIVATE, but when you PM this to me I need to know.] [b]Skills / Rot:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PARTIALLY PRIVATE, but you need to tell people at least two or three things and also if your Rot is visible, if you already have any.] [b]Appearance:[/b] [Unless I drew it myself (which I'll do! I could use the cash), you're probably going to need to get descriptive if you're using a faceclaim thanks to how these races are.] [b]Background:[/b] [This can be long-form or we can just talk for a while until I'm satisfied you know your character, in which case I'll ask you to summarize for both our sakes. [b]KEEP PRIVATE.[/b]] [b]Goals:[/b] [MAY BE KEPT PRIVATE. What's your dream? What's your plan? Whether it's making it to your next meal or becoming a world-renowned pirate chef sexcapadist, let me know.] [/code] [/hider] That's it! Hit the Discord! Ask questions! You can look forward to sketches of the races and other cool stuff!