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Physical Descriptions

Complexion - White, Brown, Black

Height - 5 to 7 feet

Longevity - 120 years

Eyes - Green, Blue, and Brown

Hair - White, Black
Other - Top & Bottom pointed ears. 


Warrior Minded and Dominated

 Peace Through Battle

Logical, Battle Disciplined, Strategist

Political View

               We nox believe that to every beginning there is a subsequent ending. Many claim that there once was time when Superians lived as one people…as one race; a utopian society. They speak of the day the curses were cast, and of the golden age that found its ending as Superi was overshadowed by chaos and fear.

                It is said that during this time our ancestors gathered in the swamps lands of Superi seeking isolation from the rabble as they sought balance; searching for their center as they began to establish a strong foundation upon which our race could rebuild. The past they could not change, and their future was unclear, so they focused on fortifying that which remained. Nothing ventured…nothing gained became the manta to which we hold.

                We hone the skills left to our race; perfecting their beauty, pushing their limits, circumventing the failing we find within ourselves. We pursue excellence and settle for nothing less than perfection. Superi mistakes our ambition for arrogance, but if from the past there is a lesson to be learned it is that the future is not written by the righteous or weak, but by the victors that overcome adversity. Thus shall the future be written by the nox.

                We test our strength against that of our adversaries. We challenge them as we challenge ourselves; as much to discover who our future allies may be as to discover which race might truly pose a threat. The mortalis were quick to rise. They fought fiercely, and in the end proved their worth on the field of battle; though their disorganization and lack of command or protocol had cost them the first war.

                They learned quickly however, and by the second war we were hard pressed to hold them at bay. We lost a significant piece of the coastal line we’d gained in the first war. Instead of tucking our tails and licking our wounds we used the experience to our advantage; shoring up the weaknesses in our defenses the lost war had revealed.

                Too late we realized our error in turning our backs on the pale skinned fulgo. Their manipulative fingers had tugged the strings of each war while they sat back and watched us dance.  While we and the mortalis fought like men the fulgo played games and called it politics; giving us a new tactic to learn.

                 The third war gained the fulgo power and influence that they use to this day. Like snakes they slither into the lives of the other races; dripping their venomous ambition into vulnerable minds, and in every race they have found their victims. They gather in Imbellis; the symbolic city of peace, and twist the very word into a self-imposed cage where Superi becomes the prison, and they become the keepers of the keys.

                The mortalis waste precious years of their shortened lives searching through the ruins of the past for answers that cannot change the present. They feel their every emotion more strongly for the knowledge that they have less time to appreciate them. Yet in their haste to find answers; their judgment clouded by emotion, they fail to grasp the larger picture, and squander away the one thing they can be sure of… That today they live still. The same cannot be said of tomorrow.

               We do not fear the strength of the mortalis nor the heart with which they fight. We do not fear the wiles of the fulgo for deception cannot grow under the light of awareness, but warily we watch the fera for signs of an uprising. They would make the perfect ally for no deadlier enemy walks the terra of Superi; nor a more deadly foe.

               The mortalis race against time for answers from the past. The fulgo flirt with disaster as they reach beyond Superi for their future. And the fera grow restless. It does not take an oracle to see that a catalyst is forming that promises a new ending, and we; the nox, stand ready to be the authors of the next beginning.




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