Things truly unknown - neither Fæ nor Dæmon. Their presence is a mystery, baffling the most ostute of minds - their existence chalked up to delusions, urban legends, religious zealotry, or folklore. While many would doubt their existence, the sheer volume of tales surrounding these beings puts, at least, a partial thought in the mind that, maybe, these anomalies could be real.

The crucified corpse of a general from early in the war - said to have given a shit-eating grin till the very end. His corpse has become a pilgrimage site for many who venerate the old general as Saint-God of perseverance through hardship, endurance in battle, resistance against torture, and defiance against those who would do you harm. Despite his remains having been situated in Ghûl Country for over a hundred years, his body still bleeds. Followers of General Merrick believe the miraculous sign to be the blood of those who died of torture. However, his legend has grown so big, no one really knows who he truly was, what side he fought for, or who ultimately killed him…

Every now and then, strange mazes of barbed wires appear - beckoning passersby to enter. These mazes never stay for too long, sometimes remaining in the distance for a day before disappearing, sometimes vanishing within the blink of an eye. These mazes, called Wire Ways by some, have strange effects: those who enter finding themselves in places they have been seeking to travel to in fraction of the time after traversing the labyrinth for some time. Places that would take months to travel to, reduced to mere days after entering. While many intrepid adventurers have found little to no issues venturing the Wire Ways, something is truly wrong with the space. Unease fills the atmosphere; armies have been known to go missing after foolhardy officers commanded they enter. Though thought to be Fæ in origin, even their kind seek nothing to do with these paths - not only them, but even Dæmon and Gorn alike pause before entering the Wire Ways. Something stalks the winding paths, no footsteps echoing, only the slight rattle of chains and bending of barbed wires...

Not one has seen His face, but many have heard His voice and felt His presence; for it was He who had spoken the truth to those who would listen and it was by His hand that they would find their solace. Through Him would they find the power to reside in the place of violence, and through His word would they bring about His peace there.

The spade: the tool of cultivation. The gun: the tool of warfare. Both dualities existed within Him and reside with Him - for He delivers mercy to the merciful, but withholds it from the merciless.

Dread of Dæmon, Bane of Dragon, Warrior of Peace, Master and Teacher, Knight of the Trench,

Watch Over Us,

Soþlice.

Such is the prayer to the emblematic figure, the Trench Knight - a cryptic but altogether kind man said to have legends of His exploits spanning the entirety of the continent. What causes His appearance is a total mystery, but stories of Him range from the gift of food and drink to the lost and weary traveler or the small but life-changing encounter someone may have with Him. Other accounts speak of Him felling Behemoths single-handedly or convincing invading armies to cease their war path - but many chalk such chronicles up to old wives’ tales or the grandiose legends of the Knighthood of the Trench: a small religious community dedicated to following the ways of the Trench Knight. Who or rather what He is can’t be said with any certainty. Some believe him to be a cursed immortal tasked with stopping the War; others believe him to be an emanation of endurance and overcoming; and there are some who believe that there are many Trench Knights - simply working their deeds across the vast stretch of Sucra-Loca. 

The first of the sentient species, the first thinkers and philosophers, the first masters of magics; the first of all of these, but constrained by the their own tiny, frail, physical bodies - the body of the worm. So potent is their knowledge and magical prowess, their bodies ooze with the radiance of the arcane. Both a blessing and curse, Asʑur Worms have been harvested by the other races for use in alchemical work and potion making. Some of these worms desire escape from their bodies, utilizing Astral Projection while lying dormant deep underground. Asʑur Worms, from what can be studied from them, are seemingly immortal and never truly age; but keen observers have detected that some grow with each year they live, albeit slowly. Legends state that some have lived to be millions of years old, growing extremely massive beneath the earth, stretching to hundreds of feet long.

Esoteric cabals deep in the Trenchscape even state their may be one far above the surface of the planet and far beyond the moons of Sòð and Mùð, billions of years old and the size of a true leviathan. They say only on the darkest of nights, where no stars or moons show their light, can the glowing beasts be seen. However, when the skies have been observed during these occasions, historically, there does appear to be a great comet trailing through the skies, but only the truly insane would believe it to be a worm...