[ANCIENT TOMB-SCRIBED BY ARCHIVIST ELDREN OF VELHEM, YEAR 478 POST-RIFT]
In the shadowed annals of our fractured world, where the Great Rift tore open the skies and spilled chaos upon the lands, new breeds of humanity emerged from the frost and fury. These are no mere races, but evolutions born of desperation, bodies twisted by the veil's cruel magic, souls forged in endless winter. Herein lies the truth of the Riftborn and the Beastfolk, as witnessed by survivors and scholars alike. Beware, reader: knowledge of such beings often invites the gaze of those who hunt them.
[RIFTBORN: THE GROTESQUE OUTCASTS OF THE EAST]
The Riftborn are humanity's unwanted children, spat from the Great Rift's maw like poisoned seeds. First sighted in the eastern wastelands those barren expanses where snow falls eternal and the veil between worlds thins to a whisper they are a new species, born not of bloodlines but of catastrophe. When the Rift opened centuries ago, it did not merely displace lands; it infused the survivors with its volatile essence. Ordinary folk farmers, scholars, wanderers awoke changed: scales creeping across flesh like invasive ink, black veins threading through skin as if sewn by shadow-needles, limbs twisting into unnatural forms that ache with every breath.
Their appearance is grotesque, a mockery of the human form. Some bear iridescent hides that shift like oil on water, others sprout faint wings at the neck, useless for flight but pulsing with dark energy. Eyes blacken to voids, swallowing light; claws emerge unbidden in rage or fear. These mutations are not gifts but curses: painful, unpredictable, often fatal in youth. A Riftborn child might freeze their own blood in sleep, or shatter bones in a fit of anger. Those who survive adolescence grow stronger—faster, resilient to cold and poison but at the cost of their humanity.
Mostly confined to the east, where the Rift's scars run deepest, Riftborn clusters hide in frozen ruins or nomadic caravans. Society shuns them: in Velhem, they are "specimens" for noble experiments, bought from slavers and dissected in basement labs. In Elyria, they are "monsters in human masks," hunted for sport or forced into gladiatorial pits. Maltreatment is their birthright branded as harbingers of doom, blamed for blizzards and failed crops. Whispers claim they summon rifts anew, drawing horrors from beyond. Few rise above: some become mercenaries, their powers turning battles; others vanish into the wilds, forming hidden enclaves where mutations are celebrated as "adaptations."
Yet, in their veins flows untapped potential mana reserves that shatter measuring crystals, spells woven from instinct rather than incantation. If united, the Riftborn could reshape empires. But division and despair keep them scattered, prey to the world's cruelties.
[BEASTFOLK: THE HONORED HYBRIDS OF THE WILDS]
In contrast stand the Beastfolk, revered as evolution's favored sons and daughters. Born from the same Rift cataclysm, they are humans fused with the essence of evolved beasts animals warped by the veil's magic into intelligent, formidable creatures. Where Riftborn suffer rejection, Beastfolk command respect, their forms seen as blessings from ancient spirits.
They are marked by horns: curving rams' spirals for the sturdy, antlered crowns for the swift, spiraled ivory for the cunning. Fur patches their skin in patterns—tiger stripes for stealth, wolf pelts for endurance. Tails lash with emotion; ears twitch at whispers miles distant. Claws and fangs are tools of trade, not terror. A Beastfolk warrior might charge with the force of a bull, or stalk prey with a panther's grace. Their senses are heightened: night vision pierces blizzards, scents reveal hidden foes.
Regarded well across realms, Beastfolk integrate into societies as guardians, hunters, and shamans. In Velhem, noble houses breed alliances with Beastfolk clans for their loyalty and strength; in Elyria, they lead elite regiments, horns adorned with gold. Unlike the maltreated Riftborn, Beastfolk enjoy privileges, lands granted, festivals honoring their "primal purity." Legends paint them as bridges between man and wild, protectors against the Rift's beasts.
But harmony hides thorns: interbreeding dilutes their traits, leading to "dilute-bloods" scorned within clans. Rivalries with pure humans, jealousy over their endurance in the frozen world. And in the east, where Riftborn dwell, clashes erupt: Beastfolk hunters often raid Riftborn camps, viewing them as "deformed rivals" unfit for the veil's gifts.
[ARCHIVIST'S NOTE]
Thus, the Rift-world spins on axes of envy and evolution. The grotesque Riftborn, maltreated shadows of the east, versus the honored, horned Beastfolk two sides of the veil's coin. One day, perhaps, they shall clash or unite. Until then, tread carefully: the frost hides many secrets, and the mutated walk among us.