The bipedal sentients of the Southern Desert.

Lets face it the Hobbits are dead and gone so if you would like to create a race to ease the pain of their departure or use necromancy to bring them back from the dead then this is the place for you.

Some are called dhampir, others exalt as champions of undeath, and yet neither of these are correct...

There are three types of Ma`no, each one nearly a different race as they have evolved through the years. They were all created by Sethalis for his master idea to take over the civilized races, but it was a failed attempt. These abominations live in multiple parts of the world, and will never be seen allied together as their dislike for each other is stronger than that for anything else.

There are three types of Ma`no, each one nearly a different race as they have evolved through the years. They were all created by Sethalis for his master idea to take over the civilized races, but it was a failed attempt. These abominations live in multiple parts of the world, and will never be seen allied together as their dislike for each other is stronger than that for anything else.

There are three types of Ma`no, each one nearly a different race as they have evolved through the years. They were all created by Sethalis for his master idea to take over the civilized races, but it was a failed attempt. These abominations live in multiple parts of the world, and will never be seen allied together as their dislike for each other is stronger than that for anything else.

Many know the image of the Night-Mare, a sable horse wreathed in a nimbus of hellfire sent from the underworld every night to deliver dreams of terror and fear to the living. While this is not entirely incorrect, the truth is more complicated...

An enormous Angoath was holding a young recruit in his hands, his body broken and blood seeping freely from between the cracks of his banded armour. The dead legionary's head lolled unnaturally; obviously the neck had been crushed. It was amazing how fast these creatures could move and suddenly it lowered its head and charged headlong towards me, no doubt intending to skewer me on that sharp, spiky ridge. All around me I glimpsed similar scenes. The Angoath were washing over us like a wave of black silver, their claws rending us apart, their teeth chewing into our armour.

“Our enemies lie just across the plains brothers, may our God King see it in his wisdom to grant our masters victory at the loss of our blood. But let our enemies pay for that blood with every breath.”

-Ziegtaur Soldier at the Battle of Forgotten Sorrow

Swarming, never-ending, sea of teeth, muscle, and scales. They are all pervasive, all consuming, and they will destroy you. Devouring body and soul. They are hatred and fear incarnate, a punishment from the foul and incomprehensible gods.

The spirit which dies with a murderous rage upon it’s conscience cannot rest, and re-inhabits the corpse it once dwelt in, stalking the earth in search of one thing: revenge.

Brutish masters of the Highlands, the grey-skinned, wolf-riding men of the Flinthill Clan are famed for their ferocity and their savagery.

They come in the night, and they take things. Nothing neccesary. Maybe they’ll take some candle wax, mabe a few sticks, a curtain, anything. But guard all your possesions boy, because if you don’t, they’ll come down on you like a hellbeast in one of their damned machines.

The Poison Eaters Tribe dwells deep in the jungle glades of the Ushaika, in the lowest reaches of the undergrowth where no sunlight pierces through the leaves, and where the marshy ground wells up with tea-colored water at the lightest step.

Below the surface of the Earth, dwelling in darkness and forgotten catacombs, the goat-headed Ghouls, dark spirits of murder, feast on the dead. Ghouls dwell in old, forgotten places, luring others down into the grasping claws of their evil tribes.

They are the menace of the borderlands, travelling with their herds paths they used for millenia, and razing any signs of civilization in the process. When the winter is especially harsh or the summer unusually dry, they descend upon the heartlands of kingdoms like a plague, more a natural disaster than an enemy.

The Kythrythe are a different kind of people. Given their worship of the Insect God Kythrellemen, they are more than just Humans. These people, except for their eyes, will be normal people at first glance. Some might be quite big or small or graceful, but they look like people. At second glance you will notice their small antena peeking out from their hair. Every now and again, you will see one that has been "blessed" by the God and granted "Marks of the God", insect like physical abilities.

On Zetacron, the nature goddess Gaia did not create the elves, but wished to claim them as Her own (it seemed fitting to her, somehow, that elves should be bound to Nature). Thus, she used her divine powers to create a bond between Herself and the elves.

Deep in the mountains, beyond where the trails end, one can find collossal stairways and long, cliffside roads, massive arched bridges and huge vaulted tunnels, spanning thousands of miles. These roads, though seemingly deserted, are closely watched by their creators, the reclusive and strange Iothun ('yoh-thoon').

The First Ones, The Kan-Yow, are the only non constructed beings to know the face of their Creator God. They were born as the world was being made. Tutored by their God (Kanchiyonnaho), they developed a perfect society immersed in the magic of the world. The Kan-Yow breathed magic, they are saturated with it, and they are bound to it as the world itself. As the Gods have withdrawn from the Mythic Lands, as the blessing of Time has graced the World, they have become the guardians of The Magic and The World.