The Bramin people are guided by a compromise and diligence that, generation after generation, have perpetuated the wisdom that shines out from self-sacrifice. The roots of their lineage have not sprouted from the mean-spirited desires of man, but from the abundant richness of the divine.
There are no individuals in the Bramin hierarchy, all decisions where already made, now responsibility is all that is left. The Sequence towers above every single one of them and gives them a name, a name that will dictate every step in their lives.
There are actions that pass from father to son and words that take centuries to pronounce. The Bramin people are a unity that stands against the silence of the end of the world.
The forgotten, the unfortunate ones who remained alive, the generation that pays for the sins of their ancestors. The New Tenant do not form any group, but rather wander about hunting one another in a great dead end: the ruins of the modern world, the city of Karnathaka.
Outlawed by the new order, they have learned to live while being hounded and killed by the city. And so, those deserted from progress are scavengers by nature that take anything they can find to fulfil the most wretched desires.
Nevertheless, they are the first in the line of fire, the salt of the earth. While it is unbeknownst to them when and how they got here or what their intentions might have been, they know full well who is the enemy and so they fight it.
Old hunters who sailed the vast oceans since the ice gave birth to water. They have remained calm in front of the chaos since the world became.
Always on the side-lines of the great historic events, they inhabit the cold northern glaciers in the hardest of seasons, but their true home is in the arduous passing of a long pursuit.
The Mosoma tribes have not changed their traditions, they are simple and hard people: respect for the gods and happy hunting, there is where the fortune lies.
Those who noticed the loss of voice of the firmament ended up trapped by the bindweed of torment. Touched by fatality, the Teluric carry the weight of all evil that roams the earth. From this very nature emanate their inexplicable powers.
Only once in a while, a cursed creature is born among the tribes with no caste. Its existence carries the stigma of heresy, and so, its own people, fearing the persecution of the Bramin Counsel, turn their back on it.
As time goes by, darkness takes hold of the Teluric’s eyes and the silenced scream of pain transforms into the hymn of the exiled and the shiver of the pure souls casts the total destruction: a craving for the negation of live.