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Listen closely to the aching ground beneath your feet. The genesis of your being twists and writhes in a sea of pulsating roots. Embrace the cold that worms its way in and the warmth that fills your veins. You are one, but it is many. The First Rasai had finally made themselves known. A leporine race of a peculiar nature had taken their first steps into the realms beyond their own; a place as chaotic as the creatures that reside there. Their origins are unknown, telling tall tales of running a long ways to prevent becoming another unfortunate species lost to The Hunt. With no history of them to have been recorded, there were few even aware of their existence during their centuries of absence. They're more than willing to fill the gaps for those who ask, but nobody finds the same story told twice. The Farlands was an erratic and unforgiving realm beyond realms, someplace not even the predators of the Rasai dared to follow, yet they praise its horrors for the protection they've been provided with. They claim to have been elsewhere once, in another time maybe, but nothing is as they remember. Generations spent in a twisted realm transformed them into strange creatures with an affinity for the arcane arts. No matter how far the changes take them, they always seem to retain leporine traits. Whatever they once were has long been forgotten and left in the past. Lingering on what made them weak would do them no good now. Their newfound capabilities have brought on a bout of confidence to return once again. Rasai could never truly find a way to put the Farlands into words, the everchanging nature of their homeland prevented them from ever describing anything with certainty. Each tale of the Farlands was unique to the individual Rasai, even those with intertwining lives rarely shared similar experiences. The journey to and from the Farlands was beyond the capabilities of the common man. Rifts into the realm were impossible to hold in one place and only sniffed out by the Rasai with their keen senses for the hidden, but there was no guarantee the rift would allow anyone through to begin with. The Farlands had a cruel sense of humour, happy to throw unwanted visitors into immediate danger or into another plane, especially those who proved to be a threat to its residents. A realm of supreme chaos demanded respect, only allowing spaces to be dampened into livable conditions by those who could survive its horrors. To Rasai, it was a home of constant change and a test to prove their strengths, a place to escape the Hunt and show their gratitude to the realm that protects them. To everyone else, enjoy the endless bloodied fields and pray you make it out alive. The common Rasai would be identical to humans had they not exhibited long ears and a stubby tail. They even matured at the same rate as humans, instead holding a youthful appearance for centuries before showing signs of aging again. Appearances vary, being prone to sudden changes and a myriad of gifts throughout their lives as a result of living in the Farlands. Yet, they mattered so little. The Hunt left them paranoid. To Rasai, the body is a mere shell and a vessel for survival. They acknowledged its importance, but strived to disconnect their being from it. There wasn't a single part of the body that didn't bring dread, to the point that compliments about their physique were considered threats. Ears could be collected as trophies, eyes and teeth were great alchemical ingredients and the meat of a Rasai was considered exotic. Their legs were said to be the most delicious part of them and keeping their clawed feet brought good luck. Their paranoia could wander far if they let them linger. Despite their fears, shells were unique. As Rasai find themselves enveloped by their passions, it begins to shape and change their markings. Calling roots would begin to sprout, permanently marking their body with symbols, patterns, and colours, corresponding to the source of the Rasai's euphoria. They would continue to grow with age and have been said to hold important memories. | _____ |
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Below their shells is a silhouette of the self, called a reflection. No Rasai can survive without one. It's incorporeal, quick to consume the Rasai form and transform them into a creature only vaguely resembling themself, with their calling roots visible across the shade. A reflection is weightless, swift across any terrain, without a solid form, and able to disconnect from the shell in rare circumstances. Rasai could switch between these two states at will and often did so to travel. While inactive, reflections hide below the shells and could only be seen by outsiders with silver or iron mirrors. From birth to death, the average Rasai life was a nightmare. Their constant fear of the Hunt drove them to disconnect from all life, leaving them with secluded lives filled with distrust. Obligations were broken as soon as they were no longer beneficial. The company they kept were little, if any at all, and left behind without hesitation. The idea of growth was overturned by dread and misery. Though, not all hope was lost for the Rasai. The protection that the Farlands provided finally allowed them to settle, even if generations of fear still lingered over them. Rasai still held onto extremist attitudes that changed on a whim, swinging between being overwhelmed with fear and embracing the peace. Their numerous children rarely held names of their own, fearing the Hunt will take their lives one day, yet continued to rapidly reproduce. The few that received names were considered the favourites, while the rest were only referred to with adjectives to identify them. Rather than sharing a birthday with dozens of unnamed siblings, Rasai chose a name of their own after years of contemplation and claimed a nameday; an annual celebration to mark their maturation. Death was all too common in the Farlands, but the Rasai found ways to live in a chaotic place. Their lives were filled with curiosity and wanderlust, constantly seeking the satisfaction of discovery. When death came for those careless with their desires, they were no longer considered Rasai. Empty shells were discarded and left to the realm to feed the cycle of life in the Farlands. With a new age of confidence came opportunities of a new life, one outside of the Farlands, yet the idea of traveling again was met with only controversy. The changes of the Farlands had tipped the scales in their favour, making them far more lethal than any hunter could've imagined them to become, but they valued their lives. Not a single Rasai could agree on one way to expand, if they wanted to leave the safety of the Farlands at all. With such a risk came a split among the race, separating them by paths. Physical differences between Rasai that chose different paths were rare, having to instead recognize fellow travelers on their path by a simple, yet distinct, greeting. Regardless, they vehemently despised Rasai that chose a path different from their own. Each path had a set of arcane talents available for those who follow them, various traits to be learned with age. | _____ |
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NOTE FOR CONNECTING
By default, connecting to this profile allows me to use your Rasai for occasional artwork such as assets for lore information, seasonal art, banners, and maybe occasional other fun things I feel like drawing. To opt out of this, please send me a note. | __________ |
The Drenched (played by ToughPuff) |
Vadym (played anonymously) |
Citrinitas (played by kjerub) |
Li'l (played by kjerub) |
Darling (played by kjerub) |