Pharyssia, the World of Sun and Shadow
Never, in the Nowhere, Nothing was. For in the absence of place, and time, and pith, only Nothing can be. But in yawning confine, in timeless age, in stuffed void, Nothing is Everything, and Everything is Nothing. By this truth, the Nothing becomes Something, and thus the world, Pharyssia, began.
There are four great races of Pharyssia, each possessed of great virtue...and great sin, for darkness ever creeps into the works of mortals, frail in their commitments, lax in their memories. These are their names, and but a drop of their histories:
Karthians: Noble in bearing and flashing of eye, the Karthians take their name from their ancient mother-figure, the Empress Kartha, who united not only the disparate clans of her people, but built the mighty and aggressive First Karthian Empire. Their bodies, cloaked in scales, some stark with color, some ruddy as the earth, some like unto the gleaming metal or glittering stones buried therein. Kin of dragons they are, as their dangerous breath will attest if scales do not suffice, and the karthians carry the blessing and the curse of that legacy, for they are both full of honor and hubris, full of greed and industry both. Long rulers of the ancient world, the First Karthian Empire died as it had lived, never settling for second-best, and in the doing, leaving great works and great loss for those who came after. Centuries later, the Second Karthian Empire followed, and it too died as it had lived: cold, calculated, precise to the quarter-penny, and run down until the coffers could turn no more. Now rumors stir in the West, that an heir to Kartha herself rides the hawk-beasts again, but this time neither conqueror nor beancounter. This time, bearing the banner of the Shining Wyrm, the Words-That-Soar, with songs and promise on his lips. Certainly, the temples of the Wyrm have been busier of late, even here in the center-lands...
Gwerinoedd: "The Peoples," as the word reads in their tongue, for they see themselves apart from all others. No great surprise, this, as the gwerin (which all but the unfailingly polite call them) are shapeshifters, changelings, said to have snuck into our world long ago through cracks from some faraway realm where form follows thought. Cunning they are, and cautious. For them, body and face are as elective as clothing and mask, a choice one parades before others, with the Truth ever hidden from all but the intimate gaze. Thus do they hold a special relation with the truth. They will, of course, ever protest that they do not lie--but they are not responsible for the faulty understandings of others. However, it is clear that they feel in their bones--or whatever is the equivalent of "bones" for a people of such fluid form--that they have lost something. In some, it creates a joyless malaise, a pining for what might have been, or perhaps what once was, wherever they hailed from. Great and tragic artists, poets, and musicians these make. In others, oh, the envy they feel for others, who know themselves, who have raised up empires. But from melancholy and envy, you find an endless well of patience--long have they waited, and longer still are they willing to wait. Further, you will find their purpose rarely stained by distraction, perhaps because they hold even their closest partners a distance away from their true selves.
Satyr: Interlopers, hellions, merry-makers, comedians. All this and more. Come from the bright fields of Lyonesse, that realm of mystery and dread, they drink deep of life's draught, for good and for ill. They rule by, and are ruled by, passions. They flare bright as stars and plummet as easily. But in friendship and in alliance, they are faithful to the end. When roused from their hedonic fog, the satyr is a terror to behold. Few satyrs take interest in politics--the vast bulk of their people were quite happy to accept the Imperial yoke, so long as it kept the wine flowing--but those who do have tongues of silver, or perhaps silvered swords. Should you survive their nigh-unslakable lust, or in battle their unquenchable rage, a strange bond oft forms. The satyrs never forget a kindness done, and while they may follow the temptations of the flesh, hoard and horde alike offer them no joy, and thus no value; many an Imperial viceroy has had a trusted, albeit debauched, satyr to advise, for there are none so above the temptations of power and glory than these.
Bos: Last but assuredly not least, for they tower over the other word-weaving races, with limbs like the trunks of trees and chests like boulders. Cloven hooves and great horns they bear, these bos; but they are a peaceful people, and ever ready to hear the tales of lands far away. They have ever been strong with the magic of Pharyssia itself, its spirits and lifeblood, and myth tells of a time, long before the First Empire, when the Bos drove out a darkness from another world--perhaps the world from which the gwerin fled. But with their great frames come even greater appetites, and seemingly great fatigue, for they notoriously turn from their labors ere they have just begun, seeking a soothing rest in the shade. Yet they are, by way of appetite, the greatest pleasers thereof, and known far and wide for the depth and breadth of the food they prepare. Whether arising from this love of fine food or from their carefree mein, they are also known as the greatest of hosts, for there is ever a laugh upon their lips, unless replaced by a tale told or silence to hear one, and a weary traveller hard-worked by the road shall ever find a warm welcome from the bos, wherever that road may take her. Their villages dot the land, as many once worked in tasks for the First or Second Empire, some driven by duty, some by the lash. Perhaps that, then, is the source of their sloth--the lingering effect of the slaver's lash, generations past but never quite forgotten.
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In case it wasn't clear, this is a world populated by dragonborn, changelings, satyrs, and minotaurs. Each is associated with two sins, and two virtues, e.g. the gwerin are associated with the sins of acedia (spiritual sloth/malaise) and envy, contrasted against the virtues of patience and chastity.
Primary non-core classes are Warlords, Summoners (all those strange things from faraway places!), Shamans, and Avengers (divine agents clearing away the shadows before they rise too far.) The core classes also appear, though the emphasis is on Bard and Sorcerer over Wizard and Artificer (which were more prominent back in the days of the First or Second Empire), and on Paladin or Ranger over Fighter (Rangers were more common after the fall of the First Empire, Fighters were more common during the reign of either Empire.)
