By far, the most populous of the species - the Idro inhabit every corner of the continent: from the rolling plains of the Piyaqu Steppe; the treacherous heights of the Silver Shackle; the harrowing mud flats of the Trenchscape; and far beyond the edges of the map. The Idro vary in skin tone and build, but they have some unifying factors: baleful yellow eyes, a sharp knife-like nose, and an intense bloodlust - the word “Idro” meaning “depraved” in the Vaocani language. They once ruled the continent with an iron fist, subjugating all life before them - but the tides had begun to turn as the Seraphim disappeared, the Vaocani Dynasties began fighitng one another, and the Gorn broke through the Spear Mountains, sewing discontent among the Idro - many breaking from the Seraphim’s domain and falling into tribalism. Unlike the Djenling, even when divided, they somehow manage to prove quite troublesome to other races.

Feared by both their enemy, along with their own men - Domain Commissars carry the task of leading their divisions to ensure the unending glory and survival of the Domain and their ruling family - by any means necessary. Of the Idro chosen for the role, they must be brutal, decisive, and effective. Fierce hierarchies and competition have surplanted themselves within their own forces, the best of these officers being supplied with the most substantial equipment for them and their men, while lesser officers are left with the scraps and reserve munitions. Sedition has been known to weave through the armies of rival Domain Commissars - not being an uncommon sight for Seraphim forces to battle one another, not too dissimilar from the trench warlords. They are known to dress in opulent garb of vivid colors as to truly distinguish themselves from their subordinates, some being known to wear full-dress uniforms beset with war medals as a mark of their vainglory.

The main forces of the Domain, innumerable and uncountable, conscription and service to their ruling family being required for life within the Domain. From the highest noble, to the lowliest vagrant, to say the Domain Soldiers are a mixed-bag would not be far from the truth, but to underestimate them in battle would be a death sentence. Despite the different groups that make up this force, every Domain Soldier is given the same degree of training, regardless of their background - with the Domain’s military being considered one of the best on the continent. Within the fiery haze of war, enemy forces have disbanded at the mere site of the blue uniforms - fearing the sheer devotion Domain Soldier have, their willingness to die for their officers and their rulers, and their extreme proclivity towards violence and brutality.

Cut off from the Domain for countless years, Domain Auxiliaries have begun to form in the far reaches of the continent, attempting to seek reunion with both the Domain. A motley bunch, Auxiliaries operate majoritarily under their own standards and lacking in modern equipment - being forced to use aged Domain weaponry from many centuries ago. A common trend with Auxiliary forces is attempting to negotiate with the Domain for better weaponry through daring means - offering their services as vanguards or skirmishers against, usually, larger Trenchscape forces. In some contested regions, Auxiliary forces have been known to engage in banditry against the local populace, looting small villages, holding up townsfolk, and forcing tolls on the unsuspecting.

When the Vaocano dynasties lost contact with the Seraphim, they had begun blaming each other for this loss of contact, opting to take control of Vaocano Proper - sparking the Entrenching War. Despite not having a proper standing army,  each of the five families have been unable to take control of the capital in part because of the Resuscitates: immortal warriors who have given their mind, body, and very being to the Seraphim. It is thought that these people marked themselves with the seal of the Seraphim long ago, undergoing a ritual, preventing them from true death at the cost of individuality and will, allowing them to defend the Seraphim eternally.  Once death overtakes them, their souls are displaced and confined to strange buildings deep within Vaocano Proper territory known as Phylactery - an underground structure filled with sarcophagi. After a number of days pass, they emerge, a new body for them to continue their battle against the Seraphim’s enemies. While they are granted eternal life, being able to be revived a countless number of times, they slowly lose more and more autonomy - their free will being stripped down to a husk, occupied exclusively by the Seraphim. Many find them to be unnerving - acting as suicidal warriors that are as silent as the grave. Strange observations have been made on them, one account finding a particular Resuscitate throwing herself down a gorge for countless years - attempting to create a bridge of her own past bodies so she could continue pressing into enemy territory over the impasse. In order to reserve proper equipment for those on the upper hierarchy, Resuscitates are only given scrap cloaks and a simple metal pipe to defend themselves.

A warrior in service to one of the many warlords of the Trenchscape - utilizing a variety of equipment, mainly scavenged from past battles. Many would not assume much from ill-equipped warriors - but this lack of resources have turned them towards unorthodox strategies against both the Domain and rival warlord bands. Crazed war hoops, wild unkempt appearances, and the tendency to engage in horrifying war crimes have given them a barbaric notion, which, even according to them, is not unfounded.

Another commonality amongst all of the Idro is their glorification of scarring - the more scars one has, the greater their battle prowess and their ability to survive nasty encounters. It is common practice amongst the Idro to treat their wounds with horse hairs to make their scars all the more prominent. Whether part of the Domain or under the rule of the Trenchscape - the culture of scarification is shared by all.

In the lands of Behemoth’s Veld, the Djenling of Yanta-Yuri have long sought revenge against the Idro’s ancestors for the years of enslavement pressed onto them. Besides destroying the homes, faiths, and livelihoods of the Idro in the surrounding lands, the Djenling have begun the practice of enslaving entire settlements of the Idro - “an ironic punishment for those said to have once enslaved the Djenling peoples” as put by the Yanta-Yuri. Whole villages, transformed into industrial-scale work camps: the inhabitants, entire families, forced to till the soil for goreroot - a staple amongst Sucra-Loca. Through intensely hot summers, the bitter cold, rain, sleet, and horrendous gas storms, these Idro are expected to work day and night with the dim hope of maybe finding freedom if the Djenling see fit to it. Failure to meet the steep quotas, however, results in the offender being forced to dig a shallow pit for themselves, being shot by their overseers once the task is complete - becoming the very fuel that creates more goreroot. “A fitting end to the past conquerors of the continent”.

The scale of technology amongst the inhabitants of the continent varies drastically - some living in great cities equipped with great buildings and modern appliances like electricity, vehicular transportation, and some moniker of “a peaceful life”. However, the further away one strays from the dwellings of the urbanites, it becomes all the more clear to see the disparaging conditions that some are forced to reside within - some living under medievalesque states of living. It is within these outland villages, the people have had to make do with the little they have to grow crops, ranch livestock, and fend off both monster and man. This Idro woman being a resident of the lands of Roland‘s Drift; for countless generations, her and her family having been subject to the fearsome attacks of the Ghûls - ultimately having to rely upon the rare good will of the nearby warlords to protect their kinsmen.

A roving mercenary from the lands bordering the Kah’rund Pass. Mercenary work has become quite the popular job as for the common man. Even after a millennium of warfare has continuously been waged on, it appears the inhabitants of Sucra-Loca have not grown bored of it. There will always need creatures to be hunted, drugs to be run, monsters to be slain, and men to be shot. Because of the consistent line of work by mercenaries throughout the generations, Trench Towns have had a history of popping up every now and then, becoming hubs of work for passerby within the central continent, before disappearing without a trace a couple of weeks later. This Idro mercenary is named “Yves  Devareaux”.