Humans

The orb of Equinox traveled the universe, flung from the fingers of the angered Praneel, unknown to its inhabitants. The new life brought about from the blood of creation drew the souls of the departed to it. These souls were from worlds lost or destroyed and some whose time had come too soon. They all craved the breath of existence that was so freshly given to this small world. The sweet scent of life was still new as the last of Aeonleece faded away in the arms of Praneel.

Their histories have faded to time leaving only a shadow of their former selves craving to live again, unwilling to rest or perhaps unable to. Taking to the world, lured by the scent of a new life, these wayward spirits took to lurking just out of sight of the various creations until something unexplainable happened. For some time tales of the haunted wood struck fear in all those who tread upon the surface. Even the Dark Elves, who only ventured forth at night, could not deny what was felt. Ghosts and specters had somehow come to exist in their ever changing world. These restless souls cried out into the night searching for a way to break the thin veil between life and death.

A short time after the world was haunted with souls of the lost; the humans emerged from the wood. How this came to pass is unknown even to them and the ability has been lost as the newness of creation faded. Some claim they sprang from the earth itself so great was their desire to exist once more, while others believe that they are a deformed race of giant dwarves. They were viewed as devils that possessed a magic the world had never seen.

Humans lack a creator and are without a patron god though this has never weighed heavily upon them as they adopted the creators of Equinox for themselves. Their mysterious origins and sometimes odd talk of a time long lost to them leave them untrustworthy in the eyes of the other races. Frail and ill-suited to difficult conditions, the humans advanced quickly building a city and the life they once craved so deeply. As different as they all were there was one thing among them that they all shared, the will to live, thrive, and above all survive. Though the shortest lived of all the races, the humans have been the most able to leave their own mark on the world… both ones of good and evil.

Villagers of Haverstoke
The villagers of Haverstoke are comprised of peasants, merchants, and nobility. It is a place lovingly ruled by the monarchy with the aid of his royal officials. Haverstoke boasts pleasant warm weather all year round. Flowing rivers surround the kingdom and make the land bountiful to the farmer. The river gives way, not far off, to the open ocean where many fish and other wonders lie just beneath the surface. It is a simple life in Haverstoke, one that appeals to humans from all walks of life and even other races. The citizens often call Haverstoke the capital of the world, known for its diversity and good fortune. Here any willing to abide by the laws set forth, is all but guaranteed a fruitful life.

Gypsies
Gypsies are a nomadic people. This is not to say they are hermits. As most humans they are social, but because of their social standing many would not accept them. They live in a caravan of tents travelling together amongst their own people. Each tent is unique to the person who owns it and is usually passed down through the family from mother to daughter. Men move into the tents of their sisters and wives or sleep beneath the stars. When it comes time to move, the gypsy elder decides when and where to move. The rest of the caravan packs quickly and follows. Gypsies tend to keep their own animals. Not only creatures of labor to haul their belongings, but chickens and sheep to gather their own resources and reduce the need to enter a city.

The gypsies would never move too close to any city or town for a number of reasons. The first reason would be a gypsy's spirit. They are free and wild and would not be ones to be closed in by a city's laws or walls. The second reason is safety, as any city is likely to raid or attack the caravan should they venture too close. In the wilderness they are free to do as they please in their eyes and they do not acknowledge such the property of anyone, even a kingdom. They also are offered some protection by being in a secluded spot. The entire town, with guard in tow, would need to rally together to venture into a caravan's temporary territory safely to make them leave. When this happens, the gypsy elder moves the caravan to a safer place. They are not ones for open confrontation.

The way of life in a caravan is one of sleepy quiet days and wild nights by a bonfire. They keep to their own for the most part, but that does not mean a curious villager will not find their way to them. There are various things a gypsy may do to try and earn a bit of coin. Gold is not important in a gypsy's way of life, but they know better than to refuse it. Gypsies dance, sing, tell stories, read fortunes, and ply their trade from the safety of their caravan. The trades they have learned are passed down as tradition from mother to daughter. Men usually are rogues and thieves among the gypsy culture though a gypsy would never steal from their own people.

A caravan is a communal way of life. A gypsy does not own much. They are not a material people. Material possessions are for those who settle down in one place, not for those constantly on the move. What little they do have is shared freely with their people. So long as there is stew in the pot or a piece of cloth to cover with at night beneath a starry sky, never does any one gypsy go for want.

Pirates of Scarlet Port
Pirates are a people of the sea. They live off of the sea's bounties though this is not limited to only that which dwells beneath the ocean surface. They also live off of their spoils from captured ships or raided towns that they reach via their pirate ships. Even they must have a place on land to call home and this is Scarlet Port. No pirate worth their salt would live any place else. In this lawless town, they are able to live as a true pirate would. What happens in Scarlet Port, remains in Scarlet Port. No king rules here, it is the law of the land that decides your fate. It is the risk any visitor takes in landing upon their shores. Here, in this place of debauchery, there are no taboos. You only live once, and Scarlet Port is definitely "alive."

The ale is bountiful and the dock is strategically placed away from open sea. Pirates too have their own code to live by. "Take care" of only one other than yourself… the one who stands before you earning your ire. Many pirates join a crew headed by a captain. They are then extremely loyal to their captain... until they saw reason to mutiny. Ah, the life of a pirate is one filled with adventure and cut-throat politics.

Any ship worth the wood it is made from has a name as given by the captain. Pirates have a love for the vessel that carries them safely across the water and back laden with bounty. It is a love they lack even for their fellow man. Pirates themselves often live under assumed nicknames. To know a pirate's true name is akin to knowing their deepest secret and few often learn this and live to tell of it. They are not the wealthiest of people, but pirates lead a comfortable life by their own standards. Those who amass any real wealth usually retire from their pirating ways before another can steal their booty. They leave Scarlet Port never to be seen again and begin life anew with their true names as rich merchants living the clean life safely protecting their wealth behind a lawful kingdom. After all... they can now afford to be legitimate after all their terrible deeds. The question is... when are you wealthy enough to retire from the seas?

Pirates are not known for their modesty or sincerity. They are selfish, rude, and have little pride to show for themselves. The only pride they know is in the notches in their cutlass (how many they have slain), the size of their ship, and the swagger brought about by a sizeable booty. Nothing else, not the wench waiting upon shore or their own brother, means anything to them... unless they were able to be sold into servitude. The womenfolk of the town often have little option in their life. They can either dare to become a pirate captain of their own, as most male captains would not find them suitable crew, or become one of the many wenches about Scarlet Port.

There it be, a pirate life for ye? Only if ye be of mettle bold and cold. It can be a lonely life... until you enter the local tavern where every pirate fears and respects you and there is always enough ale to warm away the chill in your belly.

Worshippers of Cazriel
These mysterious people who choose to dwell in one of the harshest environments known to Equinox are the worshippers of Cazriel. The lands are barren and windswept. Sand storms are a daily reality to these who pit themselves against the terrible elements and devastation. It is an attempt to reach the highest levels of self-discipline, purity, and to maintain a state where the spiritual is held above all else. The gods come before their own spouse and family. They believe in the complete subjugation to one’s gods and the sultan here is seen as a god in his own right, though he rarely ventures outside of his palace.

They are the devout followers of neutral or good gods and goddesses. Which god, if not all of the righteous deities, a Cazrielen chooses to follow means little here so long as one supplements themselves to the higher beings of Equinox. The majority of this remote world takes up the path of priesthood to serve in the local temple of Cazriel. They are very skilled as crafters from custom. They live a simple life and survive off what little the desert offers them and their own abilities. They are able to craft but they are a far cry from merchants and often take some persuasion to part with what they do create.

The benevolent warmth or the wrath that is a Cazrielen is without peer. Their dedication if not sometimes misled, is admirable. It takes the discipline only a Cazrielen knows to survive in this city. Truly if their gods hear them, they are happy with these people though all that is known in their life is suffering for the higher cause. Only those whose faith is unshakeable in good and neutral deities are welcome to dwell among them in the sands, for they fear the taint of the savage heathens and blasphemers who give anything less than their all to the unseen.

Outcasts of Shadegard
The life of the outcast often drives one to desperate measures. Where else can one go when they feel the world has turned its back on them? Perhaps they cannot find safety or comfort among the breath of others. Here in Shadegard, the lost refugees of the world are taken in with no discrimination and no real interest in who they are. To one in the throes of society this may seem a terrible thing, but it also means that Shadegard does not care what one has done to join the frosty plains of snow and ice.

It is here that one can truly disappear. The stiff air, jagged with cold like daggers against lungs and skin alike, penetrates even the thickest of furs. The snowstorms are constant making it difficult to see several feet ahead. The snow falls quickly covering footfalls left in the snow but a few paces behind the foot that makes them. For one who has nothing among others, it gives the feeling of comfort that can only be found in perfect solitude.

A lawless, desolate town where there is an honor among thieves. A distant respect is paid to each resident here, there are no warm fires around which those of Shadegard gather to learn of their neighbors or share in a warm mug of cider. Such comforts are what they willingly left behind for the life of a hermit. To come to Shadegard hoping to find one of these vagabonds is a wasted effort. Any you happen to encounter on the blistering cold nights will swear with conviction that they alone live on the island and always have. It is a place of perfect anonymity.