"Master Kuzuryu, Veteran Mentor" by Douglas Draco

Dragonkind were not merely a type of being; they were a living covenant between the realm and its guardians. In the earliest ages, Dragonkind walked openly among mortals and beasts alike, proud stewards of a world still young and unscarred. Over centuries, Dragonkind were drawn into the designs of renegade deities and cosmic forces whose ambitions far exceeded mortal comprehension. Manipulated, divided, and ultimately weaponized against one another, Dragonkind became unwilling participants in a war that nearly erased them from existence.

 

Today, most Dragonkind live in seclusion, concealment, or deliberate exile. They avoid mortal kingdoms when they can, passing through history like fading embers rather than roaring flame as they once were. Among themselves, they preserve ancient oral traditions, half-remembered legends of their progenitors, and whispers of a time when their kind stood beside beings who shaped reality itself. At the heart of these legends is a single name spoken with reverence and sorrow: Thanatos.

 

Modern Dragonkind are the descendants of the Elder Dragonkind, inheritors of diluted but still formidable power. This inheritance manifests as a Dragonsoul. A metaphysical core bound directly to their life force. A Dragonsoul is not merely a source of magic. It is memory, instinct, and ancestry made manifest. Through their Dragonsoul, Dragonkind tap into abilities shaped by their ancestral lineage: elemental affinities, enhanced physical prowess, heightened senses, and rare latent gifts that echo the powers of the Elder Dragonkind themselves. In some, these traits remain dormant; in others, they awaken violently under stress, emotion, or destiny.

 

Dragonkind are physically imposing, their forms blending mortal anatomy with unmistakably draconic traits. Most are broad-shouldered, powerfully built, and naturally athletic, capable of remarkable strength and agility. They age slowly, reaching physical adulthood at roughly the equivalent of a mortal’s twentieth year, though their bodies continue to grow and refine for centuries thereafter. As Dragonkind age, their scales may bear signs of battle, erosion, or stress, but they rarely show the frailty or deterioration common to other species with age. To many mortals, an aged Dragonkind is indistinguishable from one in their prime until they move.

 

Dragonkind height and mass vary significantly based on ancestry and Dragonsoul expression. Most stand between 2–3 meters (6–8 feet) tall, though smaller and larger variants exist. Unlike the Elder Dragonkind, modern Dragonkind do not possess natural wings. However, rare individuals have demonstrated the ability to manifest flight through latent Dragonsoul abilities, spectral wings, or elemental propulsion, a phenomenon still poorly understood. Scale color holds no inherent social meaning among Dragonkind; it merely reflects heritage and adaptation. Most Dragonkind do not grow hair, though vestigial growths resembling hair, manes, or facial crests sometimes appear, particularly among older individuals.

 

Living as a Dragonkind is to embody a living relic of a broken age. They are not rulers of Havokk, nor its conquerors; they are its survivors. Each Dragonkind carries within them a fragment of something ancient and dangerous, something the world has not seen fully unleashed in centuries. Whether they choose to hide, to protect, or to reclaim what was lost, one truth remains: If the Dragons truly rise again, Havokk will never be the same.

"Jaina, Mystic Meditator" by Douglas Draco

The Nelven are among the most ancient living species of Havokk, their presence predating nearly all Mortal history. In form, they resemble Mortals, though their features are sharper, more deliberate, as though shaped by intention rather than chance. High cheekbones, elongated ears, and angular jawlines are common, as are their strikingly vibrant eye colors, which often shimmer faintly when channeling magic. Their hair tends toward fair hues, and their skin is typically lighter in tone, though regional variation exists.

 

What truly distinguishes the Nelven, however, is not appearance, but connection. Nelven lifespans stretch far beyond those of Mortals, sustained by the constant flow of mystical energy coursing through their bodies. They do not merely live upon the land; they are bound to it. Through this bond, Nelven possess accelerated healing, exceptional mental clarity, and an intuitive ability to perceive and manipulate magical forces. Magic is not a discipline to the Nelven; it is a language they were born speaking. As a result, Nelven culture places immense value on spellcraft, scholarship, and historical preservation. Mages, historians, archivists, and philosophers are revered, and knowledge itself is treated as both weapon and shield. Among the Nelven, memory is sacred; for to forget is to weaken the realm.

 

According to the Nelven legend and record, the Nelven were brought forth by Kritikos, the Elder Dragonkind of Life and Creation. She shaped them to endure, granting them long lives so they might act as witnesses to the ages, preservers of truth, and catalysts for growth among all species. In their earliest days, the Nelven walked openly alongside Dragonkind, serving as intermediaries between mortal life and godlike power.

 

When the renegade deities Aribus, Lylath, and Ytaxia arrived on Havokk, Ytaxia’s uncontrolled descent obliterated Agnememnon. The impact was apocalyptic, akin to a meteor striking the city’s central pyramid, annihilating much of the jungle capital. In the aftermath, a strange crystalline flower emerged from the chaos: a manifestation of Ytaxia’s residual essence, saturated with volatile, alien energy. This bloom terrified the surviving Nelven. Its presence warped the surrounding jungle, altered magical flows, and whispered in tongues no Nelven could fully understand. The High Council of Nelven-kind, fearing extinction, declared that Agnememnon must be abandoned. Dhulahan would become the sole refuge of their people.

 

Today, most Nelven reside within Dhulahan, clinging to tradition, scholarship, and guarded neutrality. Others live scattered across Havokk as diplomats, mercenaries, scholars, criminals, and exiles. Some still linger near the ruins of Agnememnon, drawn by forces they refuse to abandon. The Nelven have not fully recovered from their division. Yet their connection to Havokk endures. In an era where deities walk in shadow, and ancient powers awaken, the Nelven may once again be called upon as stewards of balance…

"Sharkmen Pup" by Douglas Draco

The Sharkmen of Havokk are among the most feared and most misunderstood inhabitants of the realm. Towering and unmistakable, their forms bear the mantle of the great sharks of the deep: powerful jaws, rows of serrated teeth, rough dermal skin, and cold, unblinking eyes. Yet beneath this predatory visage lies a body shaped much like that of a Mortal, complete with arms, legs, and an upright posture that allows them to walk the land. It is this duality that unsettles other species. Sharkmen are not merely sharks that learned to walk, nor are they Mortals clad in monstrous form. They exist between worlds; creatures of land and sea, yet truly belonging to neither.

 

Though capable of surviving on land, Sharkmen remain biologically tied to the ocean. Extended time away from water dries their skin, weakens their musculature, and dulls their senses. For this reason, they are compelled to dwell along coastlines, reefs, and port cities. What many Mortals perceive as territorial aggression is, in truth, a matter of survival. Shorelines are not luxuries to the Sharkmen: they are lifelines.

 

The origins of the Sharkmen are shrouded in salt and shadow. Among their own kind, ancient sea tales speak of a colossal being that slumbers beneath the deepest waters of Havokk. A forgotten leviathan whose dreams shape the tides themselves. According to these legends, when the being was disturbed, it cursed the sharks of the ocean, condemning them to walk the land as punishment for trespass or hubris. Other accounts, recorded within the Nelven archives, offer a different explanation.

 

These texts describe an ancient crystal formation (now known as "Nexxusite) discovered in the abyssal depths long before deep-sea travel was understood. It is believed that a pod of sharks swam too close to the crystalline structure, triggering a reaction between the Nexxusite and Havokk’s ambient energies. The result was catastrophic and transformative: bodies twisted, minds expanded, and instincts reshaped. From that moment, the first Sharkmen emerged: half-beast, half-thinking being, forced to rise from the depths into a world unprepared for them.

 

For much of their history, Sharkmen attempted to coexist peacefully with land-dwelling species. They traded fish, guided ships through treacherous waters, and protected coastal settlements from sea-born threats. Yet they were rarely welcomed for long. Fear followed them wherever they went, and violence was often the response to misunderstanding. Denied inland refuge and mistrusted at the shore, the Sharkmen were left with few choices.

 

Despite their fearsome image, Sharkmen are not inherently cruel. They are pragmatic, proud, and fiercely protective of their own. Many yearn for a future where their kind can live without chains, whether those chains take the form of Mortal prejudice or Mako’s iron rule. As the seas of Havokk churn with war and ambition, the Sharkmen stand at a crossroads. Will they remain bound to piracy and fear… or will they reclaim the waters as guardians rather than marauders?

 

For those who look past the teeth and scars, the truth is clear: The Sharkmen are not monsters. They are survivors forged by the depths and sharpened by a world that never gave them safe harbor.

"Vault Security" by Tim Sparvero

Unlike most species, the Squirks' interest lies almost exclusively in commerce, engineering, and preservation. Wars may rise and fall, crowns may change hands, and empires may burn; yet Squirk caravans continue to move, contracts continue to be honored, and machines continue to be built. This indifference is not apathy. It is policy. That policy and all alliances between the Squirks and the rest of Havokk are governed by ancient, unbreakable laws tied to the sanctity of the One Tree.

 

Chief among these is absolute neutrality. The Squirks will trade with anyone. They will build for anyone. They will supply anyone. But they will serve no one. To violate this neutrality is to risk exile; not only from Squirk society, but from the protection of the One Tree itself. Such a punishment is exceedingly rare and spoken of in hushed tones, for to be cut off from the One Tree is to lose one’s identity as a Squirk. Because of this doctrine, Squirks are often granted safe passage even through hostile territory. To harm a Squirk caravan is to invite economic collapse, mechanical failure, and eventual isolation. Even tyrants understand this truth.

 

Physically, Squirks stand roughly as tall as a mid-sized humanoid, their bodies covered in dense fur whose color and pattern reflect the branch or region of the One Tree from which they originate. Squirks identify as a single collective species, bound not by territory but by shared lineage and law. Their nimble hands, quick reflexes, and ceaseless mental acuity make them natural engineers. Clockwork engines, airships, arcane stabilizers, automated defenses, and long-distance trade mechanisms all bear the unmistakable mark of Squirk design. Many of Havokk’s greatest technological leaps were not driven by kings or mages, but quietly commissioned, designed, and executed by Squirk artificers.

 

Yet not all Squirks remain behind drafting tables and trade ledgers. Their speed, precision, and agility make them surprisingly effective adventurers. Squirks are often found excelling as Rogues, Thieves, Assassins, and Fighters; darting through battlefields and city streets alike, relying on movement and timing rather than brute force.

 

The origin of the Squirks is inseparable from the One Tree, the first great tree planted upon Havokk at the dawn of the realm. When Uutu shaped the world, they crafted a radiant gem that would later be known as a Sunstone Acorn. This gem was planted into the newborn land, giving rise to the One Tree, a living monument meant to nourish the realm, shelter the vulnerable, and embody the sanctity of nature itself. Kritikos, Elder Dragonkind of Life and Creation, infused the One Tree with living energy. From this union of divine design and draconic power, the first Squirks emerged. Simple creatures at first, curious and clever, now fully sentient. While Squirks never developed the raw magical prowess of the Nelven, they learned to understand magic as a system, something to be stabilized, harnessed, and replicated through design. Where others cast spells, Squirks build solutions.

 

Today, the Squirks stand at the apex of Havokk’s economic and industrial hierarchy. Currency flows through their hands. Supply lines bend to their schedules. Entire wars are delayed or accelerated by the arrival (or absence) of Squirk goods. And yet, they rule nothing. They sit on no throne. They claim no kingdom. Their power lies in motion, not dominion.

 

As long as the One Tree stands, the Squirks will continue to build the world, piece by piece, even as others tear it apart.

"Talos, Ytaxian Behemoth" by Ranzinza Cinza

The beings known as Ytaxians are not a "people" in the conventional sense. They are manifestations, echoes left behind by Ytaxia. They are better understood as physical extensions of chaotic will, given form only long enough to act. Ytaxians are composed of pure chaotic energy, an amalgam of flesh and matter in such an altered way that their original chaotic energy remains in a physical shape.

 

Their forms are mutable and unstable, often imitating life as it is remembered rather than as it truly exists. Often, with too many joints, beasts with shifting anatomies, and objects that move as fluidly as liquid are all common manifestations. Their bodies can rapidly transform; Limbs may reshape into blades, spines, or tendrils. Flesh may harden into crystalline armor or liquefy to absorb blows. These changes are not spells; they are expressions of chaos asserting preference in the moment.

 

The most feared Ytaxians are those spawned directly from Chimeraxion, Ytaxia’s physical avatar on Havokk. Such Ytaxians appear amorphous, their bodies resembling semi-transparent, gelatinous masses forced into vaguely structured forms. Within them, a dense, luminous core serves as both skeletal framework and power nexus. This internal structure pulses with chaotic resonance, visible through its shifting outer layers like a beating heart made of light and distortion. Their presence alone is often enough to cause reality to warp; plants grow in impossible geometries, animals mutate, and the land itself fractures into Nexxusite growths.

 

Not all Ytaxians are born of Chimeraxion. Some were once something else. Exposure to high concentrations of chaotic energy, particularly near Nexxusite formations, can permanently alter living beings. A Mortal exposed near a chaotic forest might develop horns, fur, or predatory traits. A Nelven might see their skin turn emerald or crystalline, their body stretched or compressed beyond natural proportions. Some retain fragments of memory or personality, while others lose all sense of self, becoming instinct-driven anomalies.

 

Chaotic energy condenses into dense crystalline structures known as Nexxusite crystals. These formations act as anchor points for chaos, amplifying and accelerating the absorption of all energy forms in their vicinity. Magic becomes volatile. Life mutates. Even time and space may behave unpredictably. Ytaxians often incorporate Nexxusite directly into their forms, wearing it as armor or shaping it into weapons that resonate with their own chaotic essence. Such armaments are brutally effective, capable of disrupting magical constructs, shattering wards, and overwhelming conventional defenses.

 

Little reliable information exists about Ytaxians, for few survive encounters with them, and fewer still return from the jungles that surround Chimeraxion’s domain. The High Mages of Dhulahan fear Ytaxians not only as mere monsters, but as harbingers. Ancient Nelven prophecy speaks of a visitor from the stars, "a force not born of Havokk," whose arrival would fracture the world’s balance and invite annihilation or rebirth. Many believe Chimeraxion is the fulfillment of this prophecy.

"Aribus' Seeker" by Douglas Draco 

The Void is a blighted realm that lies beyond the logic of life and death, a place where creation itself has failed to take root. Havokkian Scholars describe it as an echo of the natural world, shaped not by growth or decay, but by negation. Jagged landscapes stretch beneath a lightless sky, forming warped reflections of forests, caverns, and seas. Stone appears brittle and half-formed, rivers flow black and still, and the air itself feels thin and oppressive. No true life can flourish within the Void, yet neither does it grant the mercy of rest; existence there is stagnant, enduring without purpose or renewal. A realm of pain, torment, and the absence of life.

 

Beings born of this realm are collectively known as "Voidborne", entities molded by the Void’s corrupting influence. Their bodies often resemble grotesque inversions of living beasts, as though nature were reshaped by an uncaring hand. Limbs may be elongated or malformed, torsos fused with shadow, and flesh hardened into bone-like or chitinous plates. Many lack discernible organs, sustained instead by the Void’s unnatural energies. Their eyes (if they possess them at all) are hollow pits or faintly luminescent orbs, granting sight without warmth or emotion. They exist solely as extensions of their dark masters and seek only to rid existence of creation and return all to nothingness.

 

Voidborne that take on humanoid forms are among the most disturbing to encounter. They stand and move as mortals do, wield tools or weapons, and may even speak in fractured tongues or the language they knew in life, but their presence is unmistakably wrong. Their skin is often ashen, corpse-pale, or pitch-dark, etched with cracks that bleed darkness instead of blood. Faces appear incomplete or expressionless, and their movements are either unnervingly rigid or eerily deliberate. Many of these beings are those who completely succumb to the will of Aribus and the other keepers of this dark realm, now existing only as a pawn or slave.

 

Where Voidborn tread, the influence of the Void seeps into Havokk. Flames burn dimmer, plants wither, and sound itself seems swallowed by an unnatural hush. They do not require sustenance, sleep, or breath, and they persist with relentless purpose, driven by instincts alien to the living realms. Whether summoned by their dark masters, fractures in Havokk's realm, or their own dark purposes, the Voidborne serve as living testaments to a realm where life is not destroyed, but denied.

 

These beings are often the summoned minions of the Chancellors of the Void, or others who align with the Void. Aribus and Zhakul relentlessly push their influence and Void power upon Havokk, the Voidborne being the claws that dig into the living realm and draw it closer to the Void with each assault. Aribus is specifically known for sending vicious beasts comprised of Void energy after the innocent inhabitants of Havokk, drawing out Heroes so they can be struck down. Zhakul favors inflicting anguish and pain, and as such, utilizes dark spellcraft against his foes more than the Voidborne; however, those who are slain by his dark power are resurrected with the power of the Void to serve his dark will.

 

These beings are almost always hostile, as their existence is the eternal opposite of life and creation. Their main purpose is to eradicate life from the living realm, so that the Void may consume all. It is not uncommon that Voidborne attack their own kind or other dark-aligned characters, even. They will submit to their master's will but often little else.