The shaped people

Since the elves first enslaved the humans upon their arrival in Tenehu, they began altering them to better suit their needs.

At first, this was done involuntarily, as many noble tribes preferred suicide over captivity. Those who did not choose death lived and, in some cases, thrived under the auspices of the elf-kin. But those too feeble or too unruly either perished or were executed. Due to their new agricultural diet and the hard labour to which they were forced, only a few generations after their enslavement they were already unrecognisable to their kin who still lived free beyond the borders of elven rule.

The cunning elves, whose lives spanned centuries, observed these changes and sought to expand upon them, just as they had done with their now-domesticated livestock. To them, humans were no different from other beasts of burden—only their tasks differed. Thus the elves began to enhance their slaves further through selective breeding.

It was after the Cursing that this process truly accelerated. As the human population multiplied, dissent and strife grew among them. The free men of the mountains conspired to sow rebellion among the countless slaves, culminating in the Great Betrayal—when slaves rose up across all of Tenehu—one of the events that led to the self-sacrifice of the Kurilusa.

Determined to ensure such a revolt could never happen again, the elves began an organised breeding program for their human subjects. The most valued trait was docility, and since they had spared only the most obedient slaves from the Deluge, the task was simple.

Today, the men of Tenehu have been bred into a servile state. They show conditioned deference to authority and possess little natural aggression, never questioning the will of their masters. They lack curiosity, tolerate boredom and repetitive tasks with ease, and desire little beyond sharing beer with friends and family after a day’s work. They are called Dravun—“The Bound Ones”—for they are bound both to the land and to their liege.

Physically, they are small but stocky, well-suited for deprivation and manual labour. Their bodies store fat efficiently to survive leaner times. Birth defects and other ailments are common, their lives short and marked by the gruelling toil demanded of them.

Occupations are usually inherited from one’s parents, though they may change with the needs of the village. It is the Ledger King who assigns each person their tasks.

Upon reaching maturity, each Dravun undergoes a Marking Ceremony in which they are branded with the sigil of their elven lords. Though this is in truth little more than the branding of cattle, the humans regard it as a great honour, celebrated with elaborate rituals. To be denied such a mark is to be cast out from the village—a punishment reserved for the gravest of crimes. Marked individuals are often assigned partners chosen by the Ledger Kings, a practice that breeds jealousy and discontent. Bribery to secure a more desirable match for oneself or one’s children is not uncommon.

In larger villages, cities, and merchant households—where elven oversight is looser—the population is often healthier. However, in more remote outlying settlements, conditions can be far worse, with inbreeding the only means of sustaining numbers. Tales persist of travellers being offered—or even forced—to lie with local daughters in a desperate attempt to bring new blood into the community. Many a young fool has embarked on such “adventures,” only to meet an undesirable fate.

Some elven lords have refined human breeding into distinct castes, each tailored to specific tasks. One of the most common is the managerial caste known as the Urmaya—“Those Brought Forth” or “The Bred Ones.”

The elves cannot—or will not—run villages themselves, so they breed humans suited for this work. The Urmaya are diligent, dutiful, and eager for praise from their elven masters, much like loyal hounds. They are highly intelligent and possess far better memory than other castes. To distinguish themselves from the common folk, they practice head-binding in infancy, altering the shape of their skulls into strange, uncanny forms. Their greater height (thanks to a better diet) and pale skin (from lives spent indoors in the palace at the base of their lord’s tower) further set them apart. Over generations, some have even developed longer limbs and larger eyes, which inspire awe in the lower castes—though their limited breeding stock makes birth defects even more common among them.

Within the Urmaya, there are several roles. The most common are attendants—daily servants to the elves—bred for beauty so as to be less repulsive in their masters’ eyes. They are famed for anticipating the elves’ needs before their own and often serve as diplomats or envoys, mastering the rigid etiquette of their overlords. While their lives are comparatively luxurious, they know that diplomats are often the first to fall when war comes.

Also within the Urmaya are priests and scribes—haughty but important figures in village life. Most important of all are the Ledger Kings themselves. These rulers often intermarry with the daughters of other Ledger Kings to seal alliances, forming distinct bloodlines within the caste.

In rarer cases, a village may also contain a third caste: the Karukal, or “Blades of the Lords.” These warriors are bred for immense size and aggression, towering even over some elves. Their strength makes them dangerous even to their masters, and so they are relatively uncommon—especially since it is far cheaper to conscript ordinary villagers. However, some elven lords specialise in breeding such brutes, the most famous being the Tarkaun, or “Ox-Men.” To own a Tarkaun is both a status symbol and a practical advantage, especially for those with many enemies.

The demand for high-quality breeding stock across the castes is constant, and many merchant caravans specialise in this trade. Should this market ever collapse, only the Cursing King knows what horrors might follow.