Hi guys, it's my first time here and writing, I'm a huge dark science fantasy fan, inspired by the likes of FromSoftware games, H.P Lovecraft writings, Warhammer, and 'The Vagrant'. I've been world-building, creating the cosmology and planning on a master document whilst drafting concept sketches for a few weeks now, and would really appreciate some constructive critique and advice. The image attached is the backstory of the first race I've created, would love some advice on what to improve, so far I've written around 20.000 words, including 12 races, 6 human factions, approximately 20 Gods, and a whole lot more lore, magic, conflicts, and a bunch other cool stuff. Let me know if I should post more. Thanks everyone.

https://preview.redd.it/a6xghux1ewjh1.png?width=836&format=png&auto=webp&s=3a1a68e0fcc6b18c9a52faffd2abef312a18c6cb

I wrote a novel that's 100k words. It takes place in a world I created where all the fairy tales happened. I am writing a series of books - it's a very long story! - and I will have a few coming of age stories for Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks, Jack (and the beanstalk), Hansel and Gretel, and Rumpelstiltskin. These will interconnect. And then I am writing a series 15 years later when all the princesses (like Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty) are all queens and have children.

But I have finished the one about Red Riding Hood. It's told through the daughter of the Big Bad Wolf. It's Ya with crossover appeal for Upper MG (but I honestly think adults might enjoy it as well). I'm hoping to find some people that might want to read it and give me feedback. If there are subreddits that you'd recommend me to post in about this I'd love to hear it!

Blurb:
For two years, Nella has lived in the shadow of her father’s disappearance. To humans, he was the Big Bad Wolf: monster, murderer, nightmare of the forest and their villages. To wolves, he was something else entirely—the protector who kept Wolfpine safe.
But now he is gone, and the forest he once ruled is breaking apart. Humans are cutting deeper into Wolfpine Forest. The packs of dire wolves are starving, divided, and restless.
Then one night, Nella discovers a dead animal with something worse than sickness in its body—something bitter, unnatural, and old. As fear spreads across Wolfpine, Nella is forced toward a role everyone expects her to inherit, whether she wants it or not.
It may be up to her to save Wolfpine. But to do so, she’ll have to trust the least likely ally of all: a girl in a red cloak.
Red’s family history is tangled with Nella’s in blood, grief, and stories neither of them fully understand. Not yet. But as corrupted animals appear more often and humans and wolves edge closer to war, Nella and Red must decide whether the past will dictate the future—or whether they can build a peace strong enough to save Wolfpine before fear destroys it.

Whats good.

Let me start off by saying that english is not my first language. Im looking for someone, potentially a writing group to talk to, critique writing or ideas, you get the idea. Im 19, this is my first attempt at writing a book and overall worldbuilding as it is.

I have been doing this for more or less the past 4 months and i wrote a lottle over 30 pages so far. (A large part or the 4 months i was trying to do the worlsbuilding) I am doing this as a hobby right now since i just finished highschool and just trying out new things. If this ends ends up just being a hobby/project i made or somehow working out- all the better.

So im getting back to my point. Considering im a begginer maybe if there are people maybe ina similiar spot, hit me up. If any experienced join, id be all the happier. The more the merrier some would say.

Thanks :)

Beneath the Blood Moon: A Pure Blood Reckoning - Dark Fantasy Book Trailer

I created a short cinematic teaser for my dark‑fantasy novel, focusing on atmosphere, emotion, and worldbuilding rather than plot details. The video shows my main character inside a stone chamber reading a letter that changes everything, followed by a blood‑red moon rising over a ruined city; no spoilers - just a glimpse into the tone and aesthetic of the world.

If you enjoy dark fantasy with secrets, ancient power, and a world built on buried truths, this might be your vibe.

Book Link:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FK2ZWHD9

Website:
https://taglenn.carrd.co/

Mailing List:
https://mailchi.mp/a9b6ce72c001/beneath-the-blood-moon-a-pure-blood-reckoning (mailchi.mp in Bing)

Ko‑fi:
https://ko-fi.com/taglenn

I'm 12 and writing a fantasy book about
two princes -aros (mc) and james who travel the continent of blayan to reach the lake of darkness bc they have to give the ancient mer people an ancient item stolen by the king

Well you’re in luck! I just finished the third chapter of my fantasy novel, The Weakest Of Us, on Wattpad. You should go read it! It’s about gods, drugs and blood and currently has a grand total of 1 view!!!!! I’d really appreciate it you gave it a read and gave me some feedback!

I’d be happy to share the link if you have trouble finding it, all you need do is ask!

Hello my name is Chance B and this is my anime idea

THE LIVES I LEFT BEHIND

Genre: Action / Fantasy / Supernatural / Psychological / Drama
Format: Anime series
Tone: Emotional, mysterious, dark, with intense action and occasional humor

THE HOOK

A dying man makes one final wish:

“If I’m going to die… let me live every life I could have lived.”

His wish is granted.

He is reincarnated again and again into completely different lives and worlds. In each life, he becomes someone different—a warrior, a villain, a king, a nobody, a hero, and even someone who causes terrible things.

But there is a price.

Every time he dies, he loses the person he was.

His memories disappear. His personality changes. His relationships are forgotten. The person he loved in one life means nothing to the person he becomes in the next.

Eventually, he reaches what appears to be his final life.

And this time, something goes wrong.

He remembers.

Not just one life.

All of them.

And he realizes that every life he lived was leading toward one final battle.

A battle against his greatest enemy.

Himself.

THE STORY

The protagonist begins as an ordinary young man who dies unexpectedly.

As he lies dying, he regrets everything he never got to experience. He wonders who he could have become if he had made different choices.

With his final breath, he wishes:

“I want to live every life I could have lived.”

He awakens in another world.

At first, he believes he has simply been reincarnated.

But after living that life and eventually dying, he is born again.

Different body.

Different family.

Different world.

Different personality.

Different destiny.

He has no memory of his previous life.

This happens over and over.

In one life:

He’s a powerless boy who becomes a legendary warrior.

In another:

He’s born with incredible power but becomes a tyrant.

In another:

He’s a healer who refuses to fight.

In another:

He’s a criminal.

In another:

He’s a king who sacrifices himself to save his kingdom.

In another:

He’s just an ordinary person who lives a peaceful life.

Every life teaches him something.

But he doesn’t remember any of it.

The audience, however, gradually begins seeing connections between his lives.

A phrase he says without knowing why.

A fighting technique he somehow remembers.

A song that makes him emotional.

A stranger who feels strangely familiar.

A scar appearing in the same place.

Little pieces of his previous selves are surviving.

THE FINAL LIFE

Eventually, he is reincarnated into a world where humans and supernatural beings are at war.

This time, he is born with an extraordinary ability.

He becomes a hero.

Unlike his previous lives, this version of him genuinely wants to save people.

He builds friendships.

He falls in love.

He discovers what seems to be the greatest threat in the world.

A mysterious enemy known as The Other.

The Other seems to know everything about him.

Every fighting technique.

Every weakness.

Every fear.

Every person he loves.

And whenever the protagonist gets close to defeating him, The Other disappears.

Eventually, the protagonist discovers the truth.

THE TWIST

The Other is him.

Not his current self.

Every version of himself that he left behind.

The warrior.

The tyrant.

The criminal.

The king.

The coward.

The hero.

The innocent child.

Every personality and every choice he made throughout his countless lives has been accumulating somewhere.

His wish didn’t simply allow him to experience different lives.

It split him apart.

Every time he died, the life he had lived was abandoned.

Those abandoned versions eventually became conscious.

And they hate him.

Because from their perspective, he was the one who abandoned them.

The greatest enemy isn’t evil.

It’s everything he refused to accept about himself.

THE FINAL BATTLE

The protagonist fights The Other.

At first, he tries to defeat him.

But every time he attacks, The Other uses abilities from one of his previous lives.

The protagonist realizes he can’t win by simply becoming stronger.

He has spent his entire existence trying to become someone else.

A better person.

A stronger person.

A hero.

But the only way to defeat himself is to finally accept all of himself.

The good.

The evil.

The mistakes.

The people he saved.

The people he hurt.

The lives he loved.

The lives he hated.

The people he became.

He finally tells The Other:

“You aren’t the part of me I need to destroy.”

“You’re the part of me I left behind.”

Instead of killing his other selves, he accepts them.

For the first time, he remembers everything.

THE ENDING

But there is one final consequence.

His original wish has finally been fulfilled.

He has lived every life he could have lived.

There is nothing left.

His body begins to disappear.

His friends desperately try to save him.

He tells them that he’s not afraid anymore.

For the first time in all his lives, he knows exactly who he is.

He dies.

For real.

There is no reincarnation.

No reset.

No new world.

No second chance.

His friends are devastated.

But the world he saved continues.

The final scene shows children telling stories about the hero who saved their world.

One child asks:

“What happened to him?”

Someone answers:

“He died.”

The child asks:

“Was he scared?”

And the answer is:

“No. He had already lived a thousand lives.”

The screen fades to black.

Then we hear the protagonist’s voice:

“I spent my whole life wondering who I could have been.”

“In the end, I learned that I only needed to be me.”

Alright guys, I’ll be straight up. I'm a world-builder, not a novelist. I’ve spent a ton of time building out a brutal, deeply detailed fantasy universe from the ground up—custom cosmology, distinct species, deep lore, the whole nine yards.

I have the universe, the rules, the beginning, and the end locked down. What I can't do is actually write the book. I need a Partner who can take the blueprints I’ve already put together and actually turn them into a real, breathing story.

What the story is actually about:

Forget endless lore dumps. At its core, it’s a heavy, gritty character story following a guy named Leorizin. He’s lived through the apocalypse twelve times and is trapped in a 23-year time loop, carrying the physical and mental scars of every single failure. Now, in the 13th loop, he's facing the end again, completely exhausted and dealing with real human messiness—trauma, love, grudges you can't let go of, and fighting when you've got nothing left.

What I'm looking for:

* Someone who likes dark, high-stakes storytelling with flawed, tired characters.

* A real partner. I don't need a yes-man; I need someone who can take my lore, interpret it through their own style, and actually write the prose.

* Someone straight up and reliable. Let's be real, I'm super passionate about this and I can be a lot sometimes, so I just want someone who wants to build something cool without any bullshit.

If you’re a writer who's tired of shallow plots and wants to sink your teeth into a massive, fleshed-out project, drop a comment or shoot me a DM. Let’s talk and see if we click.

I currently am writing a fantasy light novel i am at act 35 so im half way through it if anyone is intrested in reading what i currently have id be deeply greatful, and I would enjoy some helpful criticism let me know if your interested in reading what I currently have

Tales of Euphoria: Like Flowers in Full Bloom

Chapter I 

The Troupe D’ambroisie

Giant toadstools of red and purple towered above the troupe. An audience of gnomes & travellers began to silence as the makeshift stage darkened and a single sphere of light was gently released into the sky above by the enigmatic old man.

Beneath its gentle hue a woman lay centre stage – her hair of crimson swept in the cool breeze. The lids of her eyes a stark black. Pure green iris’s shone out towards the gathering crowd, reflecting the greenery of the canopy floor. To the side, the old man waved his wand over the plethora of stringless instruments strewn across the stage. Slowly, they began to strum, and drum, and hum. A sweet melody irradiated through the Mycelium Forest of the Gnomish peoples. And then, she began to sing.

The audience were in awe as she swung her arms over herself. Every flair of grace beckoned another second of watching. Butterflies landing among her gentle poise as she pirouetted across the stage. Her eyes glistened brighter and brighter as the movements increased, and from her chest – a kaleidoscope of colour intensified, leaving trails of translucent awe in her wake. But whilst she pranced, and unbeknownst to the audience… Her siblings began.

Transfixed upon the aethereal figure that darted across his line of vision. Morgaine was unaware that the performer’s associates had begun to ‘work’ the crowd. Two hooded figures hidden deep in the backdrop of the canopy began to cut purses, pick pockets, and steal any loose belongings left unattended by the occupied audience. Stealthily creeping from person to person with feverish intent. So bewitched were the audience, that none could astray their gaze.

As the song began to climax, the dancer gave one last twirl as flashes of light blinded the audience. And when the song had ended, and the lights faded, all that was left was a simple, word-down caravan. That creaked as the old man whipped his wand into the air and it began to shuttle away. The three performers stood atop the old wooden wagon – and bowed.

Hey everyone! Welcome to the start of a new story and the introduction to the world of Tellus! This project has been a big passion of mine for a long time, and I am so excited to share it with you!

Special thanks to u/Alexwavediver and Spiderwebs and u/Acceptable_Egg5560 for the editing and proofreading. And thank you to Spiderwebs and Art Milena Calumby Belo (u/Acomplished_Tea_248) for the art!

If you like this story, please check out my Patreon and join the Discord! 

https://www.patreon.com/WinSomeGame?utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator

https://discord.gg/KjyMnbyB3

Hope you all enjoy!

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Art By Spi_di_der_Webs

Chapter 1-6 Alke Elves

Art by Melina Calumby Belo

Alke Elves

Average Height: 5'6" (Female), 5'11" (Male)

Average Weight: 150 lbs (Female), 200 lbs (Male)

Appearance: Tall, broad, and powerfully built with obsidian skin. Their intimidating stature is often enhanced through ceremonial paints, masks, and trophies.

Hair Colors: Black, white, and dark blue.

Culture Classification: Savage, Barbaric

The Alke Elves are the predominant elven people of Alkebulan and, in my estimation, the physically strongest of all elven subraces. Their broad shoulders, dense musculature, and remarkable endurance allow them to survive hardships that would swiftly claim the lives of most other peoples. Heat that would leave a Civic Elf collapsed within the hour is little more than an inconvenience to an Alke.

They possess an uncanny ability to endure famine as well, surviving for astonishing lengths of time upon roots, insects, and even the mineral-rich dust gathered from the dry earth. I cannot claim to understand how the latter sustains them, only that I witnessed it more than once.

Their kingdoms are governed by mighty warriors, revered elders, and sorcerer-priests whose authority is seldom questioned. Warfare permeates every aspect of Alke society. Leadership is earned through strength, wisdom, and spiritual power rather than inheritance alone, and kingdoms often rise and fall with the fortunes of extraordinary rulers.

The sorceries practiced by the Alke are among the oldest—and, if I may confess, among the most unsettling—I have encountered. They speak freely with spirits that many others would desperately avoid, bargain with powers buried beneath the earth, and perform rites whose meanings even they sometimes admit have been forgotten. One does not linger near an Alke ritual unless invited... and even then, caution is advisable.

Their homeland is unlike any other upon Tellus. Alkebulan is littered with cyclopean ruins, forgotten temples, and shattered cities whose builders have long vanished from memory. Hidden among these relics lie treasures beyond imagination, but also horrors that have survived the passing of countless ages. Monstrous beasts roam its wilderness in abundance, and there are places where even seasoned Alke hunters refuse to tread after sunset.

Most curious of all are the ancient guardians. Throughout Alkebulan stand shrines, vaults, and forgotten halls watched over by hereditary orders of Alke whose duty has remained unchanged for generations beyond counting.

They defend these places with unwavering devotion, yet are forbidden by sacred law from entering them themselves. When I inquired as to why, the answers varied from village to village, though every explanation ended with the same warning: "Some doors are closed for the sake of the world." I would have given a great deal to see what lay beyond them.

The Alke maintain that they are the first people of Tellus, and that every other race has merely wandered from the roots from which they sprang. Most scholars dismiss this as tribal mythology. Yet after walking among their ancient ruins, hearing songs whose verses no neighboring people could translate, and seeing monuments weathered almost beyond recognition... I find myself less certain than I once was.

Their customs can also be... spirited. During one harvest celebration, an Alke woman, apparently convinced that I intended to continue my travels, tore a lock of hair from my head before I could object. My guide calmly informed me that she intended to brew a charm that would persuade me to remain in her village indefinitely. Whether the concoction possessed genuine magical properties or merely reflected wishful thinking, I cannot say. My scalp, however, remained sore for several days thereafter.

Despite that memorable assault upon my dignity, I confess I departed Alkebulan reluctantly. No land upon Tellus whispers of forgotten ages more loudly than theirs. Every ruined wall, every weathered monument, and every forbidden doorway seems determined to remind the traveler that history is far older than the stories we choose to remember. Had circumstances allowed, I would gladly have remained among the Alke for many more years. I suspect they are guardians not merely of ancient ruins, but of truths the rest of Tellus has long since forgotten.

Chapter 1-7 Abyssinic Elves

Art by Melina Calumby Belo

Abyssinic Elves

Average Height: 6'0" (Female), 6'5" (Male)

Appearance: Exceptionally tall and lean with obsidian, ebony, brown, or dark bronze skin. They are known for their welcoming demeanor. Males commonly practice scarification.

Hair Colors: Black, brown, white, and red.

Culture Classification: Civilized

The Abyssinic Elves are among the oldest civilizations upon Tellus and, without question, the finest archers I have ever encountered. They believe the bow to be a sacred instrument entrusted to them by the heavens, not merely for hunting or war, but to defend the innocent and strike down wickedness wherever it is found. To an Abyssinic, a drawn bow is as much a declaration of faith as it is a weapon.

Their men commonly practice scarification, each scar commemorating a deed worthy of remembrance. Victories in tournaments, remarkable feats of marksmanship, or enemies felled in honorable combat are all deserving of such marks. The women are no less accomplished, though they more often commemorate their achievements with carefully placed piercings around the abdomen, each ornament quietly recording triumphs that need not be spoken aloud.

The Abyssinics claim their ancestors crossed the sea from Alkebulan before founding the Kingdom of Abyssinia through an alliance with the Kemet Elves. It is a curious tradition, for all learned men know that a child inherits the race of the father. Half-races simply do not exist... or at least, they should not. Whether their story conceals forgotten history, misunderstood migration, or something stranger still, I leave to future scholars.

Unlike nearly every other people of Tellus, the Abyssinics speak of hardship with gratitude rather than resentment. They believe suffering tempers the soul, that every trial is an opportunity to grow closer to righteousness.

Stranger still, they insist that every race upon Tellus is equal beneath the eyes of Mak-El, and that even one's enemy should be offered mercy before judgment. Such beliefs have earned them ridicule from many kingdoms and outright hatred from others. The followers of Mak-El are mocked as naïve dreamers, their god dismissed as weak because He neither demands conquest nor flatters the pride of kings. Having lived among them, I can attest that they are neither weak nor naïve.

Indeed, I have witnessed feats that continue to trouble my understanding of the world.

During a campaign against a cult devoted to one of the lesser gods, I saw an Abyssinic slave-soldier drive an ordinary bronze spear through the deity's breast. There were no enchanted runes, no sorcerous incantations, no divine relic. The god died screaming before the assembled armies.

On another occasion, an Abyssinic princess loosed a single arrow into the skull of a demon that had already survived volleys of enchanted missiles cast by accomplished sorcerers. Her shaft was plain ash tipped with bronze. The creature fell where it stood and never rose again.

I have searched for an explanation ever since.

Perhaps there is something within the blood of the Abyssinics themselves—a gift inherited from ancestors forgotten by history. Or perhaps the power lies not within them at all, but in the invisible God they worship so faithfully. I cannot say. I have found no satisfactory answer, and I have long since abandoned the arrogance of believing every mystery must yield to inquiry.

Whatever the truth, I know only this: if I were forced to stand against a demon, a sorcerer, or even one of the lesser gods themselves, I would pray that an Abyssinic stood beside me with a bow in hand.

Chapter 1-8 Inuatic Elves

Art by Melina Calumby Belo

Inuatic Elves

Average Height: 5'0" (Female), 5'4" (Male)

Average Weight: 140 lbs (Female), 160 lbs (Male)

Appearance: Copper-red skin with soft, rounded features and stocky builds. Their bodies are remarkably warm to the touch, possessing a fine layer of insulating fat beneath the skin and a thin lay of fur. Women bear pale markings resembling tattoos that faintly glow beneath moonlight.

Hair Colors: Black and brown.

Culture Classification: Barbaric

The Inuatic Elves inhabit the north and south western reaches of Vashkar, where frozen seas, endless snowfields, and bitter winds would quickly claim the unprepared. They have adapted so thoroughly to this unforgiving land that one begins to wonder whether they were shaped by the cold... or whether the cold itself has simply accepted them as its own.

They are among the gentlest people I have encountered. Quiet by nature, soft-spoken in conversation, and unfailingly courteous, the Inuatics possess a humility that seems almost foreign elsewhere upon Tellus. They seldom boast, seldom quarrel, and appear perfectly content with lives that many outsiders would consider harsh beyond endurance.

It took me several weeks to realize the Inuatics were not expressionless. Their smiles simply arrive more slowly than most. Spend a month among them and you will discover they laugh with their entire body. Introduce them to something genuinely new, however, and all that quiet reserve vanishes at once. I have never seen grown adults become so thoroughly captivated by a simple mechanical toy.

Their villages are built around the migrations of colossal caribou herds, giant elk, moose, and the great whales that roam the northern coasts. Rather than competing for every resource, neighboring communities frequently gather to trade, celebrate marriages, and share food during lean seasons. It is a simple arrangement, though one that has served them well for countless generations.

Physically, the Inuatics differ noticeably from other elves. Their bodies are softer, their faces rounder, and beneath their skin lies a generous layer of insulating fat accompanied by a coat of exceedingly fine fur. Most remarkable of all is their warmth. One scarcely believes it possible until shaking an Inuatic's hand, only to discover it feels as though they have been sitting beside a roaring hearth all day.

The women possess another curious trait. Flowing pale markings adorn their skin from birth, resembling intricate tattoos despite no pigment ever touching them. On clear nights, particularly beneath the full moon, these markings emit the faintest silvery glow. The Inuatics regard them as blessings from the Moon Mother, while their shamans insist they reveal something of a woman's spirit. I cannot speak to either claim, though I admit the sight is rather beautiful.

Though outsiders often mistake their calm disposition for weakness, such assumptions have proven costly. Inuatics rarely seek war, but when forced into it they become patient hunters. They know every drift, every frozen river, and every hidden pass. Entire warbands have disappeared into blizzards, only to discover too late that the smiling hunter who offered them directions had been leading them toward an ambush all along.

I must also confess to one of the more embarrassing moments of my travels. After a feast celebrating a successful whale hunt, I accepted the chief's invitation to share the warmth of the communal furs. I had underestimated quite how warm an Inuatic truly is. Between the hearty meal, the crackling fire, and what felt like sleeping against a living furnace, I drifted off almost immediately. Upon waking, I discovered I had rolled entirely atop the poor chief during the night and pinned him beneath my considerable weight. He endured the ordeal with admirable patience and, to my everlasting embarrassment, merely smiled and remarked that I "slept like a cub."

I have also grown rather fond of another Inuatic invention—the humble leather thong. I was initially skeptical that so little material could provide any comfort whatsoever, but after several weeks traversing the frozen wilderness, I was forced to concede its brilliance. It is warm where it ought to be, allows complete freedom of movement, dries quickly, and is astonishingly comfortable. Civilization may boast its silks, but I have quietly continued wearing Inuatic undergarments whenever the opportunity permits. I trust the reader will keep that admission in confidence.

Chapter 1-9 Njordic Elves

Art by Melina Calumby Belo

Njordic Elves

Average Height: 5'5" (Female), 5'10" (Male)

Appearance: Pale skin with sturdy, muscular builds. They carry themselves with purpose and possess an energetic, determined spirit.

Hair Colors: Red, brown, yellow, white, and grey.

Culture Classification: Barbaric

The Njordic Elves inhabit the rugged northern coasts where towering cliffs, icy seas, and dense forests shape nearly every aspect of life. They are an agrarian people during the warmer seasons, tending fields, raising livestock, and repairing the ships upon which their livelihoods depend.

When winter descends and the harvest is gathered, many turn their attention to the sea. Trade, exploration, mercenary work, and piracy become equally respectable occupations, depending largely upon which harbor one happens to ask.

Like the Barloric, the Njordics measure a person's worth less by birth than by the deeds they leave behind. Every warrior dreams of becoming the subject of songs long after death. Great voyages, impossible victories, glorious last stands, and even spectacular failures are cherished, provided they make for a tale worth retelling around the hearth.

Their reputation as scouts is well deserved. Few peoples navigate wilderness with equal confidence, whether through dense forests, frozen coastlines, or open seas. As shock troops they are ferocious, preferring swift assaults that shatter an enemy's resolve before a prolonged battle becomes necessary.

It is therefore little surprise that Njordics are among the most sought-after mercenaries in Tellus. Indeed, should one encounter an elven adventurer wandering distant lands, odds favor that they hail from the north.

They are, however, equally infamous as raiders. Coastal villages throughout the world tell stories of dragon-prowed ships appearing from the morning mist, their crews descending with frightening speed before vanishing over the horizon just as quickly. Countless peoples have been carried away in chains by Njordic captains. Yet to know only this side of them is to misunderstand them entirely. Once a Njordic calls another friend, there are few companions more steadfast. They possess a loyalty that borders upon stubbornness, and many would sooner perish beside a comrade than abandon them.

I speak with some authority on the matter.

Early in my travels, I was captured during one such raid and sold as a slave. Fortune, or perhaps simple curiosity, intervened when a local chief learned that I could read, write, and maintain detailed records. Rather than laboring in the fields, I found myself purchased as an advisor and keeper of accounts. Thus began one of the more unusual chapters of my life.

For nearly five years I served within his hall. To my great relief, I was permitted to retain all of my journals, and no one so much as disturbed a single page. On the contrary, the chief frequently encouraged my writing, insisting that someone ought to record his exploits accurately rather than relying upon the increasingly embellished versions sung by his skalds.

When my service ended, he granted me my freedom without condition. More astonishing still, he offered me the hand of his younger sister in marriage, declaring that I had become "almost respectable." It was an honor I declined with sincere gratitude. My life's work demands constant wandering, and I have never believed it fair to ask a wife to endure such endless absences. Besides, I have found that I outstay most people's expectations as it is.

The chief laughed heartily at my refusal, clasped my shoulder, and declared that I would always have a place beside his fire should I return. I regret that I never did.

For all their raiding, roaring, and reckless love of battle, I have seldom encountered a people who so readily welcomed a stranger once he had earned their trust. It is a lesson I have tried not to forget.

Chapter 1-10

Art by Melina Calumby Belo

Injah Elves

Average Height: 5'0" (Female), 5'4" (Male)

Average Weight: 110 lbs (Female), 120 lbs (Male)

Appearance: Dark to light brown skin with lean physiques. They move with remarkable purpose, often appearing hurried even when they are not.

Hair Colors: Black and brown.

Culture Classification: Civilized

The Injah Elves are not a single people so much as a magnificent tapestry woven from hundreds of kingdoms, tribes, dynasties, temples, and merchant republics. Throughout history they have been united beneath emperors, kings, shamans, conquerors, and self-proclaimed divine rulers, each insisting that destiny itself had entrusted them with dominion. None remained forever. The people, however, endured.

To the foreign observer, the lands of Injah appear to exist in a perpetual state of magnificent confusion. Markets overflow with merchants from lands separated by thousands of miles, holy men debate philosophy beside drunken musicians, nobles negotiate marriages while acrobats tumble overhead, and somewhere nearby an army is almost certainly marching toward someone else's border. Yet the Injah regard this not as disorder, but as life unfolding exactly as it ought.

Art, dance, mysticism, commerce, and prestige are the cornerstones of their civilization. They delight in ornamentation, eloquent speech, and public displays of learning. Even the humblest laborer often possesses an opinion concerning the nature of suffering, the soul, and one's proper place within the world—and is usually quite eager to explain it. Most astonishing, however, is their relationship with the divine.

The Injah possess so many gods that I long ago abandoned any hope of cataloging them all. They seem perfectly willing to elevate nearly anything possessing sufficient mystery, usefulness, or personality into divinity. Rivers have gods. Bridges have gods. Market stalls have gods. Families have gods. I once spent an afternoon listening to two elderly scholars argue passionately over whether a particular mango tree deserved formal worship. Neither found the discussion unusual.

Some of these deities are... unsettling.

One village introduced me to a household god who, I was assured with complete sincerity, consumed the livers of deceased slaves and, in exchange, guaranteed that every dish within the home would remain perpetually clean. I decided it best not to ask how such an arrangement had first been negotiated.

Others, I confess, possess an undeniable charm.

One particularly beloved spirit is said to resemble a little girl with tangled hair and perpetually sticky hands. Children leave sweets upon small household shrines, for she is said to scratch one's head while they sleep, chase away nightmares, and catch rabbits for families that have been especially kind to strangers. I never encountered her myself, though I admit I looked perhaps more often than was strictly dignified. One can always hope.

Whether these countless gods truly exist or are merely stories given life through generations of belief is a question I shall leave to priests far wiser than myself. I have found that certainty is a luxury seldom afforded to historians.

If there is one lesson the Injah have taught me above all others, it is that civilization need not resemble one's own to be profound. Beneath what first appears to be chaos lies an intricate order understood perfectly by those who call it home. I cannot pretend to understand every custom I witnessed there. Indeed, I suspect no Injah understands them all either. Curiously, this does not seem to trouble them in the slightest.

Chapter 1-11 Yayoi Elves

Art by Melina Calumby Belo

Yayoi Elves

Average Height: 4'10" (Female), 5'3" (Male)

Average Weight: 90 lbs (Female), 110 lbs (Male)

Appearance: Yellow to pale skin with refined, angular features. Lean, athletic builds renowned for extraordinary agility.

Hair Colors: Black, brown, and occasionally dark blue.

Culture Classification: Civilized / Barbaric

The Yayoi Elves dwell upon an archipelago east of the known continents, where towering mountains, dense forests, and restless seas have fostered one of the most distinctive civilizations upon Tellus. Though divided among numerous islands and competing lords, they share an astonishingly unified culture. Their architecture, dress, philosophy, cuisine, faith, and methods of war remain remarkably consistent throughout the islands.

Curiously, their language does not.

Travel but a few days by boat and one may discover that the local dialect has changed enough to leave even neighboring fishermen arguing over pronunciation. The Yayoi themselves appear entirely untroubled by this arrangement.

Their society occupies a curious place between civilization and barbarism. Great cities flourish beneath sophisticated governments, yet political authority is often maintained by powerful warlords whose ambitions ensure warfare remains almost constant. To an outsider this contradiction seems impossible. To the Yayoi, there is no contradiction at all.

Honor is not merely admired—it is expected. Tradition governs every aspect of life, from how one greets a guest to how one dies. They possess an extraordinary stillness of character. I have watched a Yayoi noble receive news that his estate had burned to the ground without so much as spilling his tea.

The waves of history may batter their shores endlessly, yet the Yayoi remain steadfast. I suspect that if Tellus itself shifted beneath their feet, they would simply bow politely before continuing with the day's schedule.

During my own travels I resided among them for nearly two years under the hospitality of a most peculiar young woman.

Our first meeting remains one of my more embarrassing recollections.

She approached me beside a woodland shrine and asked, quite earnestly,

"If I had been mutilated, would I still be a woman worth loving?"

Believing I had stumbled into an earnest philosophical dilemma, I launched into what I now recognize was an unnecessarily lengthy discourse concerning beauty, virtue, the nature of affection, the responsibilities of marriage, and whether love ought to survive even the greatest physical tragedy. I suspect I spoke uninterrupted for the better part of an hour.

When I finally exhausted myself, she laughed so heartily that tears formed in her eyes.

Then she invited me home.

Only much later—indeed, after I had departed the islands entirely—did I realize my mistake.

When introducing herself she had repeatedly said, "Yōkai." I, displaying all the brilliance for which scholars are renowned, assumed this to be her name. It was only after speaking with a merchant abroad that I discovered she had likely been saying, "I am a yōkai"—a wandering spirit.

Whether she truly was one I cannot say.

In truth... I rather hope she was.

She was unfailingly kind, possessed an uncanny habit of appearing wherever I happened to wander, and knew stories no village elder claimed to have taught her. When I finally departed, she embraced me warmly and pressed a small pouch of tea leaves into my hands.

I still carry it. And I have brewed from that same pouch more times than I could possibly count.

By every sensible measure, it should have been empty years ago.

It never is.

Perhaps there exists a perfectly rational explanation. If so, I confess I have little desire to discover it.

The tea itself is magnificent.

I have sampled beverages from every corner of Tellus, from spiced Kemet infusions to fermented Njordic brews and fragrant Injah concoctions. None compare to Yayoi tea. It possesses a gentle sweetness unlike anything I have tasted before, calming both body and mind with remarkable consistency. Whether this is due to careful cultivation or to the impossible little pouch resting in my satchel...

I leave to the reader's imagination.

Should fate ever return me to those distant islands, I believe my first destination shall not be a lord's court nor a scholar's library.

It shall be that quiet woodland shrine.

For I still owe Lady... Yokai... an apology for answering a question she never asked.

Chapter 1-12 Tletcuauhtlan Elves

Art by Melina Calumby Belo

Tletcuauhtlan Elves

Average Height: 3'6" (Female), 4'0" (Male)

Appearance: Short, limber bodies with bright crimson skin. Slightly hunched posture and remarkably agile, giving them an almost goblin-like appearance.

Hair Colors: Fire red, charcoal black, grey, and white.

Culture Classification: Savage

Among all the elven peoples of Tellus, none are regarded with greater suspicion than the Tletcuauhtlan Elves. To many foreigners they scarcely qualify as civilized beings at all, often dismissed as little more than clever beasts. I believe this assessment to be profoundly mistaken... though I confess I understand why it is made.

The Tletcuauhtlan inhabit an immense forest where the earth itself burns. Rivers of magma flow beneath ancient roots, causing enormous trees to smolder from within while somehow remaining alive. The forest glows day and night with dull embers, filling the air with smoke, ash, and oppressive heat. It is, without exaggeration, one of the most uncomfortable places I have ever had the misfortune of studying.

Necessity has made them ingenious. Bereft of workable stone and metal, they long ago mastered the art of hardening wood with fire. Their spears, clubs, knives, and bows are fashioned almost entirely from carefully charred timber, producing weapons far deadlier than their humble appearance would suggest.

They possess little interest in clothing. Most wear only leaves, woven branches, or belts adorned with trophies, while many wear nothing at all. The infernal climate offers little incentive for modesty.

Their societies are organized into fiercely independent nomadic tribes that wander the burning wilderness with astonishing confidence. One moment a tribe may be quietly sharing roasted fruit and meat beside a family fire; the next they erupt into shrieking laughter before sprinting naked through the blazing forest with no apparent destination or purpose. Whether these episodes are ritual, recreation, or simple exuberance remains beyond my understanding.

I was considerably more successful studying the Tletcuauhtlan than I ever was the elusive Pictic Elves.But that success came at a cost.

The forest nearly cooked me alive on several occasions, my journals were stolen repeatedly by curious children who insisted upon examining every page upside down, and one particularly enthusiastic young male became so fascinated by my ears that he bit my left earlobe clean off before I could react. I have since learned this was apparently his way of determining whether I was "real." I remain uncertain whether he found the answer satisfactory.

Curiosity, in fact, appears almost pathological among them. They would gather around me in groups, poking my clothing, rifling through my satchel, sniffing my hair, and occasionally attempting to taste objects they had never before encountered. More than once I was forced to wave my cane in protest, lightly swatting particularly persistent youngsters upon the back—or, when necessary, the backside—to shoo them away long enough to continue writing. They found this endlessly amusing and would often return moments later with twice as many companions.

Their dietary customs are, unfortunately, among the most disturbing recorded in this volume. Cannibalism is neither desperate nor taboo but woven into their spiritual beliefs. They maintain that consuming portions of the dead prevents hostile spirits from lingering among the living, while devouring one's enemies destroys the soul entirely. Whether this belief possesses any truth, I cannot say, though I have never felt inclined to test it.

Above all else, the Tletcuauhtlan defend their burning homeland with an almost fanatical devotion. They rarely leave its borders willingly, and outsiders who venture too deeply seldom depart without permission. Many scholars have proposed that these curious little elves represent some forgotten bridge between elves and beasts. I find such speculation unconvincing. They are not beasts.

They are simply... Tletcuauhtlan.

There is, I suspect, a profound difference.

Chapter 1-13

And so this concludes the selection of the Elven races of Tellus. I do wish I could have added more of my personal experiences and exploits among these people, and perhaps expanded upon the many, many nations that further divided each one. But, parchment is expensive and it would only bore most if I detailed every grain of sand I encountered. No matter how much I loved each grain. Perhaps I will save it for another time. My journey continues and I will document each beautiful race in my travles. As for you, dear readers, if the ample opportunity arises, I encourage meeting each one of the strange peoples in your travels.

To Be Continued

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Thank you all for reading this! I am so happy to get this project started! I will be posting more. And if you want to read earlier and without broken up posts, feel free to join the discord and Patreon! See yall soon!

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So I'm writing an epic fantasy book called A Clash of Crowns it is the first book I have ever tried to write. It is focused on concepts of betrayal, love, friendship, and much more. The story is set on the continent of Sarows which is made up of 10 kingdoms/regions which are The Breezlands, The Volands, Shivering Islands, The Riverlands, The Shattered Cliffs, the Iron Hills, The Golden Marshes, the Shining Shores, the Shallow Sea, and Bradon. Each region has their own noble houses and a High Lord which is the dominant house, the kingdom is ruled by one king who rules from Bradon on the High Throne. If anyone finds this interesting I would love to talk more about it.