"Listen closely, little hatchlings, as Singer Mero recalls the history of our people.
Before the memory of even our eldest, there was the Mother Stone, a world of deep caverns, vast mushroom farms, and ice-cold rivers. We, her children, thrived in her embrace, our great cities carved from her very being, our lives a symphony of hammer and chisel, our songs echoing through the crystalline halls. With our wise Stonesingers, our hands shaped her gifts into wonders, our hearts beating in time with her slow, steady rhythm.
But the Mother Stone, though strong, was not eternal. A tremor deep within her heart, a shadow seeping from the deepest, darkest depths of the caves – we do not speak its name, even now, for fear of awakening its echo. It twisted our mother's song, silenced the whispers of the crystals, and turned our own creations against us. Stone crumbled, light turned to darkness, and our cities, once our pride, became our tombs.
A few of us, guided by the last, desperate whisper of the Mother Stone, ventured to the surface land, a place no Kyrbald had ever seen. There, our Singers, their claws trembling, opened a gateway in the starry skies above – a swirling vortex of light and shadow.
We stepped through, a handful of survivors, carrying with us the memory of the Great Hollow's song, the weight of our lost world heavy on our scaled shoulders. We emerged into a strange new sky, a realm of floating islands and winds that carried the scent of both life and a lingering echo of the void's chill.
Yrdde, this place was called. Its sun warms our scales, its earth whispers a strange new song, its rhythm unfamiliar. We found solace in its jungles, their dense embrace shielding us from prying eyes, the earth's rich soil welcoming our touch. We carved new homes, built new cities, our hammers and chisels a symphony of resilience that even the darkest shadow could not extinguish.
We are the Kyrbald, the children of the Mother Stone, the keepers of a lost world's song. We do not seek conquest, we do not crave the sky’s boundless expanse. Our gaze is turned inward, our hands shaping the earth's gifts, our hearts beating in time with her rhythm. We wait, we watch, for we know that the shadow that shattered our world still lurks, its hunger unending. And when it emerges, when its echo touches this new haven, we will be ready. Our cities will stand strong, our blades sharp, our spirits unbroken." - The Mother Stone, Stonesinger Mero
History
Dwelling within the dense jungles that lie along the southern edge of the Dustfire Desert, the Kyrbald have carved out a unique civilization – a society of artisans, builders, and keepers of secrets whose intricate stone cities and enigmatic customs have captivated the few outsiders who’ve dared to venture into their hidden domain.
The Kyrbald’s discovery by the Empire was largely accidental – a scouting party, blown off course by an unpredictable storm, stumbled upon one of their meticulously crafted stone cities rising from the heart of the jungle. Initially mistaken for an Old-World ruin due to the scale and complexity of its architecture, the city’s true nature revealed itself when the scouts encountered its inhabitants – short, scaled figures who observed the intruders with a silent, unsettling curiosity.
While the Empire, ever eager to expand its reach and exploit new resources, attempted to establish contact and explore the Kyrbald’s potential value – as laborers, soldiers, or perhaps even a source of rare magical artifacts – their efforts were largely unsuccessful. The Kyrbald, it seemed, had little interest in the machinations of empires or the allure of technology. Their focus remained inward, their society governed by traditions, rituals, and a deep connection to the earth's slow, steady pulse.
With the reworking of the Empire's borders cutting them off from the eastern continent, Sanctum has largely chosen to ignore the Kyrbald. Merchant convoys crossing the desert run into them from time to time, often pausing to watch as they carve chunks of white stone from the desert canyons. A few brave traders venture into the jungle to exchange goods, the Kyrbald are fond of spices and herbs not found in the jungle, and return with intricate stone carvings worth large sums of crowns.
While they are very rarely seen outside of their jungle homes and the desert that surrounds them, it is not impossible to spot a rare individual wandering the major cities of the world. These few, either exiled or overtaken by wanderlust, are typically treated with a polite curiosity, and even in the Empire are held to a higher regard than the average chimera. They tend to take well to airship travel, working as mechanics and even pilots.
Appearance
Kyrbald are reptilian humanoids, their scaled skin bearing a striking resemblance to the lizards that thrive in their jungle home. They are noticeably shorter than humans, averaging between four and five feet in height, their compact bodies surprisingly strong and agile, giving them a great advantage when navigating the dense jungle undergrowth and scaling the sheer cliff faces of the canyons where they gather the stone for their intricate constructions. Their skin is covered in smooth, overlapping scales, their coloration varying greatly between individuals – from deep emerald greens and earthy browns to vibrant blues, reds, and even a rare, iridescent gold.
Most Kyrbald possess horns, jutting from their heads in a variety of shapes and sizes – single, curved horns resembling those of a rhinoceros, twin horns that sweep back like those of a gazelle, or even elaborate, antler-like formations that branch and intertwine.
"The Kyrbald, darlings… they’re a riddle wrapped in scales, carved in stone, and seasoned with a dash of “we’d rather not deal with your human nonsense, thank you very much.” I’ve only glimpsed them from a distance, mind you – those little lizard folk who flit around the edges of the Dustfire Desert like shadows with a penchant for rock collecting.
They’re builders, artisans, their cities rising from the jungle floor like something out of a half-remembered dream. Intricate carvings, impossible angles, and a sense of ancient wisdom that makes your average College scholar look like toddler playing with building blocks.
They keep to themselves, mostly. Don’t trade much, don’t chatter, don’t seem particularly interested in the whole “let’s conquer the sky-sea” game that the other races are so obsessed with. Frankly, it’s refreshing.
I’ve heard whispers, of course. Legends of strange earth magic, rituals that can make stone sing.
It’s intriguing, darlings, all that mystery, all that untapped potential. A race that’s mastered the art of silence, the power of stillness, in a world that’s constantly screaming for attention. I’d love to get closer, crack open a few of those stone-carved secrets, learn the whispers of their language… if they’d let me, of course. But something tells me they’re guarding a story far older, far more complex, than anything I could possibly write. And that, my dears, is the kind of mystery that keeps a journalist up at night, a siren call whispering on the wind, a challenge waiting to be accepted, a story begging to be told." - E Dawnstrider
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