The Somnari are a people who were never meant to wake. The Somnari appear to be human at glance or even elven but display a remarkable spectrum of eye colors, and hair hues. Their hair and eyes range from natural shades to vivid, unnatural colors that shimmer with dreamlike intensity, reflecting their deep connection to the realm of dreams. They possess an unearthly beauty, with some displaying elongated ears reminiscent of elves, further setting them apart from ordinary mortals. Long before the rise of human kingdoms, before the elves and dwarves carved their histories into stone, their empire stretched across the land like a dream given form. They were a people who walked the boundary between waking and sleeping with effortless grace, shaping their cities with the same ease that others shape their thoughts. Their greatest scholars claimed that the mind was the first world, and the material realm merely its reflection. When the calamity came—swift, merciless, and without omen—the Somnari felt its shadow before its arrival. Their seers spoke of a tide of unmaking, a storm that would scour their empire from memory. In desperation, they turned to the only refuge they trusted: the realm of dreams. Through a ritual that blurred the line between soul and slumber, they sealed themselves deep beneath the earth, suspended in a state where time could not touch them. Their bodies slept, but their minds drifted through endless dreamscapes, wandering far from the world that had birthed them. A thousand years passed in the waking world, but for the Somnari, the passage of time became a shifting haze. Dreams folded into memories, memories dissolved into visions, and the boundary between what had been and what might be unraveled thread by thread. When the dwarves of Stehlenwald broke the ancient seals, the sleepers stirred at last. They rose not as the empire’s heirs, but as something new—souls half‑anchored to the waking world, half‑lost in the drifting tides of dream. To the Somnari, the world feels unreal, as though they have stepped into someone else’s half‑remembered nightmare. Their past comes to them in fragments: a city of silver towers glimpsed in the corner of the mind, a voice calling from a place that never existed, a memory that dissolves the moment they try to grasp it. They speak of dreams that feel more solid than stone, of people they have never met whose names they somehow know, of emotions that belong to lives they cannot recall. Some whisper that each Somnari carries more than one soul—that the ritual which saved them bound their dreaming selves to their waking bodies in ways no mortal was meant to endure. Others claim that the dream‑realm itself clings to them, shaping their thoughts, sharpening their instincts, and filling their sleep with visions that bleed into daylight. Though they struggle to adapt, they learn quickly, driven by a restless energy left behind by their long slumber. Yet even in moments of stillness, their eyes drift, their minds slipping toward the dream‑realm that once sheltered them. Sleep is their sanctuary, their inheritance, and their curse. In dreams they feel whole; in waking, they feel incomplete, as though searching for something they lost long ago. The Somnari do not know what their empire was called, nor what truly destroyed it. They carry only the echoes of a forgotten age and the lingering sense that something waits for them in the depths of their dreams—something ancient, patient, and unfinished. Whether it is a remnant of their past or a shadow of their future, none can say. But all Somnari feel its pull, a quiet summons from the place where their souls once wandered freely. They are a people born of dreams, shaped by catastrophe, and awakened into a world that no longer remembers them. And though their history is lost, their presence is a reminder that some things do not die—they merely sleep.

Deep beneath the waves lies the Llana’Shi Empire. An ancient race, the laneshi straddle the line between life and death, communing with spirits for guidance and unafraid to meet death on the battlefield. Laneshi are a bipedal aquatic race, always possessing two legs regardless of lineage. Their forms reflect the full spectrum of waterborne life: crustacean plating, colorful scaling, translucent membranes, or trailing tails that complement their movement rather than replace it are just a few example of their traits. Skin tones range from coral reds to freshwater golds, shaped by the reefs, and trenches they hail from. Many display bioluminescent markings that shift with emotion or spellwork, and possess an innate sense of aquatic currents — even on land. A laneshi is more likely than not to view matters in absolutes and react accordingly. Friend or foe. Day or night. Acceptance or rejection. All things must have their place, and to this end they have developed a rigid caste system. The mystic caste comprises all those laneshi who are born as twins, a very common occurrence. When this happens, the first-born of the pair is inducted into the mystic caste, while the other twin is consecrated as his or her sibling’s spirit guide. Using a powerful necromantic ritual, the second twin is sacrificed and its soul bound within the body of the other. Each member of the mystic caste is therefore possessed of two souls: one living and one dead. This grants them vision into the spirit world and heightens their necromantic abilities. Mystics are in charge of all things that possess no life, and are therefore in charge of funeral rites, crafting, construction, recordkeeping, and food preparation. Heavier duties are usually performed with the aid of undead labor. The second caste, the warrior caste, is in charge of all things relating to the living. This includes not only warfare, but also ruling, diplomacy, farming, the raising and educating of children, and so forth. The warrior caste is roughly double the size of the mystic caste and is structured as a meritocracy, with great deeds leading to greater status. The laneshi are constantly at war with their deep-dwelling neighbors, and use their ability to speak with the marine wildlife to find opportunities for heroism and advancement. Despite this, the rulers of the Llana’Shi Empire have recently turned their eyes toward the surface for unknown reasons. Perhaps some new and greater threat is stirring in the dark depths of the sea, and the Laneshi seek aid from their air-breathing cousins. Or perhaps the rumors of mysterious visitors to the royal palace and blasphemous compacts with ancient evils are true, and the laneshi king is looking for new lands to conquer to appease the hunger of his unnamable master.

Legends in Etharis speak of an age of orcs. This ancient heritage has its roots in Etharis’ North, from where history claims they spread to terrorize other cultures. Orcs, as the term has become understood, were formidable warriors with endless thirst for battle. Yet tales of their armies nearly conquering all Etharis are almost certainly the propaganda of fearful outside cultures. Those same legends speak of how the orcs abandoned their lands en masse—not because of enemy incursions or natural disaster, but because of some mysterious calling from their ancestors to sail west across the sea. While it’s agreed that orcs did flee Etharis in a great fleet, their legacy calling to Thorgard av Holgar a century later, it seems apocryphal that an entire heritage could simply disappear across the sea. Indeed, the truth is more complex than any of those old tales can tell. The descendants of the orcs call themselves grudgels. Their lack of resemblance to the dreadful legends about their ancestors causes the uneducated to assume orcs and grudgels are different. But what truly separates them is merely time and evolving culture. Grudgels are an imposing folk whose physical presence has not diminished since the legends of orc warriors. Yet even where they are most populous among the Valikan Clans, grudgels are no more or less predisposed to battle or taking the path of the warrior than any other folk. Grudgels are also talented artisans, wanderers, magic weavers, and star gazers. They alone hold the secrets of forging stryllum, a strange substance that occurs when starlight is solidified into glass. Grudgels are hard-working, peaceable among friends, and have a knack for keeping calm under pressure. But they’re more than capable of defending themselves against the threats of the wilderness and folk looking for a fight. Outside of the North, grudgels remain rare enough in Etharis that folk are less likely to meet one than hear fearful rumors regarding their kind. While a grudgel working as a bodyguard or mercenary can make use of such rumors, the one thing that seemingly connects all grudgels is a shared disinterest in discussing or hearing the ancient legends of the orcs. But whether this extends from wanting to distance themselves from the violent past of their kin, or from some secret knowledge of why the orcs vanished from Etharis, only they know.

The populous races of Etharis all have stories about the ogresh, although few have seen them in person. Stories describe them as solitary wise men and women who serve as founts of information and advice for the nearby communities. Adventure tales abound where the protagonist receives counsel from an ogresh before setting off on their quest, and yet others describe royal advisors with a distinctive set of wide features. Regardless of the veracity of such tales, the ogresh still exist across the continent, viewed as something of an exotic oddity. In truth, the scarcity of the ogresh is a result of their particular biology. Young ogresh mature slowly, and during their extended youth, which may last decades, they are driven by a deep-seated sense of wanderlust. This feeling compels them to travel in search of a suitable area to settle, consisting of ample natural resources, a local population of sentient creatures, and a lack of other ogresh nearby. Once they decide upon an area, an ogresh enters the second stage of their life, which is marked by a drastically increased appetite and a mostly sedentary lifestyle. More than a single ogresh could easily deplete the surplus of a small village, so the reason for their wanderlust is a simple case of biological necessity. Given their reliance on other species, it comes as no surprise that the ogresh are masters of social interaction. Each individual is born with an inherent ability to read body language and vocal cues helpful in discerning the attitude of others. Indeed, the vast stores of knowledge often attributed to the ogresh is a reflection of their uncanny ability to glean information about an individual through these subtle clues. Even a casual conversation could end up revealing far more than one would intend to these keen observers, and the ogresh are smart enough to capitalize on such information.

Half-elves are among the later races to walk the land of Etharis. Before the Era of Expansion, humans and elves occasionally crossed paths. Some humans could appreciate the beautiful songs and poems of the elves, as the elves could appreciate the adventurous side of humanity. The results of these bonds were the ever-wandering half-elves. They are easily noticed by their less pronounced pointed elfin ears, combined with a bulkier but still elegant human frame. As with half-orcs, half-elves seem to have taken the best of their progenitors. Taller than the average man, elegant and graceful, they seem to possess the aptitude for the fine arts from their elven side along with the lust for adventure from their human side. What life could be better for them than the lives of wanderers, traveling artists, and merchants? However, even though most of the first half elves were results of love between the two races, such pairings were still considered taboo by the two sides. In the midst of war, most elves could not understand how someone could fall in love with a savage, while few humans could forgive anyone who would mingle with the enemy. The first half-elves were cast out by both sides. Initially, the lifestyle of the wanderer suited hem. Their talent in theater and music made andering troupes of half-elves among the ost famous to exist. Furthermore, half-elves would act as natural intermediaries between humans and elves. However, most half-elves keep the burdens of their souls well hidden. They learnt how to wear the mask of happiness, often dressing with bright colours and dazzling jewelry, accompanying their stylistic choices with an outwardly flamboyant, optimistic attitude. But if one is lucky enough to gain the trust of a half-elf, they will often see that the heart of a half-elf is full of sorrow. Wandering the continent is a lifestyle that fits them, but they can never call any place home. Considered outcasts by both humans and elves, they think themselves cursed, eternally strangers, with no hope of claiming any land as their own.

Ethereans are, as their name would suggest, the unlikely settlers of the Border Ethereal. They grow up experiencing the Material Plane from a distance, viewing it through the gray and muffling barrier between the planes of existence. Most ethereans live in small communities spread throughout the Border Ethereal and find joy in poetry, art, and theater that offsets the drab and relative lifelessness of their home. While only a few monsters are able to threaten those on the Border Ethereal, etherean survival is only maintainable through their tenacity and shared sense of decency. For many ethereans, the relative safety of the Ethereal Plane outweighs the richer experiences of the Material, but for those that do manage to cross that planar threshold, there is simply no comparison. Ethereans resemble elves with light gray skin, but their hair and eyes are distinctly different. Many ethereans’ eyes and hair are either purple or magenta, but it’s not unheard of for them to come in a full spectrum of colors— a curious result of living extensively on the Ethereal Plane. Further, an etherean’s hair drifts and floats on its own, as if carried by an invisible current, before evaporating into nothing at its ends. Ethereans typically take up adventuring when the routine of the Border Ethereal no longer interests them. Such ethereans often go searching for a means of travel into the Material Plane, but only some manage to find them. Those that do are thrust into a world suddenly bound by gravity and rife with danger, but also filled with opportunity and new experiences. Many ethereans will happily accept contracts to travel great distances or visit exotic realms, regardless of danger, in order to make the most of their life beyond the Border Ethereal. Ethereans will often choose to spend their coin on brightly colored and ostentatious clothing, seemingly making up for the limited color palettes they may have experienced on the Border Ethereal. Others fall victim to new vices, but more often than not, strict etherean resourcefulness is enough to prevent all but the most vulnerable ethereans from becoming addicted to the pleasures of the Material Plane.