A hybrid of man and animal, bred to serve and now free to live.
If you think the ones with the axes and beards are bad, wait until you stumble across a nest of feral dwarves…
“Listen to the Wind! Listen to Crackling Fire! Listen to the Groan of the Mountain! Listen to my Voice! Listen and you will See through the Smoke! See the Old Ways of our Forefathers! See the Glory of our Clan! See the Might of our Race!”
—Horn-Of-Plenty, Shaman of the Thorondrim Minotaurs, leading his people in the Khuugrad
Isolated at the southern most portion of Falhath, the Bosques are considered bumpkins and backwater-folk
‘‘From the great home land above, do we desecend to this dark world to civilize long sundered kindred that have relapsed back into the degraded state of barbarism. For it is only on their humble backs that the splendours of noble Zor-Tanis can once again be revived to their former majesty. Then shall we resume our rightful place as the keepers of the flame of high civilization in the entire mass of creation’‘.
Legends claim that in the far south, men made of ice roam…
In the vast Sun-Ocean lies spots of perfect green. The Ankorillian Islands. The “Jewels of the Blue”.
The natives there are strange and wild looking.
Here is the only existing work on how they live, their customs, beliefs and rituals.
The Bowmen of Love are a more or less secret organization found within the larger towns. For a price, they can be hired to drop a love potion into someone’s drink or shoot them, not with a bow despite their name, but with a tiny blowpipe that fires a dart with a love potion on it.
Idea from the Aeneid. Could make an intriguing encounter when searching for firewood..."Quite near there happened to be a mound of earth, at the highest part of which were growing thickets of cornel and a dense cluster of spiky myrtle-stems. I went up there and tried to wrench the green growth from the ground to provide a leafy covering for our altar. There I was confronted by a horrible and astounding miracle. For from the first bush which I tried to break off...blood oozed in dark drops, fouling the earth with its spots...A piteous moan came from the base of the mound and I heard a human voice answering me: 'Why, Aeneas, must you rend a poor sufferer? I am buried here...for I am Polydorus. Here death overpowered me in a crop of piercing iron-pointed spears. And so a crop resembling javelins has grown over me...'"