Resho
The Resho are a mutated offshoot of humanity, born from survivors who sought refuge in underground vaults and bunkers during a devastating nuclear fallout. Over generations, their bodies adapted to the dim, subterranean world, resulting in pale, almost translucent skin and hair that shimmers in shades of white or faint silver, a stark contrast to their ancestors’ diverse tones. Speaking Arboris—a lilting, melodic language rooted in their reverence for nature—they emerged from the depths to carve out hidden villages within dense forests. Their homes hang gracefully from ancient branches, connected by floating stone walkways lined with wooden fences draped in cascading vines, blending seamlessly with the woodland canopy. A peaceful race, the Resho shun violence unless it threatens their kin, prizing the safety of their people and the pursuit of magical knowledge above all else. Their leaders are chosen by bloodlines tied to the original vault-dwellers, but in the absence of heirs, they hold elections to select the most capable guide, reflecting their pragmatic yet communal
spirit. Their economy thrives on crafting staves and light armors from Dathir wood—a rare timber infused with residual nuclear energy, glowing faintly and prized for its mystical properties.
Culturally, the Resho view their pale appearance as a badge of endurance, a reminder of their survival against annihilation. Their festivals, held under moonlit canopies, celebrate the first vault exodus with dances mimicking the sway of trees and songs in Arboris recounting ancestral tales. Education, especially in magic, is sacred—children learn to channel Dathir energy from a young age, weaving it into spells or artifacts. They tattoo their skin with vine-like patterns in luminescent ink, each design marking personal milestones or family lineage. Disputes are settled through "Leaf Councils," where elders mediate beneath the oldest tree in the village, ensuring harmony. Their aversion to violence stems from a cultural memory of war’s cost, yet their staves double as subtle weapons, hinting at a quiet readiness to defend their sylvan sanctuaries.