Felnósi Race

The Felnósi, a race of diverse underwater beings, comprise two distinct sub-races: the Wudyu and the Greater.

Wudyu
The Wudyu, born from the heart and soul of the goddess Mélós-Fislós, were her first children. Initially bestowed with the ability to transform into ordinary fish at will, they eventually lost this gift over time. Their advanced nature sets them apart—they outpace most other humanoids in swimming prowess and can breathe underwater.

Wudyu exhibit distinct features: a humanoid structure adorned with fins on their heads and feet, and gills concealed beneath their armpits. Gender determines their primary colors: males receive warm hues, while females are graced with cooler tones. However, exceptions abound in Wudyu history, as some individuals defy gender norms, like the bluish Wudyu pictured to the right.

These aquatic beings excel at swimming, wielding their favored weapon—the trident—with skill. Their exotic colors allow them to blend seamlessly into their environment. The Wudyu, with lifespans ranging from 120 to 200 years, demonstrate remarkable endurance.

However, their fate took a dark turn when an insidious virus known as Abyssal Rot emerged. This disease, like a relentless tide, swept through the Wudyu population, threatening their very existence. Its origins remain shrouded in mystery, but its effects were devastating. Abyssal Rot preyed upon the Wudyu’s unique physiology—their gills concealed beneath their armpits and their affinity for underwater life. The disease manifested as blackened spots, gnawing away at their aquatic grace. Their once vibrant scales dulled, and their swimming prowess waned.

Desperate, the Wudyu sought solace in ancient rituals, invoking the blessings of Mélós-Fislós. Some ventured into the deepest ocean trenches, hoping to find a cure hidden in the abyssal depths. Others turned to forbidden magic, bargaining with sea spirits and sacrificing their own essence. Yet, despite their efforts, the Wudyu dwindled. Their numbers plummeted, and their once-thriving civilization trembled on the brink of extinction. In an act of pity, the Motherfish bestowed near-immortality upon the Wudyu. Yet vulnerability remained: the blade of another being could sever their nerver-ending lifeline. And so, the Wudyu endured—a fragile lineage, clinging to memories of azure depths and tridents gleaming in sunlight. Their existence hung by a fragile thread—a whispered prayer echoing through coral reefs, as they deftly navigated the treacherous currents of life.

Today, only a handful of Wudyu remain. The Greater population has surged, but the Wudyu persist as loyal servants to the Mélós-Fislós, revered as royalty in Felnós culture. Interestingly, The Greater views the Wudyu as superior beings due to their intimate connection with the Mélós-Fislós.

The Greater
The Greater, the second species of Felnósi, emerged from the Mélós-Fislós. Initially, they lacked a humanoid form but possessed outstanding intelligence bestowed by the goddess. Over time, they evolved into a more humanoid shape while retaining vestiges of their fish-like heritage.

Similar to the Wudyu, The Greater excel underwater—they can breathe and swim swiftly. However, unlike their aquatic counterparts, they rarely wield tridents as their primary weapons. Perhaps this reluctance stems from the trident’s religious significance and its association with power—the religion’s greatest artifact is a trident.

Identifying a Greater is relatively straightforward. They can resemble any aquatic creature. However, what sets them apart from their piscine ancestors is their humanoid form, complete with arms and legs. Greater individuals typically live between 80 and 110 years. Their name reflects their elevated status compared to common fish—they combine intellectual prowess with humanoid attributes.

Murkborn
Ancient Book

Excerpt from the Chronicles of the Deep
The Murkborn trace their lineage to the goddess Mélós-Fislós, whose eyes mirrored the abyss itself. She sought to birth wisdom, to forge a race that would rival the Wudyus in their dominion of the ocean’s depths. But the weaver of destiny wove her threads into knots, and her magic birthed an insatiable hunger instead.

The Murkborn’s skin is a canvas of obsidian colors—a mottled blend of deep blues and sickly greens. Their scales, sharp as shards of the darkest gemstone, serve a dual purpose: protection and offense. When sunlight filters through the ocean’s abyssal depths, these scales come alive, shimmering like fractured facets of a precious jewel.

Their eyes, twin lanterns of the depths, glow with an eerie phosphorescence. These orbs reveal more than mere vision; they tell the madness boiling within the Murkborn. Cursed by an insatiable hunger, their fractured minds peer not only into the eyes of others but also into soul itself. The Murkborn’s bodies sway like kelp in the ocean currents. Curved limbs, adapted for life beneath the waves, move with a deceptive grace. Their hunger drives them forward, yet their movements remain fluid, almost hypnotic. Rows of jagged teeth line their mouths—an adaptation honed for feeding on lives. These teeth, like serrated blades, tear through flesh and spirit alike.

Deep within their bodies, luminescent glands emit a soft glow. These bioluminescent organs serve both as a means of communication and a source of sustenance. When the Murkborn gather in their groups, these glands create a mesmerizing dance of light—a silent language that surpasses words.