The D'joni

The D’joni

Lothaern legend says that the D’joni were created by a seemingly deathless sorcerer king in the Age of Song, who bound wicked nature spirits to the bodies of his subjects. The foul magic warped the victims' forms. Over time they took on the bestial aspects of the possessing spirits, became shorter, and squat, with a coat of fur, lamp like eyes, and an overlarge, snout like maw. The most monstrous of the changes was an indiscriminate hunger for flesh. These mutations were passed on to the next generation, becoming more pronounced if anything. The king deployed them both as guerilla raiding parties, and as irregular infantry units adjunct to his conventional troops. His forces chipped away at the neighboring kingdoms for generations, slowly conquering more and more every year until it seemed likely that all of them would fall to his hand. On the eve of his victory the king was ambushed in his tent by a cadre of unlikely assassins, among them a one eyed woodsman, a silent Caetherite friar, and a hapless thief. This rag tag band did what many had failed to do before them, and put the sorcerer to death for good. Without their supposedly immortal king, his regular army fell to partisan infighting, fracturing into three factions, all vying for the throne, and tore themselves apart. The D’joni on the other hand took advantage of the death of their master to escape from bondage. They fled the kingdom and broke up into tribes, claiming different forest lands. Once established, they resumed the same guerilla actions they’d been created for. They raided for goods, waylaid trade caravans, burned villages and fields, and took prisoners to ransom, sell into slavery, or eat.

Physically, D'joni are small, rarely topping 3’7” when standing straight and tall, with a sturdy, squat body, over long limbs, and gnarled, clawed hands. They are covered in thick fur that runs the gamut from grey to rusty red, with black mask markings around their huge, predatory eyes, as well as on their limbs, and backs. D’joni have short snouts, and mouths much larger than they ought to be, filled with jagged teeth. They usually clothe themselves in stolen finery, and cast offs from other peoples. Though not known for their skill as smiths or bowyers, they are extremely resourceful, and expertly adapt the scraps they salvage. They move surprisingly swiftly and surely, and are just as at home leaping from tree to tree as they are on the ground. D’joni are vicious fighters, especially when they outnumber their enemies. Though not physically imposing, D’joni are never alone, and coordinate their attacks and maneuvers in such a way that they are able to defeat much more powerful enemies with ease. They utilize every dirty trick in the book, and a few that aren’t, including but not limited to poisoned weapons, static traps, and ambushes. Their preferred tactic is to follow terrestrial quarry from the canopy, then at the perfect moment, they drop from the branches and surround their prey, accompanied by a skirl of bagpipes. Though not cowardly, D’joni are not stupid, and know when to retreat, but rarely allow themselves to be taken prisoner, preferring death to captivity.

Little is known of D’joni culture outside of the scant testimony of those few lucky enough to be ransomed, or to escape their clutches by other means. These tales have painted a strange picture of a people at once wicked, and whimsical. D’joni are consummate predators, gleefully consuming the flesh of still living game and people with abandon, reveling in the torturous process of cooking chunks of the being and forcing them to watch as they are eaten. All the while expertly played, festive music swirls through a chaos of drunk, dancing D’joni. Captives report being pressured into joining in the dance and drinking, though not the consumption of sapient flesh. The D’joni also seem to love to play practical jokes on one another, which are usually dangerous but rarely deadly. One escaped prisoner reported seeing the Big Man (leader) of the tribe being hoisted into the air by his ankles with a concealed noose. He was then coated in honey, and covered in grouse feathers while the others laughed themselves sick. According to the account, the Big Man himself was laughing by the time he was cut down and clean. The captive escaped a few weeks after the incident, but was shocked that no D’joni seemed to suffer reprisal for what would be a grave offense in most other cultures. Music also apparently plays a central role in D’joni life. Their villages and encampments are filled with a deafening cacophony of pipes, horns, flutes, lutes, lyres, and drums playing different tunes. D’joni Big Men are usually the most skilled musicians in the tribe, but everyone has the ability to at least play an instrument. The bagpipers that accompany any war-band or raiding party are afforded a great deal of respect, and rarely fall victim to pranks.

D’joni are often utilized as shock troops, cat’s paws, and lackeys by more powerful forces, but always as mercenaries. Since the demise of their creator, no creature, regardless of how powerful they are, has ever successfully forced so much as a single tribe of D’joni to bend the knee. In addition, D’joni tribes are known for the rarity of intercommunity conflicts, and have been seen to risk life and limb to retrieve the bodies of their slain kin without prejudice. Though they obviously have immense respect for their own dead, D’joni regularly desecrate the bodies of slain enemies. They take grisly trophies, most often ears, noses, and phalluses, which are tanned, dyed or painted in bright colors, and worn as talismans. The more talismans a D’joni warrior possesses, the more elite they are considered, but one should never discount any D’joni, as those without any are usually the hungriest for glory. Popular legend says that the bags of their warpipes are made from the innards of those that they eat, but no confirmed eyewitness accounts to the veracity of this belief are currently known.