Human Race: User receives 20% exp from all sources; all heal items have +100% potency; +4% to all base stats.
"Made in the image of the ancients."
Max Height: F 5'2" - 5'8" M 5'9" - 6'2"
Common Hair Colors: Black, Brown, Red, Blonde, Grey (with age)
Common Eye Colors: Brown, Green, Blue, Grey, Hazel
Life Expectancy: 70 - 100 years
Age of Sexual Maturity: 15-18 years
Length of One Generation: 20 years
Personality Traits: Curious, Arrogant, Versatile, Emotional, Self-conscious.
Home World: Midgard
Humans are always the first creatures to re-inhabit Midgard after each Ragnarök. Born of Líf and Lífþrasir at the close of the war, the race adapted well to the fresh world they were given. With Ragnarök over, there were fresh resources and a blank slate for the race to work with. Only Líf and Lífþrasir's word kept religion alive, since the gods were still recovering from Ragnarök and did not yet take an active role in the world. Many listened to the stories with interest; others didn't believe in "such nonsense." These split from the group to found their own religion, and would later go on to form the Church of Rune.
Another such semi-religious group of humans was the cabal of the Necromancers. These were shamans and mystics who had, through various means, stumbled upon the magicks with which one could manipulate life. The Necromancers became quite skilled at communicating with the dead, channeling spirits, and reviving the deceased; their early works were instrumental in the founding of the Acolyte and Soul Linker professions.
Their crowning achievement came about when the archdemon Satan Morroc tried to claw his way into Midgard. The Necromancer cabal came together as one and tried the impossible, attempting to resurrect a fallen god. They located the body of Loki, nailed to the helm of the Naglfar by the spears through his chest, and attempted to resurrect him to fight off the demon. They were only partially successful; the zombie-god was strong enough to weaken Satan Morroc, but was destroyed in the process. The Necromancers then expended the remainder of their cabal's power to banish the weakened demon from Midgard, and disappeared into the annals of history. They have not been seen since.
A second set of humans would go on to play at godhood, combining the work of the Necromancers with modern biotechnology. The Rekenber Corporation of Schwartzvald, in the most recent cycle of Ragnarök, managed to create the four Furred races: the Kumiho, the Nanabozho, the Ailouros and the Lupus.
Included below are excerpts from Decimus Massimo's A History of Humanity, an older history text from the Schwartzvald Republic. Once used in classrooms all across the Republic, it was recently banned by the government for what they claimed was its "antiestablishmentarian viewpoint"; a systematic countrywide book-burning has made the book very hard to come by. More excerpts will be added as they are discovered - no whole copies of Massimo's book have survived the flames.
Slavery of the 'furred' races has been going on for sometime now. In a sadistic way slavery had proven to be beneficial for our race. Surprisingly the reason is not to fill the gruby hands with which we outstetch for zeny, and then some. The true reason is enlightenment. Through our natural chaotic ways we are able to highlight our true nature for all to see. No one in this ordeal is innocent either. Slavery has a relatively large impact on the economic stability of the regions. Rebenker Corporation, with their god complex created the perfect economic stimulus. With the creation of the 'furred' races the trade was established, the trade profits are spent - surely spreading profits globally through different kinds of trade, finally that money is distributed to the community in some sort of way. To dispute that one is innocent in this matter is both sophomoric and tarnishing on one's veracity. With that being said: it's hypocritical to criticize something you receive a profit from, but it's even more disgusting to create laws against it in a specific region.
Laws have been in the making process for some time in Rune-Midgard that are pro-slavery…..
Honestly though I think Rune-Midgard is concocting some kind of 'plan'. I think they're using the slaves as propaganda to expand their power. Then again I trust Rune-Midgard almost as much as I trust a hungry hobo as I cheerfully skip down the street with an arm full of food. They may be against slavery now, but I'd be willing to bet my bottom zeny that they'll warm up to the customs of slavery in time. I think when or if the time comes I'll humbly sit and let the two major nations duke it out because really whoever wins we all lose anyways.
If the Schwaltzvalt Republic wins the old customary ways will be lost, and I wonder if religion will still be existing. Let me get off topic for a moment. The only thing Rune Midgard has going for it is religion, and even then the chruch is a lot of religious nut jobs. Back on track, if Rune-Midgard wins….well we've just supplied them enough power to become a tryant nation. What will stand in their way once the Schwaltzvalt Republic is gone? You're right, nothing…..
Kumiho Race: User receives +10% base INT; 20% SP; -20% SP costs; +25% MDEF.
Max Height: Female 5'2 - 5'5 Male 5'3 - 5'6
Common Hair Colors: White, Black, Red, Brown, Orange
Common Eye Colors: Black, Brown, Amber,
Life Expectancy: Avg. 50 - 70
Age of Sexual Maturity: 6-10 years
Length of One Generation: 12 years
Personality Traits: Intelligent, Fast Learners, Crafty, Devious, Judgmental, Curious, Reclusive
Home World:Midgard
Below are excerpts from the notes of Patricia Yeats, a biomedical engineer from the Sapience Project.
God complex: A narcissistic personality disorder. A term generally used to describe a person who consistently believes they can accomplish more than is humanly possible or that their opinion is typically above those they may disagree with
It could be said that the entire staff in Renkenber had one. Why else would someone choose to tamper with life in this manner? Creating false life from existing life. We were no better then the alchemists, with their creations of the homunculus, though that was what had started the idea. If they could create life from…a seed and some water…why couldn’t we create new life from pre-existing sources? That was the idea anyway. Melding human and animal life together to create an ideal life form.
By taking human genes and plant it into an animals system, we can create life forms with human intelligence. That was the theory at least, it always works out on paper. On paper, the new race would be called ‘Kumiho’, after the lore around Amatsu and Payon, the nine tailed fox could in myth transform into humans—-normally human women which would seduce men. I suppose we were bringing myth to life, but really we wanted something that was already intelligent, or good at learning for our first tests.
I’m not expecting much, but we needed to start somewhere.
The creation of the Kumiho at this point is a success by scientific terms, they are alive and growing on schedule. The growing period for the Kumiho was short by human standards, instead of the nine months it would take a human, it only took three months, which is longer then normally appearing fox…but considerably shorter then a human. There are no complications thus far. They appear to be growing at an expedited rate, already they are appearing clear eyed and intelligent. Of the three initial Kumiho one of them has died to unknown causes so far. I’m expecting a paper on the results any day now.
Side effects that were not expected, are the furred tails and ears that they both hold, though I cannot say this is a bad thing. If they are to walk among humans, alfar and the salvartalf at some point in their life—I see no reason for them not to have a racial difference. Some form of individuality. This won’t happen for many, many years, there is far too much we have yet to learn about them.
I’ve named them, despite orders not to. It’s hard to work with them without giving them names. Yobi is the female of the pair, her fur color is a golden hue similar to that of the original specimen. Even at this age Yobi plays shy with nearly everyone she comes into contact with. Hiding her face into the lab coat of the person who is holding her. Her brother on the other hand…
Li’s fur is a silver-grey fur type. If that were the only way we could tell them apart I would have been thankful. The male outcome of the Kumiho is a handful, getting into anything he can, crying whenever he is passed to a new person. (On an interesting note, their cries hold a sharp yelping sound—another carry-over from their fox half.)
Yobi and Li are only a year by human standards. Though they are developing a rate which seems to be double a human does. This is the terrible two phase…the screaming and crying in the middle of the night has stopped though, this is allowing me to sleep rather pleasantly. (Yes, I’ve taken to sleeping at work.) Right now even, both Yobi and Li are napping soundly leaning on either side of me.
I should be turning in soon myself, I’ll write when I can.
Coming soon.
Nanabozho Race: User receives +20% base LUK; +20% landspeed; High Jump 5; +10 CRIT.
The furred races were created by humans. The scientists who did it were just doing it to see if it could be done - if animals could be made into sentient hominid forms. The people who provided the corporate backing wanted perfect slaves - subhuman creatures with the intelligence to do tasks but none of the rights of a human. Since they were "just animals" and thus did not have a "soul" according to the Church, there was no opposition to their enslavement.
Max Height: F 5'3 - 5'6 M 5'4 - 5'7
Common Hair Colors: White, Brown, Black
Common Eye Colors: Red, Grey, Brown, White, Blonde
Life Expectancy: Avg. 50 - 70
Age of Sexual Maturity: 6-10 years
Length of One Generation: 12 years
Personality Traits:Energetic, Playful, Happy, Jittery, and Oblivious.
Home World:Midgard
Since the Kumiho were considered a failure as slaves, the scientists were encouraged by their corporate backers to try again. This time a more docile, less crafty animal was requested - rabbits were suggested. As prey animals (instead of predatory like foxes) it was assumed they would be easier to handle.
The converted rabbits seemed ideal at first. They were intelligent enough to be slaves, had enough muscle to do work, but enough dexterity to handle finer tasks as well. The problem was their flighty nature. They scared easily; moreover, there were problems with escapees simply hopping the walls. Their powerful leg muscles made it very difficult to fence them in.
Ailouros Race: User receives +10% base DEX, +20% HP; Doubled HP recovery; Backslide.
The furred races were created by humans. The scientists who did it were just doing it to see if it could be done - if animals could be made into sentient hominid forms. The people who provided the corporate backing wanted perfect slaves - subhuman creatures with the intelligence to do tasks but none of the rights of a human. Since they were "just animals" and thus did not have a "soul" according to the Church, there was no opposition to their enslavement.
Max Height: F 5'3 - 5'9, M 5'5 - 6'1
Common Hair Colors: White, Black, Grey, Brown, Blonde, Orange, Red
Common Eye Colors: Green, Blue, Brown, Yellow, rarely Purple
Life Expectancy: Avg. 50 - 70
Age of Sexual Maturity: 6-10 years
Length of One Generation: 12 years
Personality Traits:Lazy, Crafty, Seductive, Two-faced, and Impulsive.
Home World:Midgard
The scientists were encouraged to try once again after the Nanabozho. This time they opted on cats - an animal that had been long domesticated. They figured that since the animal was already used to living with humans, it wouldn't be so prone to escaping.
Initial tests with female cats were perfect. The females were docile, subservient to strong authority figures, and intelligent enough to perform any work given them - from housework, to child-rearing, even secretarial work.
But trials with males were disastrous. While the male cats were strong enough for heavy lifting and gruntwork (which was requested by the corporations backing the project) the scientists didn't take into account the male propensity for dissidence. As driven by hormones as they were pre-conversion, they rejected authority, even becoming downright violent when enslavement was attempted.
While limited success in controlling them was enabled through neutering the cats post-conversion, this mandated that a few cats be kept un-spayed in order to continue breeding lines. These "unsnipped" (as the corporate reporters labeled them) would continually make problems for their keepers, prompting the corporations to ask for one more try.
Aside from the wolves, the second-most popular request is, ironically, for "catgirls". Sexual trafficking in converted female-cats, due to their docile nature and exotic appearance (as well as the lack of anti-prostitution laws regarding animals) is a very profitable venture, one the corporations have latched onto greedily.
Lupus Race: User receives +10% base VIT; +25% DEF; Full Adrenaline Rush; Charge Attack.
The furred races were created by humans. The scientists who did it were just doing it to see if it could be done - if animals could be made into sentient hominid forms. The people who provided the corporate backing wanted perfect slaves - subhuman creatures with the intelligence to do tasks but none of the rights of a human. Since they were "just animals" and thus did not have a "soul" according to the Church, there was no opposition to their enslavement.
Max Height: F 5'2" - 5'8" M 5'9" - 6'2"
Common Hair Colors: Grey, Brown, Blue, White, Black
Common Eye Colors: Yellow, Brown, Blue, Grey
Life Expectancy: Avg. 50 - 70
Age of Sexual Maturity: 6-10 years
Length of One Generation: 12 years
Personality Traits: Loyal, Tenacious, Defensive, Protective
Home World:Midgard
Dogs and wolves were the last species the Rekenber Corporation attempted the Sapiation Experiment on.
This worked perfectly. Female wolves were strong enough to do light manual labour, but still gentle enough to do housework; male wolves were perfect for heavy labour and grunt-work. Furthermore, all of them responded well to the presence of a strong overlord figure - pack mentality, after all, was in their blood.
It is for this reason the vast majority of slaves produced were of the genus Lupus.
Castration is unnecessary, since the wolves raise their children to be deferential to the "pack leader" from birth. As long as the slaves are treated well and given something to do, risk of escapism is remarkably low. The only economic downside is feeding them - they have voracious appetites, and attempts to convert their dietary requirements into an omnivorous one similar to humans' own have all ended… poorly. They require large stocks of meat, causing a subsequent boom in the cattle and poultry industries. The other downside is merely an aesthetic one - they must be allowed to hunt and kill the animal themselves. Or the slave owner must do it, as his duty as "pack alpha" in order to maintain presence as their leader. Recently, however, there have been mixed reports of some third and fourth generation packs becoming accustomed to smoked and even cooked food.
Alfar Race: User receives +10% base AGI; +20% ASPD; +20 HIT; 25% DEF Pierce; 25% MDEF Pierce; No gemstone requirements for skills.
Elves. Widely acknowledged as the most striking and beautiful race in all the known worlds, they live in peace in the ascended world of Alfheim. They are ruled by a King appointed by their twin creator gods, Freyr and Freyja.
Max Height: F 5'9" - 6'2" M 6'3" - 6'8"
Common Hair Colors: Brown, Blond, White
Common Eye Colors: Blue, Green
Life Expectancy: 450 - 500
Age of Sexual Maturity: 20-25 years
Elven Age of Reason: 50 years
(Despite reaching sexual and physical maturity by 25, Elves do not consider their children "fully mentally mature" until they reach the Age of Reason, traditionally celebrated at an Elf's 50th birthday.)
Length of One Generation: 100 years
Personality Traits: Wise, Self-Assured, Calm, Peace-keeping, but with a long memory
Home World: Alfheim
Fifteen thousand years ago, the nature-god Freyr blessed his creations with the most awesome and fearsome gift of all - what he called the Sight. Freyr's Sight allowed the Alfar to sense and commune with the elements themselves, granting them unprecedented power over nature itself. With this gift, the Alfar became the pinnacle of creation - a species so powerful that their race together could rival the power of a god.
But it would not last. A collective of the Alfar's most militant people, unsatisfied with their lot, conspired to become as powerful as the gods themselves. They learned to manipulate Freyr's gift, twining it with Alfar magicks directly in hideous new ways. The result was a breed of blood magic that allowed these militants to directly affect the life energy that flows through all organisms, turning lives themselves into tools for killing.
When they presented their findings to the King, in an attempt to sway him to their cause, the demonstration itself destroyed half the Elven Palace and killed several dozen men, women and children. Horrified at what they had done, he ordered these Fallen Alfar killed for their crimes, in the hopes that whatever sickness had infected their minds would not spread. The Fallen Alfar were too powerful, however, and quickly overwhelmed the Palace Guard. As they prepared to kill the King for his "treachery", Freyr himself appeared and separated the groups.
Freyr quickly realized that he had overestimated his creations' worthiness to receive the Sight. In sadness he removed all but a fraction of their gift, in the hopes that they could learn to control it more responsibly in time. The Fallen Alfar were banished from Alfheim for three thousand generations, sent to a lifeless plane of existence, that they might learn to value life instead of using it as a tool. They would become the Svartalfar.
Nine Nights of Freyr
No child remembers his birth. The Alfar race is no different, in that we do not know just how we came to be. What we do know is that the twin gods, Freyr and Freyja, created us, and though we have asked how, our lord has not revealed the slightest of hints. Instead asks, in return how we think it was done, or how we ourselves would do it. A great many theories were formed, some making more sense than others. But no matter how wild and fanciful the tails became, Freyr always listened to the myriad of ideas with a glad ear, encouraging us to explore the deepest depths of each of our own imaginations.
Age of Craft 1 – 90
It was not to long before Freyr began teaching us how to grow food, how to build houses, and how to write. We learned quickly under his guide, but quickly, too, did he stop guiding us. When our first crop was harvested, first fruit picked, and first village built, Freyr gathered us and asked us, how would we make this better? Our huts did not match our beauty he told us, our tools were unrefined tools used in ages past, and our letters were the blocky and simpleminded fonts of man. He implored us to build a world to match ourselves.
Our first success was language. We cast aside the letters and words of men, we invented a new script, with new laws as well. Our spoken tongue would be as beautiful as our written one. It had been a confusing and trying ordeal but our Father’s presence and words of encouragement lead to our eventual success. We had created a language solely for our race, a language that would sound more of singing than of dull speech, and Freyr loved it, learned it from us and spoke it always among us.
Next, we set to work on our houses. It was a disaster, what we had was always defined by what tools were at our disposal, so we set the task aside. We would work on more wieldy and graceful tools. We knew from our trials with our language that our father would only answer so much, so we set ourselves to understanding the tools better. As we did so, we experimented, toyed with the shapes and sizes on the tools and slowly they took a more natural design, tools that almost did our work for us, and Freyr praised us when we presented it, fascinated by them, he asked if he might present them to his sister.
Again, we set to our houses, and with our new tools, we perfected our houses, no longer were they simple huts of rough hewn wood, but smoothed and redefined. Our houses were of every shape, each to the owners liking, but all of them were beautiful. Freyr again praised us, but we were hungry for more beauty. He showed us how to paint, told us fantastical tales and hinted at a thousand other things. And so we set ourselves to creating a beautiful world fit for our father, Freyr, to stay with us in.
.
Sadly, it was time for our father to leave for Asgard. It was heavy on our hearts, but he assured us he would return again, so we knew we had to make the world more beautiful for his return. We laden him with works of our work, and he took, too, a few of our tools we had created and our stories, written in our language with him so that he might show his kin the Aesir. We were overjoyed that our work might be seen by the rest of the gods, but his pride in us had brought us more joy still.
Before his departure, Freyr had named one of us, Semalain, King to lead in his absence, and once he had left we set to more the beauty of our world to welcome him on his return. We fashioned a statue, larger than any tree, in his image so that we might still see our father’s warm smile even as he was gone from us in Asgard. We piled gold and silver trinkets, barrels of ale, brandy, and mead, as well as paintings and carvings around his statue in offering so that he might receive them on his return. We had mastered painting, carving, and singing. So we turned to ourselves again where this beauty had been first inspired from. We invented various games, from simply seeing who could run the swiftest, to who swam the most gracefully, or who could dance the most beautifully.
Our Father returned to us none to soon, and we were overjoyed in his presence. We flocked to him, asked him of his time in Asgard, of the other gods, and told him in turn of our days without him. We showed him what new arts we dabbled, new directions we took older arts, and what we had refined or recently mastered. We, in our excitement, had missed Freyja who had accompanied him this time. It was the first time he had scolded us. We saw the look in his eyes when our excitement had dragged on and firmly he told us to be more observant. Crestfallen and eager to please our father again, we presented her with all the gifts we could muster, but she had not come for marry making. From her we learned swordsmanship and how to defend ourselves. We sensed our father’s displeasure as we learned the lethal art, we knew he preferred peace to conflict, but we knew his love for all art, and we took it upon ourselves to learn as gracefully and move as beautifully as we could. When compared Freyja’s swordsmanship, ours wasn’t even third rate, but our father was pleased with the beauty we gave it. Our swords took on elegant forms, and Freyja had scolded us several times when what we had presented would not be fit for battle, but our father was still pleased with the beauty of the blades. Quickly, our swords grew both elegant and worthy of the battlefield, and our sparing became dances for our father.
A few of us now sought our mother’s approval. Those who had fallen for the art of the kill, the beautiful simplicity of the weapons she presented to us, how their weight could be the key factor in a battle, whether through the force of it pounding on another’s sword or shield arm, or how it could be light enough to swing faster than the foe’s slow and heavy movements. The Alfar who sought our mother’s approval now yearned to learn of war tactics, how to use one’s environment to turn the tides of a battle, how to siege a castle built for total defense, how the arrow sailed through the air before planting itself in it’s target. These were the first of our warriors. Freyja’s children they we had called them.
And so our life went, with Freyr coming and going between Alfheim and Asgard, Freyja with him but occasionally. Several Alfar now sought her out instead of our Father on his arrival and quickly flocked to her, eager to learn the ways of war and battle, of strategies and weapon crafting. Soon, the Alfar Chivalry had been formed, a group of Alfar following Freyja, ever seeking to perfect their form, to master every weapon they could get their hands on, and sticking to the strict code of honor she had taught them. To them, everything was a possible weapon, they could find anything and put it to use, a trait that attracted even more Alfar to the chivalry. It wasn’t long before the Chivalry became a part of our society, from building a near impenetrable palace for our king, to holding contests of honor and courage in our mother’s honor. A statue of our mother, just as tall and detailed as our father’s, had been erected on the Chivalry grounds, jewels, cakes, breads, and hand-made gifts of all sorts piled at its base.
While the Alfar who followed Freyja’s ways of war and chivalry, the rest of us expanded our skill with magic, adding it to our many pieces of art. It had been around such a time that we found another way to dabble with magic that Freyr came before us, gathered all the Alfar together, and presented us a gift no other god would gladly give another race, nor would they every again. He had blessed us with a sixth sense, a sense to see and feel the life around us, the power to understand how it works, why it works, and how to change it. We called it the Sight, for we now saw through new eyes. We could change it all with a nudge, or a shove, pushing it in whatever way we wanted or needed, shaping the world to our desires. Immediately we took to perfect our new found power, to produce a whole new art for our father. To the Chivalry, our father warned never to misuse the gift. But our mother, who had come with him, had other ideas. Freyr taught us how to handle the sight, how to get what we desired with as little effort as possible. Freyja taught the Chivalry how to wield it in a fight, how to heal the most severe wounds, and how to command elements against our foes. Freyr watched all of us closely in our use of magic, for many years until he followed Freyja back to Asgard.
Our world, along with ourselves, had become all the more beautiful thanks to the gift of our new sight. But for all the love of our gift and our parents, even we have a stain on our history. Those Alfar who followed Freyja in the ways of the Chivalry had become twisted, seeking power instead of beauty. They turned our magic into a force for killing. It took life, mutilated it, warping it into a weapon to kill, just as they took Freyr’s gift and warped it beyond recognition. Word reached King Semalain, our appointed leader in Freyr’s absence. Appalled, and frightened, he and the rest of Freyr’s followers demanded the discontinued use of such horrendous magic, reminding them of Freyr’s warning not to misuse the gift. But Semalain’s words fell on deaf ears, for the corrupted Alfar grew furious, argued their works were the teachings of Freyja, that Freyr was a coward who feared battle. Angry that their twisted monstrosity had been called horrendous, though, of course, it was, they worked their abomination against their own kin. Any who dared to stand against the Chivalry were quickly dealt with. This, we realized, was what Freyja had taught us swordplay for, so we took up our blades and fought back against our brothers. But they used their cruel magic in combination to their fierce attacks. We grasped at straws as we used what we did know in combat, we pulled the roots of old trees to ensnare our foes, lit trees afire and sent them down on the band of corrupted, but they were to powerful to be fought with such, and their numbers grew. We were forced to adapt our magic into a weapon; we hurled fire balls, raised spikes of stone from beneath their feat, plunged swords into their chests, and rained arrows on their heads. We were locked in a stalemate, unable to gain the upper hand and thwart the corrupted Alfar but refusing them the upper hand as well.
One can only imagine what Freyr thought as he returned to such a chaos. We could hear his cry as he returned to Alfheim only to see his children slaughtering one another. With all haste, fury and anguish flaring behind his eyes, our father drove his chariot between our two forces and ordered a full halt. The pain behind his voice stabbed at our own hearts, and the fury frightened us as much as it had the corrupted Alfar. In his rage, Freyr took from us the gift of Sight, and not just us, but every Alfar. He demanded to know why we had begun to war against our own brothers, and listened to both sides. When the corrupted Alfar refused any crime of their own, Freyr’s wrath grew more frightening and he banished them from Alfheim, sentencing them to lightless Svart-Alfheim, a barren cavern world without sun nor rain nor grass until they learned the true value of life they so willingly, so readily turned into a weapon out of power-lust.
From there-after Freyr watched us silently, as we moved about our lives. We feared he would banish us, too, and the loss of our sight pained us, but worse still was his anger, hanging heavily in the air and weighing down on our hearts. We attempted to appease him with offerings and various arts, begging him his forgiveness, but nothing would soften his harsh gaze or lighten his eyes. But we did not give up, we knew there was a way to make right what had happened, and we yearned to see our father smile once more, so we gathered together and tried everything we could imagine, but it was all in vain. Desperate for our father’s forgiveness, we decided to try and fix what our brethren had destroyed. We knew it impossible to undo the wrongs the committed, but we could fix what damages were caused.
Restoring our world was a daunting task, to be sure, and with each use of magic our hearts ached. But still we set to work, coercing the grass to grow, healing trees that were broken or torn, and rebuilt our houses. But it was a slow process as we hesitated before using our magic. But as our world was healing, so to was our wound. Our sight did not return, but we did learn to see with what we still had, and to compensate ourselves for what our Sight could no longer give us. As we progressed, we could see our god’s anger appease just a little, but still he remained cautious, keeping his eyes on us for ages to come.
Freyr, whose anger had eased over time, had recognized our toils to rebuild what had been damaged, to right the wrongs and our desire to be forgiven, though he still did not trust us yet. He would not leave us to ourselves in fear we would stray again and become power hungry warriors or some other unimaginable monster, but alas we knew we may need to defend ourselves eventually. So we took up the blade again, mastered our archery, and designed spells for defense, and trained to protect ourselves once more. This time, however, our Chivalry followed a new code. We would not fight unless we had to in order to protect ourselves or our kin. No knight may learn magic beyond what we deemed fit, and no mage was to be taught the arts of swordplay, nor would anyone learn magic more than the basics of magic before the age of fifty. This would hopefully keep a balance without giving anyone the power our banished brethrens had that tempted them to more power. When Freyr was satisfied we were avoiding their path, he returned to Asgard for he had already stayed to long. But our peace did not last.
Not long after Freyr departed once more for Asgard, we were assaulted by black-skinned Alfar, their sudden appearance and the ferocity of their attack struck us a heavy blow and it frightened us. Immediately we put what we had relearned of our warrior arts and tried to fend them off, but our grievous error of judgment cost us. We had focused on keeping threats out of our homes, but these shadow imitations of our own kin had sprung from inside our cities as if out of the darkness itself. They raided our villages and they destroyed our homes, slaughtered our people and with the first morning light, they had left. We were shaken, we had no idea as to where they had gone and set forth to figure out where they had come from and what they were. But our searches were in vain as they returned each night, springing behind defenses and wrecking havoc as we struggled to cope.
But we are not a stupid people. Quickly we fixed our errors, we prepared quick defenses to deal with the threat while we figured out what they were, and how to better handle them. But it was not enough, they had all the skill of our banished brethren, and indeed we had gleamed their name from a boastful assailant. Svartalfar they had called themselves, and it was certain that they were the banished ones. Realizing that we were unable to hold them off inside our walls, we searched for how they got in, but for several months nothing showed up as town after town was raided. Eventually we found their door way. They were entering from outside Alfheim. Quickly we studied the portal we had discovered and sent our warriors into the outside world. When they returned, we learned more of Midgard, and quickly dispatched more of our warriors to guard the portals, even studying how to create our own for escape purposes. When the Svartalfar were seen approaching, our scouts would return with warnings and we would be ready for them, no longer would they catch us so unawares again. But their prows in combat made them a hard foe to hold off, let alone defeat. But still we tried; we even took to attacking Svartalfheim, though we were severely outmatched in terms of strength. But we knew Freyr could not help us, or else he would have, and so we had to try.
When things truly began to bode ill for us, we turned to the resident races, seeking their aid. The human mercenaries aided us, but not without cost. We beseeched their kings, and a few knights had dispatched to aid us. With the aid of the humans, we began to at least hold them off to varying extents, but only that. We were going mad trying to find a way to counter the Svartalfar, and the more fearful knights and mercenaries quickly left when they realized the struggle was not in our favor. Worse still, we knew Ragnarok approached and still the Svartalfar came at us. But at last, we were given our respite when the Svartalfar finally left us to ourselves. We sealed off the portals in hopes the Svartalfar were smart enough to do so as well, thank Freyr they were! Or at least, they didn’t pry portals into our world open again. Holed up in Alfheim, we prayed for our father and mother’s safety in the war, piling up offering for their return. We continued training for combat in Freyja’s honor, and kept our farms and fruit trees healthy for Freyr in hopes that they might return at Ragnarok’s end.
A Thousand or so years had passed and our world had grown a great deal during these years. Rather than keeping small gardens, we took to letting the world around us grow as one large garden. During the thousand years, the trees grew strong and tall, and the plants plentiful. We no longer used magic to push things to our liking, but rather we communed with it, asking for its assistance and always giving back as much as we took. We helped the forest grow, and it provided us with what we needed. Our buildings, hidden by a maze of trees, were made of transparent materials that reflected the sun like diamonds. However, most of our housing was given to us by the forest, whose tree branches inter twined and held strong so that we might travel the forest high above the ground. When the Svartalfar did at last return, we had already learned to move with out disturbing the forest, and we watched them. We would move to defend the forest, but otherwise ignored them. We still despised their kind, and our knights, followers of Freyja who remained in the old Chivalry, had taken sport in harassing the Svartalfar. Our blades now danced with a natural grace they had lost, and our archers were far swifter than theirs, but for the most part, we ignored them so long as they did not endanger the forest. We knew they would grow board of the maze of trees they had returned to find, and very few of us could not blend with the forest’s natural movements, hidden by nature.
When we realized that Freyr had yet to show himself in Alfheim, we followed the Svartalfar through the portals they had opened, entering the land of Midgardr, hoping for news or a sign of Freyr or Freyja, but it was not so. The humans, however sparked our curiosity, their practices of magic was still new in comparison, as were many things in their societies, but there was potential. Some of us stayed because of the humans, others were curious about the world itself and how it differed from ours, and others sought personal agendas.
Svartalf Race: User receives +10% base STR; +25% ATK; +25% MATK.
Max Height: F 5'9" - 6'2" M 6'3 - 6'8"
Common Hair Colors: White, gold, copper, or occasionally shades of brown
Common Eye Colors: Red, gold, green, blue, black, rose, grey, rarely brown (usually when hair is already brown).
Life Expectancy: 450 - 500
Age of Sexual Maturity: 20-25 years
Elven Age of Reason: 50 years
Length of One Generation: 100 years
Personality Traits: Proud, Warlike, Vengeful, Cocky
Home World: Svartalfheim
It has been fourteen thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two years since we were banished from the homes of our forefathers by the Deceiver, Freyr. One hundred and forty-seven generations into his three thousand generation exile, after which he will check on us to see if we have repented for our "crime." Pah!
But even now I see our society compacting, the weak of heart and feeble of conviction already picking away at our proud foundations, begging us to seek forgiveness with the Deceiver. They miss the warmth of the Sun, the softness of Alfheim grass, the crispness of its vegetables and the firmness of its meats. They crave the pampered life we had as Freyr's Pets. Even now they turn our weaker members against us, whispering saccharine tales of temptation into the ears of our children, whining and keening at Councilmeet, seducing those who falter away from the path of Glory.
It is sad that it has come to this, but I have decided to begin the daunting task of collecting our history - just in case Freyr's sycophants succeed in destroying all that we stand for. Even should they fail (and I hope such is their fate), a collected history will be useful for teaching our children what we are and how we came to be.
This is the history of Svartalfa.
Quelinost Sa'Athiel, Historian
As recently as fifteen thousand years prior to this writing, "Svartalfar" and "Alfar" were distinctions no one thought to make. We were one race, one proud people. Times were simpler then.
We were the creations of a sibling-pair of gods, Freyr and Freyja, the architects of nature. As creations of the gods of biology, we were the pinnacle of biological evolution - strong, healthy, quick, immune to the ravages of time and disease - unlike our weakling cousins the humans. (Perhaps this is why the gods try to wipe out the humans every Ragnarök? It is a question worth asking if we ever get the chance. But I digress.)
Two world-cycles ago, just before the Ragnarök, Freyr came to the decision that we, his creations, had finally earned access to his greatest power - the force with which the gods created the world and maintained its form and function. He imbued us with it, body and soul, our very beings now resonating in tune with all the things the Frey Siblings had crafted. He left us with very few strictures on its use, leaving it mostly "up to our own common sense".
Soon enough we learned what power we had gained through Frey's Gift. Our agriculturists were able to amplify food production several hundredfold simply by communing with the plants they grew and the animals they hunted. Our scientists gained fantastic insight into the clockwork mechanisms of the planet, and our knowledge of physics advanced by leaps and bounds. Communications flourished as we learned to forge mental connections between sapients, allowing for instantaneous communication between anyone in Alfheim, Midgar, or any other world. We as a species began to rival the gods in our splendor.
It was not long before War, that one sector of society I have not mentioned yet, began to turn this Freyrforce to its own ends as well. At first it was simple - our new communion with living things showed us what soft spots to breach, what muscles were tensing to attack, when the enemy's mind turned to fear and how best to exploit it. Our arcanists took this further, twining control of the elements with new knowledge of their workings to enhance spells far beyond what mortals should be capable of. But our greatest advance came when we learned to directly manipulate what Freyr had taught us to sense - life force itself. Turning blood to ice, ending lives with a thought, using living bodies as unwitting spirit-bombs - we took the act of killing to an art form. Truly, this was the pinnacle of the Warrior Caste.
As we learned, we began to question - as all good men should do. We questioned why Freyr had waited so long to give us this gift. Why Freyr had kept this tool from us, his personal creations, for so long. And as we questioned, we began to resent - not greatly, just a little, for he had still given it to us. We just wished he had done so sooner. Imagine what we could have done with this power in the hundreds of thousands of years prior.
Eventually there came a time when we were to present our findings to the King. With relish we demonstrated our newfound power, revelling in the terror on the courtiers' faces as we bent earth and sky and blood and life to our whim. Relish, that is, until the King ordered us to stop. His craven pig face blanched and sweating, he squealed that we had defied the strictures of Freyr and defiled his gift with our actions, and ordered us all destroyed. We were betrayed.
But it was a one-sided battle when he ordered his guards on us. We dispatched his untrained minions with an almost gleeful ease. We would have killed that pig King as well had Freyr not come to stop us himself.
As Freyr separated us with barriers of power, he addressed us with the tone of a chiding parent. He had been watching us, he said. This was a test for us. One we had soundly failed. He had never intended that this gift be turned to the art of war. Our leader, Illithiel, stepped forward to question him.
"If you had never intended it be used in battle," she questioned, "then why give it to a people whose blood runs hot with war?"
"Because," a sighing Freyr replied, "I had hoped it would teach you the value of life. All life. I hoped that seeing the lives you end would make you sick of killing."
"Quite the contrary, Lord Freyr. We have learned the value of life." A wicked grin spread across Illithiel's face as she continued. "But we have also learned its worth as a weapon. And we, at least," she gestured about her to her followers, "…are not afraid to use it as it should be."
"It should not be used at all!" Freyr roared, in uncharacteristic anger. "Life is not a weapon! Life is to be savoured, treasured, cared for - not used as a tool of destruction!"
"If we're not supposed to use it," Illithiel countered quietly, "then why make it available at all?"
Freyr had no answer to that. Instead he gathered all elves together and spoke to everyone at once.
"You have disappointed me, children," he began. "You have abused my gift. You have proven to me you are not yet ready to receive it. For this…" he stretched out his hand, and every elf gasped in pain as our hearts grew heavier. "…I am taking it back."
"I will not take back all of it," he continued. "I want you to learn from your mistake. Where before you were attuned to Life's Force, now I leave you with only a sense - a vague sense, but a sense nonetheless. Prove to me you are capable of using this properly, and I will consider giving back more."
"As for you…" he rounded on the warriors next. "You have failed me most of all. You have deliberately ignored the lesson I have tried to teach you. You have forsaken the value of the life all around you… so as your lesson, I shall be removing you from it." In a flash our surroundings changed - the verdant green fields became desolate rocks as we appeared in a massive underground cave structure. The walls went up eternally, but there was no sky - only blackness overhead where the cave rose out of our sight.
"Here life will be difficult - you will have to fight to survive, separate from the flourishing life you took for granted." As he turned to leave, he left us with these parting words. "…as I recall, you prefer a fight, don't you?"
He was right. A fight is what we prefer.
Our first and most important concerns were securing shelter and determining what resources were still available to us. While some of our team turned to cleaving shelter from the rock, our arcanists turned inwards and analyzed what of Frey's Gift was left to us.
A cursory investigation and a few quick experiments yielded an important revelation. Physics had not changed. We may have lost our ability to read the hearts and minds of others, but we had not lost our knowledge of how the elements blended together. We would not have to start completely over. We just had to regain our sight.
The Black Tower of Arcanum was the third structure erected in our new home, after the command center and an initial bunker for housing. Illithiel recognized the strategic importance of regaining the sight we once had, and exempted the Arcanist Caste from all but the most important duties in order that they could concentrate solely on healing our "blindness" to the forces of life. For twenty years they labored.
It was on the twenty-first year of our exile that the first Dark Elf emerged from the tower. Every elf grew silent at their new appearance, blanching at the sight of them. But Illithiel smiled, for she knew that a solution had been found. This was the invention of the Darkening.
The Darkening is a simple idea. There are specific cells in our bodies that are naturally in tune with the forces of life and magic - we call them melanocytes, because they also carry large amounts of melanin inside them. What the Arcanist Caste did was imbue themselves with permanent enchantments that altered their cellular structure, causing more of their cells to become these melanocytes - and thus increasing our sensitivity to life energy.
It was not a perfect solution. Even Darkened Elves cannot "see" farther than a few feet, and only get finely-detailed information through touch. In addition, Darkening was a painful process, and the weeks after are an overwhelming torrent of information to the inexperienced. But it was an improvement over what Freyr had left us with, and so we kept it.
A tradition was made, one you are probably intimately familiar with if you are reading this as a history of your own people. Every Elf present submitted to the Darkening, desperate to regain what little sight they could. For the children, though, Illithiel wanted to be safe. Each child born only had their ears Darkened at birth, more ceremonially than functionally - it would "open their ears to the Voice of Magic". If they believed in the core tenets of our people, they would be offered the Darkening process for the rest of their bodies at the Age of Reason, their fiftieth birthday, by their family's Arcanist Casteman. This, Illithiel hoped, would make it possible to visually distinguish dissidents from the rest - you must admit a snowy elf with night-black ears would stand out in a crowd.
Freshly-Darkened, our forces began building a permanent residence, determined to make the most of this new life Freyr had forced us into. And thus Svartalfheim was built.
Our culture adapted quickly to our new surroundings. Permanent portals to Midgard were cracked open by the Arcanist Caste, and maintained by the Oversight Caste's Travel Division. Thankfully, Freyr had made a tactical blunder leaving us in these specific caves - the ground was very tightly packed with gemstones, and humans will do anything for sparklies. We were able to secure trade routes with Arunafeltz and Rune with promises of more sparklies, and trade convoys began supplying us with better food than the mushrooms and cave-bats that were our normal fare.
As quality of life improved, so did morale for our people - it had only been fifty years since the banishment, after all. Memories of Freyr's betrayal were still fresh on our minds. But seeing that we could not only survive but thrive, even under the ire of our creator-deity, inspired new hope in our people and fresh belief in our convictions.
The Arcanist Caste used this new hope to push for a grand new project, one which they assured us would usher in self-sufficiency without requiring a diet of bats and dirt. Every magic-capable Darkened Elf was brought to the Black Tower and guided into concentric casting rings around it. They all joined hands and lent their strength to the Nine Archmagi of the tower, who then proceeded to do the impossible.
They created a miniature, self-sustained sun.
The "sky" overhead burst into brilliant light as the massive ball of fire rose up and up into the infinite heights of the cave, and as it rose so did cheers of pride. Agriculture was possible again. We had made ourselves self-sustaining.
With the twin boosts to morale of sun and trade, our society began booming. The castes became formally organized as human labor was contracted in to increase our construction rates. (Humans will do anything for sparklies. Idiots.) The Houses began to re-form as population boomed. Over the course of a thousand years we went from a small military settlement to a prosperous Class V citadel.
The portals to Midgard were moved to a defensible position outside the city, which was renamed Svartalfholdt. Small farming villages sprang up near the walls of Svartalfholdt, to support the farming areas inside the city - while we could survive a siege for decades, we wanted to expand our defensible territory into this cave-land, and a support structure of food-providing villages would be essential for this. The underground streams were dammed and redirected for water-based communications, and aqueducts were created to maximize water supply to the farming areas. As time went on, the Arcanist Caste even developed methods of making rain over specific areas.
We were powerful. We were prospering. And we were doing it all on our own.
We commemorated YOB 1500 (Year of Our Banishment) by planting the first forest in Svartalfheim, using seeds we had collected on excursions into Alfheim. As reports came streaming in that Ragnarök had started in Midgard, we sealed the portal to Midgard for the first time ever, confident that we could survive without the humans for the duration of the war. We were right.
We allowed a few lucky humans to stay in Svartalfheim with us, though not in anything remotely approaching positions of power. They established a farming and mining settlement around the deactivated portal to some human settlement called Izlude, a tributary to the Rune capital city. When the war was over and we reopened the portal to Rune, they remained as a sort of intermediary buffer-state for us. We didn't mind - all the portals were set up in small valleys dug into the ground, so they were fantastically hard for incoming forces to defend. This was to ensure no invading force could ever set up a military outpost here in Svartalfheim. It's worked out well for us so far.
Our second citadel to reach Class V was named Illithia in memory of our dearly departed leader. Founded in YOB 1000, five hundred years after Illithiel's death, it didn't reach Class V status until YOB 2011. Our third and fourth Class V citadels reached that rank two hundred years later - practically overnight. And our infrastructure of Class IV and Class III steadholdts was doubling every few hundred years.
This was when we began the raids into Alfheim.
At first they were just cultural raids, attacks to reclaim heirlooms and family artifacts that had been left behind when Freyr sent our ancestors here. After the first few raids, when the Alfar began mounting proper defenses, the raids became almost for fun - we are after all a people of war, and one can only do so many hundreds of combat simulations before one starts mounting guerilla assaults on the bats to keep sane. Soon the Alfar had enough spine to try launching counterassaults - which we crushed, obviously, but it gave our Warrior Caste some hands-on training defending a fortification.
The sport-war with the Alfheim lasted six thousand years, until we had to close our portals for Ragnarök. We tried to pick up the fight again afterwards, but the Alfar's hearts just weren't in it, and it showed. It was almost pitiful. Our soldiers gave up trying to incite them into fights, and came whining back to the Oversight Caste for something new to kill.
Deals were struck with some of the human leadership to rent out some of our Warrior Caste platoons as mercenary corps. They didn't care about the coins the humans gave them (although they did end up using them to buy metals, supplies and nights with human women); they were there for the fighting. And fight they did. Our people became known throughout human lands as they properly should - the finest warriors, the best of the best.
YOB 9127 was an important year for us. It was the first year since our banishment that the goddess Freyja appeared before the Council at Councilmeet and spoke to us openly.
Apparently the lady Freyja had been watching us. Disguised as an old woman, she had kept tabs on us for nine thousand years, watching our progress. And Freyja was pleased with what she saw.
Freyja liked us, it seems. She had always recognized the inherent violence in nature, and had wished to see more of it reflected in their "pinnacle creations" the elves. She had watched our warrior culture grow and flourish, free of the influence of her pacifist brother Freyr, and she liked most of what she saw. She did, however, see room for our improvement.
Freyja would become a part of svartalf society, spending time in Svartalfholdt like Freyr did in Alfholdt. Where Freyr would lecture on life and philosophy, Freyja would teach the arts of war - strategy, hand to hand combat, the merits of one strategy over another. She welcomed us, young and old, to debate her on the finer points of battle - the merits vs the demerits of honor in battle, the strengths of siege against the strengths of infiltration, even counterstrategies against magic or melee. She would create mock battles, animations using illusions of troops on a battlefield, challenging those around her to maneuver the armies to a tactical advantage and praising those who found victory.
Under Freyja's watchful eye, we tempered ourselves into the most fearsome military force of all nine worlds. …or at least, I like to think we are.
To be continued.
In progress
Homunculus Race: +25% DEF; 25% MDEF; Doubled HP/SP recovery; 25% Universal resist; 15% MDEF Pierce.
Max Height: Varies
Common Hair Colors: Unknown
Common Eye Colors: Unknown
Life Expectancy: Classified
Age of Sexual Maturity: Classified
Length of One Generation: Fertility Unknown
Home World: Midgard
A mysterious created-race about which very little is known. They are known only by their project designation, Project MF-06; the story behind this designation is a secret only the heads of the Schwartzvald Military know. Project MF-06 was aborted suddenly when a catastrophic lab explosion enabled all one hundred specimens to escape. Since then very few have been recaptured - they are visibly identical to humans, and have simply opted to disappear into the crowds, pretending to be human. Those few who have been discovered and recaptured have quietly disappeared from the public record, never to be seen again.
What little original research survived the flames is jealously guarded by the Schwartzvald Republic, who offer fabulous rewards to anyone able to capture an MF-06 specimen. Below is a flyer released to Special Ops members of the Schwartzvald Military.
Project MF-06
Congratulations! If you're reading this, you are one of the chosen few entrusted with classified knowledge of Project MF-06. The following packet will assist you in identifying and recovering escaped specimens.
Section 1: Identifying a Specimen
Escaped test subjects are identical to humans superficially, so spotting them can be extremely difficult. Here are a few useful facts you can use to confirm a prospective capture is, in fact, what you've been looking for.
• MF-06 heal far faster than normal humans. In addition, deep-tissue wounds will bleed a black ichor, instead of the dark reddish-purple blood of a human. This ichor is an agent of the subject's immune system - do not touch, it will cause damage similar to an acid burn.
• MF-06 register pain on a lower level than most humanoids, and often will ignore or simply not register lesser injuries.
• MF-06 can hear sounds on a much broader band than humans and even Alfar can. Use ultrasonic frequencies to identify them in a crowd, but be wary of injuring nearby slaves - Furred races can hear these frequencies too!
Section 2: Capturing a Specimen
Remember that specimens from Project MF-06 were raised to be elite soldiers. Enter every potential capture situation with all possible routes of escape covered and all variables accounted for!
• Many MF-06 are spellcasters or have an innate gift with magic. Bring antimagic units!
• Remember the MF-06 inhuman tolerance for pain and their natural resilience to damage. Do not ever expect an easy fight!
• MF-06 are crafty and quick on their feet. Do not rely on outnumbering them - have a good plan!
• Divide and conquer! Two MF-06 working together are infinitely more dangerous than two separate units!
• Never expect a plan to go perfectly, have backup plans in place!
• Remember that the battlespace is three dimensional! Cover sewers and rooftops as well as the street, or treetops if the setting is non-urban!
• Do not call attention to yourselves - it is always safest to assume your target is paranoid and will be looking for you, because they probably are.
Remember to keep civilian knowledge as low as possible! You can always attempt to reacquire the target later, but knowledge disseminated into the public means more people trying to recover the MF-06 subjects to steal the knowledge for themselves!
Good luck!
