Reverie Isles Ancestries

[GM Note: This is a list of playable ancestries and what role they play in the world of the Reverie Isles. If you want to play an ancestry that isn’t found within this folder, that doesn’t mean that you can’t play them; it just means that the absent ancestry doesn’t have a large enough part to play in the setting to warrant it having its own article. However, some ancestries might be too weird or too different from the rest to exist in the setting, so don’t get mad if your GM just says “No” at some point.]

Common Ancestries

Dwarf

Known as “dweomer” among their own kind, dwarves are a stout, hardy people well-adapted to life underground. Their compact frames make them resistant to the ravages of time and hardship, while their keen eyesight allows them to navigate tunnels as naturally as other folk walk open roads. Both dwarven men and women proudly bear beards, which they carefully braid to signify age and status, and most dwarves share the tendency to live in or around mountains, as they once did in their homeland of Urd beneath the Old World continent of Uferlos.

After the Syzygy, the surviving dwarven clans founded the subterranean city of Dol Volgrum to be a spiritual successor to their lost homeland. These families also implemented the now widespread tradition of forging unique “clan daggers” to serve as proof of their genealogy. Dwarven society values craftsmanship above all else, believing that to create something enduring is to achieve immortality. Tradition is their foundation, yet those who leave their mountain halls commonly find themselves drawn toward innovation, bridging old ways with new.

Dwarves reach physical maturity at age 20 (though considered young until 50) and typically live up to 350 years.

Elf

Elves are an extraordinarily long-lived people who first migrated to the Material Plane from the starlit realm of Annwyn, which vanished during the Syzygy, likely destroyed. Though they resemble humans in shape, their features are otherworldly — lithe, long-limbed, with almond-shaped, perpetually dilated eyes that once helped them peer through the dim light of their home plane with ease. Their ears taper to delicate points, a trait that differs slightly between elven bloodlines.

Their culture values preservation — of art, history, and the lingering echoes of Annwyn’s memory. Many elves struggle with the creeping erosion of their traditions, debating whether to uphold the ways of the past or adapt to the fleeting pace of mortal civilization. Though rare and growing rarer, some elves—proudly known among their own kind as archaics—still possess the longevity of their celestial ancestors, and are capable of living for millennia while others endure mere centuries.

Elves reach physical maturity at age 20 (though considered young until 100) and typically live up to 600 years.

Gnome

Gnomes are small, endlessly imaginative creatures driven by an insatiable need to create. First found sleeping among the glittering crystals of the World’s Core, their very lives are tied to spontaneous inspiration, for when an idea enters a gnome’s mind, they are supernaturally compelled to see it through. This compulsion generates an invisible field of possibility that subtly bends reality around them, allowing gnomes to accomplish impossible feats of artistry and engineering — so long as they believe in their creations.

However, their joie de vivre is not without its complications, for gnomes are doomed to a slow death should they ever lose it. This condition, known as Bleaching, drains a gnome of all color and vitality, reducing them to little more than a husk of their former selves. If left untreated, the sickly gnome’s body will harden, turn to brittle gray stone, and crumble into dust. To stave it off, they chase new ideas, pursue adventure, and surround themselves with vibrant company, knowing that stagnation will mean the end of them.

Gnomes reach physical maturity at age 25 and typically live up to 400 years.

Goblin

Goblins are scrawny, beady-eyed tricksters with sharp teeth, leathery orange skin, and an irrepressible enthusiasm that borders on manic. Whether feared or adored, goblins thrive on chaos, scuttling through life with short attention spans and a near-irrational love for fire, noise, and reckless invention. Though often dismissed as nuisances, goblin minds process information in a way few folk understand — solving most problems through gut instinct rather than logic, to the bewilderment of other ancestries.

Some scholars believe goblins share distant kinship with gnomes, as both similarly possess reality-warping auras. However, while gnomes bend possibility alone, goblins grow proportionally stronger in numbers, amplifying their collective belief until even the most harebrained schemes inexplicably succeed. This is why a single goblin’s invention is a disaster waiting to happen, but a dozen goblins together can make a rickety flying machine soar — at least for a few glorious seconds, before it all comes crashing down.

Goblins reach physical maturity at age 5 and typically live up to 50 years.

Halfling

Halflings are a resourceful and unassuming folk, their diminutive size belying a quiet resilience that has carried them through countless ages. Their origins stretch back further than even the elves can recall, with ancient stories describing the “little people of the hills” as the first mortals to walk the Material Plane. But unlike most races, who carve empires and wage wars, halflings have always preferred the simple life — tight-knit communities, warm meals, and all the comforts of home.

Yet, their kind has an uncanny knack for survival, as if luck itself guides their hairy-footed steps. Where others rely on magic or brute force to get what they want, a halfling simply follows their heart, dodging danger with a mix of wit and well-timed fortune. Their adaptability and curiosity have led many to integrate seamlessly into the larger societies of the world, where they often find work as merchants, innkeepers, and, more discreetly, thieves and saboteurs who no one ever suspects.

Halflings reach physical maturity at age 20 and typically live up to 150 years.

Human

Humans are the most widespread of all mortal races, their indomitable spirits allowing them to thrive in any environment. Unlike the elves and dwarves, whose cultures tend to stagnate over the ages, human history is one of rapid change, ambition, and reinvention. They are architects of great cities, pioneers of industry, and rulers of continent-spanning empires, though their comparatively short lifespans often mean that their accomplishments fade as quickly as they’re achieved.

What sets humanity apart is their single-minded drive — for power, for progress, for meaning. Some rise to greatness in a matter of decades, while others crumble beneath the weight of their own self-importance. Their ability to commingle with other ancestries, mixing bloodlines and forming new alliances, has made them the unifying force of the Isles, for better or worse. To humans, the world isn’t merely a mystery to be contemplated — it is a frontier, just waiting to be conquered.

Humans reach physical maturity at age 15 (though considered young until 20) and typically live up to 90 years.

[GM Note: Admittedly, I am neither a social anthropologist nor a minority, so I’ve tried my best not to perpetuate any negative stereotypes nor objectify any real world people when writing this section. That being said, racism as it exists in real life simply doesn’t in the Isles. Humans may not be united beneath a single banner, but they are a more unified people, as they’re but one of many biologically, culturally distinct fantasy races. That being said, ethnicity does still exist. In the Old World, the environments on each continent varied so greatly that it gave rise to a number of unique appearances for the native humanoids—not just for humans, but for gnomes, halflings, and others as well—which have been passed onto their living descendants in the Isles. In the North, Malkovians were commonly born with features well-suited for cold weather, with sturdy builds, coarse black hair, colorless gray eyes, and pale skin that grew noticeably whiter during the long night of winter. In the Far East, Yamakirins were commonly born with slimmer frames than those of other humans, with silky black hair, striking angular green eyes, and an olive complexion. In the West, the Uferlosi were commonly born with medium builds that grew considerably heavier or thinner with age, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin that tanned easily. However, due to the sheer size of their homeland, there was greater variation in appearance between humanoids across Uferlos. For example, those who hailed from around the demesne of Epping on the northwestern coast had curly reddish hair and freckled skin, while those from the Sildran Peninsula in the southeast had locks of fine brown hair and a more honeylike hue to their skin. In the South, the Zambesti commonly stood a head taller than other humans, identifiable by their thick black hair (which they either styled into rope-like braids or shaved off completely, depending on the region), brown eyes that verged on black, and dark skin that ranged from bronze to ebony. In the Far South, the Janni were commonly born with slender frames, dark hair that turned white early into adulthood, and hazel eyes resembling rings of amber, with caramel-colored skin that resisted severe sunburns.]

Orc

Orcs are a race of towering humanoids known for their green-hued skin, tusked lower jaws, and sturdy bones. Believed to be some of the first mortals to inhabit Malkovia, where orcish settlements constantly fended off nocturnal predators for survival, their kind have been honed into natural warriors. Many among them still practice the ways of their Malkovian ancestors, where respect was earned through physical trials, and every scar told a story. Others, particularly in urban centers, have taken new paths as blacksmiths, scholars, and thespians.

For all their might and ferocity, their culture is a deeply spiritual one, extending far beyond the field of battle. Unlike elves, who look to the past, or humans, who hunger for the future, orcs live entirely in what they call “the eternal present,” drawing strength from family and the forging of new traditions, which they hold just as highly as those long-established. However, orcish elders often have a reputation for being stubborn and short-tempered, having grown stronger rather than weaker with age — yet scarring more easily and healing more slowly.

Orcs reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 90 years, if they haven’t already died in battle.

Uncommon Ancestries

Catfolk

Known as “amurruns” among their own kind, catfolk are natural explorers, traders, and storytellers, with lives driven by passion and curiosity. They are distant descendants of the ailuros, Janni spirits of the wind and sand, from whom catfolk inherited their razor-sharp reflexes, piercing gaze, and sleek fur, which comes in striking patterns and colors. Having developed in far-flung desert oases, splintered and isolated from other societies, their culture often has odd notions about love, luck, and outsiders.

Similar to ordinary felines, catfolk are restless by nature and prize personal freedom above all else. Once, they trekked across the Old World in lengthy caravans to trade goods with foreign lands, guided by the belief that the best way to understand one’s place in the world is to see it in its entirety. Although some purr when pleased or hiss when startled, nothing earns a catfolk’s ire faster than being compared to a common housecat, and to call one ‘kitty’ to their face is a surefire way of making a lifelong enemy.

Catfolk reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 70 years.

Diluvian

Diluvians are amphibious humanoids who hail from the deep-sea realm of Tezcatl, where domed palaces and coral reef gardens thrive beneath the waves. Their scaly, mostly hairless skin ranges from sable to viridian green and oceanic blue, often accented by gills, webbed fins, or even bioluminescent markings, which is seen a sign of divine favor. Though capable of venturing onto land, most diluvians prefer the embrace of the sea, where they move effortlessly with the gentle, ever-present pull of the current.

First engineered by the Cipactin, a long-extinct species of eldritch crustaceans, diluvians have inherited a deep reverence for the ocean. However, Tezcatlan society is uncompromisingly isolationist, an attitude born not of prejudice but self-preservation. Though courteous, they remain wary of any non-diluvian, believing that contact with the surface can only bring corruption and ruin. Those who leave are rarely welcomed back, for they know that once the tide carries something away, it is never returned the same.

Diluvians reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 100 years.

Garuda

Garuda are an ancient, proud race of birdfolk, their plumage varying from raptor-like austerity to parrot-like vibrancy, depending on their lineage. Semi-flightless, they possess unmatched agility, using their powerful legs and wings to leap great distances and glide on thermal winds. Their origins stretch back to the early days of the world, when their ancestors first nested along Zambesa’s rocky coast, building sanctuaries into sheer cliffs overlooking the sea, where garudan seers studied the movement of the stars.

To the garuda, the night sky is both a path and a scripture, leading their kind toward a destiny written long before their birth. Their society is separated into an array of broods, each with its own distinct hierarchy and culture. These broods pass down wisdom through oral tradition, each tale layered with a mix of history, prophecy, and lessons from the past. Though sometimes mistaken for tengu, garuda take great offense to such comparisons, insisting that their bloodlines are as old as the Old World itself.

Garuda reach physical maturity at age 20 and typically live up to 100 years.

Hobgoblin

Hobgoblins—referred to as “hobs” by the other races of the Isles—were born from the volatile planar energies of the Syzygy, their existence a byproduct of latent genes awakening within goblin bloodlines. Taller and leaner than their less-evolved kin, who seemingly flock to hob leadership like lemmings, they possess iron-willed discipline, with a society structured around order, hierarchy, and rigid martial codes. Though they are not born into war, many are forged by it, raised in regiments that demand their unwavering obedience.

Their culture sneers at magic, religion, and whimsy of any kind, believing such things pollute the mind and weaken one’s resolve. Instead, they put their faith strictly in strategy, mental prowess, and absolute control over their own fate. Hobs have little patience for dreamers or idealists, valuing pragmatism and cold utilitarian fairness. Though feared for their militaristic rule, they are not without honor — those who prove their strength, wit, or dependability can earn a hob’s respect, even if they will never fully earn their trust.

Hobgoblins reach physical maturity at age 10 and typically live up to 100 years.

Kholo

Kholos are a communal, once-nomadic people whose bestial appearance and macabre traditions have earned them a misunderstood reputation. Hailing from the rolling savannas of Zambesa, most resemble spotted hyenas, with coarse fur and toothy maws made to strip flesh from bone. As other cultures worship The Nine, their kind venerates the dead, carrying the bones of their ancestors with them wherever they go. Outsiders often detest this custom, but to kholos, it is a sacred act — one that ensures the souls of their loved ones are near.

Though other mortal races often dismiss kholos as primitive, or even monstrous, those able to look past the cultural peculiarities find spirited, adaptable folk who are loyal to kin above all else, who see betrayal as a slight that can never be forgiven. Despite their characteristic pre-Syzygy wanderlust, entire bloodlines of kholos have since settled down in Craven’s Ackerland as farmers. Some venture beyond the safety of their homes as rangers and mercenaries, but no matter where they choose to roam, they still carry their ancestors with them.

Kholo reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 80 years.

Kobold

Kobolds are short, crafty reptiles from the red rock plains of Yamakiri, their scaly hides, sharp claws, and keen minds betraying their draconic nature. Descended from the Drakkin, they were once the loyal servants of Mythras, the Great Wyrm, but over time, their strength slowly diminished, along with their stature. Despite this, many still believe themselves to be the last true dragons, and therefore inheritors of the entire Material Plane — clinging to their lost legacy with a fervor that borders on religious zealotry.

Though their bodies have shrunk, their intellects are as mighty as ever, becoming masters of strategy and deception. On the edge of the Frontier, with wide-open spaces similar to their Old World homeland, kobolds dig elaborate networks of trenches and tunnels, filled with traps and hidden chambers. Some still possess remnants of draconic magic, breathing sparks and invoking elemental sigils. To a kobold, survival isn’t just their instinct — it’s proof that they are still worthy of their so-called inheritance.

Kobolds reach physical maturity at age 10 and typically live up to 60 years.

Ratfolk

Known as “ysoki” among their own kind, ratfolk are tenacious scavengers that physically resemble rodents, their squat frames and quick minds allowing them to acclimate to any environment. Their kind once lived humbly in the dense wooded underbrush between Luminor and Yamakiri, making do with what they had. But after the Syzygy, while greater civilizations crumbled, many ratfolk endured in the ruins of the Old World for centuries before setting sail for new opportunities, becoming the latest ancestry to arrive in the Isles.

Contrary to common stereotypes, most ratfolk are meticulous and hygienic, prizing tidiness and efficiency in their homes and daily routines. Though often seen as unscrupulous and crass, they possess a deep sense of kinship, forming tight-knit family units within burrowlike communes, where cooperation and organization is key. Rather than scattering across the Isles, like other cultures, the majority of ratfolk dwell in the squalor of Craven’s Waterways, collecting scrap and treating its damp tunnels like a hidden path beneath the city.

Ratfolk reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 60 years.

Tengu

Tengu are sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued wanderers — their black feathers and broad, hooked beaks reminiscent of crows, ravens, and magpies. Unlike their garudan cousins, tengu rarely possess wings. However, they are still remarkably agile, using their lightweight frames and quick reflexes to navigate both city streets and ship riggings with ease. Native to the snow-capped peaks of Yamakiri, they have long since spread across the Isles, carried ever outward by a wanderlust that only deepens with age.

Sailors across the Sea of Tears consider them harbingers of fortune, though whether good or bad depends entirely on the tengu in question. They are skilled in mimicry, able to imitate voices and adopt accents as easily as other ancestries change clothes, making them gifted performers, spies, and tricksters. Tengu value movement over roots, novelty over familiarity. To stay in one place is not simply boring — it is akin to death. Rather, they thrive in motion, in an endless pursuit for something new.

Tengu reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 60 years.

Vanara

Vanaras are nimble, quick-witted humanoids whose furred bodies, long tails, and expressive faces evoke monkeys and apes. Once dwellers of Luminor’s treetop villages, they trace their origins to the mythic Prince Wukong, a trickster-hero who freed them from servitude under the capricious spirit Ojukokoro. In honor of Wukong’s defiance, vanaras reject rigid hierarchies and dogma, embracing experience as the truest form of wisdom. Many still feel the pull of his legacy, carrying his tales—and the teachings therein—on long journeys across the Isles.

Inquisitive and irrepressibly playful, vanaras treat life as an adventure best approached with a clever mind and an open heart. Their dexterous tails and lightning reflexes make them natural acrobats, messengers, and scouts, while their love of mischief often lands them in as much trouble as triumph. Beneath their antics, however, lies a steadfast sense of loyalty — to their friends, their ideals, and the freedom Wukong won for them. For a vanara, life is meant to be lived boldly and shared generously, with every leap into the unknown a chance to grow.

Vanaras reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 70 years.

Rare Ancestries

Anvilwrought

Anvilwrought are living automata, created by the inventors and dweomercrafters of House Tyrell to help build Craven’s greatest industrial marvels. Forged from a patented alloy of iron, nickel, and tungsten, they were designed to be laborers that never tire. At their core burns a smokeless flame known as soulfire — distilled planar energy most often drawn from the realm of Nexis. Some anvilwrought report glimpses of Nexis during near-death experiences or moments of déjà vu, though such visions are rare and poorly understood.

Though they’ve only recently gained sapience, the anvilwrought have already reshaped Craven’s working class and cultural landscape. However, many have trouble finding their place in a world they were not meant to inherit. Some cling to the industries they were made for, while others seek purpose in art, religion, and other mimicries of mortal behavior. With the fall of House Tyrell during the Upheaval, the secret of their creation was lost, leaving the anvilwrought as the last of their kind — eternal in theory, but all too vulnerable to rust.

Anvilwrought are functionally immortal, provided that they receive regular maintenance and their soulfire isn’t extinguished.

Centaur

Centaurs are nomadic survivalists, their upper bodies humanoid and their lower halves equine — though to call them “half-horse” is a crude oversimplification. Native to the vast wilderness of the Fanes, they live in ten great tribes whose oral histories predate most Old World civilizations. However, some scholars believe their existence does not predate the Syzygy, suggesting that centaurs may have emerged fully formed—artifacts, customs, and all—to safeguard the natural order during the Isles’ earliest days.

Though bound to nature, centaurs are not passive — they shape the world as much as it shapes them. Many are diviners, reading fate in starlight and still waters, while others serve as archers, trappers, and wardens of the land. They remain ever-moving, never lingering too long in one place, and their homes are built with the understanding that they will one day be left behind. Some trade freely with outsiders, others are territorial or keep to themselves, but all see their freedom as sacred as the wilds they roam.

Centaurs reach physical maturity at age 20 and typically live up to 300 years.

Fetchling

Known as “kayals” among their own kind, fetchlings are monochrome humanoids, descended from the Malkovians who were cast into the Netherworld during the Syzygy. With no way to return, they were forced to adapt to their new home or perish. Over generations, their bodies were changed — skin drained of color, eyes glowing faintly like will-o'-wisps, and shadows that move with eerie independence. Though they have since escaped Limbo’s grasp, they remain subtly touched by it, their presence dimming the light around them like a veil.

Kayal sages believe their transformation was guided by the shae: amorphous shadow-beings native to Limbo, who forged a symbiotic bond with their ancestors in exchange for survival. Now, fetchlings walk the world between light and dark — still mortal, but no longer wholly human. Their connection to shadow grants them the ability to vanish at the edge of sight, and they are often drawn to roles where subtlety is a virtue, such as assassins and thieves. Mistrusted by many, fetchlings live in twilight, never fully part of any world but their own.

Fetchlings reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 180 years.

Leshy

Leshys are nature spirits bound into bodies of bark, leaf, root, and bloom — living constructs animated by the wild’s intangible essence. They were first created by Luminari elves to tend garden sanctuaries, but once their creators recognized the spirits’ sentience, the leshys were released to find lives of their own. Though tiny in stature, they embody the boundless energy of the natural world. Since the Syzygy, many struggle to adapt to shrinking wildernesses, and to cope, some have turned to the arboreals for guidance and comfort.

Leshys thrive on movement and change, drawing strength from the ever-turning cycle of life. They are curious, expressive beings: some serve as gruff guardians of druid groves, others as healers and whimsical storytellers. Yet no matter how far they roam, they remain deeply rooted in the wild places of the world. Their bodies may wither with age or injury, but their spirits do not pass on in the traditional sense — rather, they return to nature, waiting to be woven anew. Rebirth, to a leshy, is simply the next step in their search for meaning.

A leshy’s physical form matures at age 1 and typically lives up to 30 years. However, their essence is capable of reconstituting itself within any juvenile plant.

Lizardfolk

Known as “iruxi” among their own kind, lizardfolk are stoic, cold-blooded humanoids native to the continent of Delaine. With tough scales, unblinking eyes, and powerful tails, they resemble upright reptiles — often compared to walking iguanas or monitor lizards. Their tribes have roamed Delaine’s coasts and arid plains for millennia, shaping a culture grounded in hunting and ritual combat. Though slow to trust outsiders, lizardfolk have begun settling across the Isles in increasing numbers, adapting to unfamiliar climates with startling efficiency.

Lizardfolk rarely let emotions guide their choices, favoring necessity over sentimentality. Yet within their own communities, they are deeply traditional, painting their scales with sacred ochres and passing down stories through chant-like songs. Many revere the Winnower — an enigmatic deity believed to be either a primal aspect of the Hearth Mother, or a being outside the known pantheon entirely. Their shamans are tasked with reading omens in the intestines of fish and migratory birds in order to learn where next their tribe will find worthy prey.

Lizardfolk reach physical maturity at age 15 and typically live up to 120 years.

Ophidian

Ophidians are serpentine humanoids, subtly inhuman in ways that unnerve the unobservant. Their skin bears faint scales, their pupils are vertical slits, and their blood carries a venomous potency. Though they resemble humans at a glance, their stillness, speech, and gaze betray something far older. According to legend, they are the last remnants of Telusia — a sun-drenched land swallowed by the sea, where ophidians lived off olives and wine, spoke a hissing tongue called Orillan, and prayed to gods no other race remembers.

Cunning and patient, ophidians value knowledge, legacy, and leverage. Some move among others as merchants, emissaries, or high priests, wrapping their words in honeyed layers of meaning. Others pull strings from the shadows, cultivating power through secret societies across the Isles. Though few recall their homeland firsthand, many still revere its lost traditions and hoard what scraps of its culture remain. An ophidian’s trust is hard-won, and their loyalty, once earned, is both calculated and enduring — but never blind.

Ophidians reach physical maturity at age 10 and typically live up to 200 years.

Shoony

Known as “inushuni” among their own kind, shoonies are small, stocky, and highly sociable, their blunt snouts and round, furry features giving them a distinctly canine appearance. Most shoonies resemble pugs or bulldogs, their soft eyes betraying an inherent warmth. Their ancestors once settled along the winding rivers of lowland Yamakiri, where they lived peacefully off the land. However, the spread of the Withering Disease, a degenerative affliction that weakens them with age, greatly reduced their population, even before the Syzygy.

Despite their dwindling numbers, many shoonies see joy as an act of defiance, believing that laughter is as vital as food or shelter, and that the best way to meet hardship is with high spirits and a can-do attitude. They often excel at farming, fishing, and handicrafts, finding fulfillment in their work and pouring love into all that they do. Though it is easy to dismiss them as harmless, one must never mistake their kindness and optimism for weakness, for those who threaten a shoony’s home quickly learn that even the smallest dogs have teeth.

Shoonies reach physical maturity at age 10 and typically live up to 50 years.

Sprite

Known as “sidhe” among their own kind, sprites are tiny, winged fey, their delicate forms shimmering with Faerie’s eternal glow. Though their appearances range from elfin to insectile, all share one trait: a soul bound to the Otherworld, where they are reincarnated upon death. Unlike larger fey, who meddle in mortal affairs for amusement, sprites are keen observers, drawn to moments of laughter, heroism, and heartbreak. They are keepers of stories too small or too fleeting to notice, committing them to memory with unappreciated devotion.

Though they may appear childlike or naïve, sprites possess a fierce and ancient moral clarity. To them, love is sacred, cruelty is contemptible, and debts—whether of honor or insult—must always be repaid. Some act as guardians, watching over chosen mortals like silent protectors. Others become pranksters or knights-errant, wielding thorn-sized blades in battles only they consider grand. Despite their size, they fight with ferocity, and when one chooses a cause, it is for life — or longer. Whatever their path, sprites never walk unnoticed by fate.

Sprites reach physical maturity at age 100 and typically live up to 1000 years, before reincarnating in the Otherworld after death, as all fey do.

Non-Playable Ancestries

Arboreal

Arboreals are ancient plantfolk whose bodies are woven from wood, fungi, and flowering vines. Said to have emerged from the roots of the World Tree at the dawn of time, they walk the realms with the dignity of beings who have seen civilizations rise and fall like the turning of seasons. Each arboreal lives for a decade-long incarnation, after which their body withers and crumbles into mulch — leaving behind a seed-like husk that blooms into a new self, carrying memories of the life before. To them, death is not an end, but a necessary pruning.

Profoundly wise yet slow to act, arboreals perceive time as cyclical, not linear. They often struggle to grasp the urgency of mortal lives, which flicker past them like fireflies. While some become wandering sages or keepers of ancient druidic law, others withdraw to forgotten groves, tending to secrets older than the gods. Their detachment can frustrate those who seek clear answers, but their insights often prove timeless. Rather than dominion or glory, arboreals seek harmony, balance — and perhaps, one day, to understand why they were born at all.

An arboreal’s physical form typically lives up to 10 years, before their seed pod begins to grow new body, beginning their life cycle anew.

Ghoul

Ghouls are cursed undead, lean and hollow-eyed, with pale skin stretched tight over skeletal frames. Born from corpses twisted by an ancient elven malediction, they are trapped in a half-life of hunger and decay. The living call them “ghouls,” but among their own kind, they use the older word aswang — a Cimmerian term meaning “ashen one.” Though sentient and self-aware, they are tormented by an endless craving for flesh, a hunger that festers in the bones and cannot be cured, only quieted.

Some ghouls fight their nature, surviving on alchemical meat or scavenged remains, while others give in fully, becoming sleek predators that haunt crypts and city slums. Beneath Craven’s Necropolis, they whisper in voices like dry leaves and wrap their wasted forms in remnants of finery. To the world, ghouls are monsters, too cursed or too stubborn to die — but among themselves, they tell stories of who they once were, and who they might have been, had the hunger not taken root within them.

Ghouls typically remain the same apparent age they were when they died, and require neither food nor rest to continue existing.

Merfolk

Merfolk are reclusive seafarers — graceful and humanoid from the waist up, with long, powerful tails in place of legs. The only race native to both the Old World and the Isles, they take many forms—sirens with gleaming fish scales, selkies with the flippers of seals, jiaoren with sleek shark fins—and go by many names, each chosen by the culture that first recorded them. Unlike their deep-dwelling diluvian kin, merfolk abhor dark places, preferring instead to live in the sunlit shallows where life flourishes amid forests of swaying kelp.

Merfolk rarely seek contact with surface dwellers, viewing them with suspicion born from long memory. Their settlements lie hidden within tangled atolls, woven from seaweed and driftwood, accessible only to those who know the shifting tides. After centuries of intrusion, they have grown fiercely protective of their waters, meeting encroaching ships with tridents and storm-wrought magic. Though slow to anger, merfolk will not hesitate to defend what remains of their home, and those who test their borders are seldom seen again.

Merfolk reach physical maturity at age 15 (though considered young until 30) and typically live up to 300 years, or more.

Oghman

Oghmen were great whalefolk who once roamed the northern coasts of Malkovia. Towering and broad-shouldered, they were known for their blubbery gray skin, deep-set eyes, and large mouths shaped for song. Beneath their thick hides ran specialized salt-retaining sacs that helped them endure the cold, briny air of their windswept homeland. Their language, Ogham, was a slow, tonal tongue spoken in low chords — a sound described by some as poetic, by others as haunting and vaguely mournful.

Gentle by nature, oghmen served as memory-keepers, entrusted with preserving the oral histories of the Old World. Though contemplative, they were capable of overwhelming strength, and when provoked, could crush longships like driftwood with their bare hands. The Syzygy brought devastation to their kind, scattering their pods and silencing their songs forevermore. Some believe one oghman still remains, and that they are still out there somewhere, carrying the last verses of their people alone.

Oghmen continue to grow for as long as their environment can sustain them, and never reach a classically defined state of maturity.

Satyr

Satyrs are horned, goat-legged fey born of Faerie’s wild heart — creatures of revelry, mischief, and a boundless appetite for sensation. With cloven hooves and eyes that gleam with laughter, they strode onto the Material Plane in the chaotic wake of the Syzygy, delighting in its unpredictability. Naturally gifted poets, musicians, and dancers, satyrs live for the next song, the next drink, the next indulgence, and wield temptation like an art form, drawing mortals into joyous abandon with little more than a grin.

Yet behind their carousing lies an instinctive link to the Otherworld’s magic. Many become tricksters or wandering mystics, balancing wisdom and whimsy as they travel the world sowing stories and stirring hearts. Though all satyrs are male, their people endure through their eternal partners: the fauns, an elusive race of all-female fey with deerlike grace and a shared love of music. Together, they ensure the party never truly ends — even as the wine turns bitter, and no one can recall who the toast was for.

Satyrs reach physical maturity at age 20 and typically live up to 80 years, before reincarnating in the Otherworld after death, as all fey do.

Tanuki

Tanuki are shapeshifting trickster spirits from the Gap, infamous for their wit and unquenchable thirst for fun. In their true forms, they resemble pudgy raccoons with clever eyes, nimble paws, and an irrepressible smile — but they rarely stay that way for long. With a giggle and a shimmer of magic, a tanuki might assume the form of a teapot, a dog, or even a beloved uncle without breaking a sweat. Most use their talents for troublemaking, becoming skilled con artists who can disappear before their lies catch up to them.

The earliest accounts of tanuki come from Yamakiri, where they’re often described as pests — rice thieves, attic imps, and mischief-makers. Some say they are the souls of mortals who died laughing, warped by the Gap into embodiments of duplicity. Others claim they are ancient guardians of joy, spirits that once kept sorrow and evil at bay. Whatever their true origin, one fact remains: tanuki survived the Syzygy by stowing away aboard ships, masquerading as sandals, broomsticks, and other common household items.

Tanuki reach physical maturity at age 10 and typically live up to 80 years. However, tanuki stop ageing whenever they assume a form that isn’t their own.