The Esquin, as a people, tend to defy precice definition. This is not only because of their deep and varied culture, distinct and diverse, but also because of their awkward relationship to each other.

Esquin, similar to the Aspanighoraji, tend to avoid others of their own kind. While their behavior can range from disgust to casual dismissal, the fact remains that it is rare to see more than one Esquin in a single place.

Dissimilar to the Aspanighoraji, there is no mystery why this is the case. The Esquin are a mildly psychic people, able to observe the mental and emotional states of other beings to varying degrees of precision. Among other Esquin, however, these innate abilities become much sharper and absorptive.

The Empire was a house. Like all good houses, it protected all inside from the storms that raged, from the beasts who hungered, and the dark night that crept closer every hour.

But for a house to be a good house, it needed many things. It needed a strong roof overhead, and a strong roof needed mighty walls and braces. Walls could not stand without a solid foundation and steady floor to stand upon. A good foundation made for good walls, which made for a good roof, which made a good house.

This was the Empire; a house that would stand for Ever and Always. The foundations of every House were the servants. Their work kept the walls of Nobility upright. The Nobility collected the tithes and taxes from their subjects, and used them to raise and support the roof of the Church and the Ever Lord Himself. This was how it had been explained to Navin, how it was explained to children across the Empire.

Rim-runners is a colloquial term and mis-translation of their name for themselves, the Likvaree.

As a people, the Rim-runners are remarkably diverse, showing a greater spread of shape and size than any other people in the Myriad Worlds. It is not uncommon for two Rim-runners to be so different as to appear to come from two separate species entirely.

The Rim-runners hail from a wide and verdant archipelago in the ocean of Jlich, not seventeen leagues from the Port City of Dwynacha in the Waglenpine. Their culture is a mix of humility, exploration, and fierce devotion to their Wai, a world best translated as something between family and nation.

Of all the wonders of the Myraid Worlds, none have retained their mystery more than the Aspanighoraji (pronounced ah SPAN ih go RAJH ee).

The Aspanighoraji are beings of remarkable physical diversity, such that there are few common traits among their people. They are always large and vaguely serpentine or annelidine in the torso. Some have wings, some do not. Some have tiny feet all along their bodies, others do not. They have multiple limbs, or none at all. Some even have faces in their mouths. They alone of all the beings in the Myraid Worlds have five eyes and this is the only sure way of divining who or what is an Apsanighoraji, though there is at least one reliable recorded instance of an Aspanighoraji shifting its body so that its fifth eye was hidden on its back.

I admit to an uncertainty in adding this section to my guide. At the time of writing, the Arcwhite Kingdoms span multiple worlds and kingdoms, currently maintain no less than five-hundred treaties and alliances, and are inhabited by at least eight billion souls. Add to that the fact that I am writing in the common language of Arcwhite, and that I live, write, and publish within its borders, and it is safe to say that this book’s audience is an answered question.

That is to say, the chances that you are not a member of the Arcwhite Kingdoms is, in a word, small.

Nevertheless, I refuse to buy into the oftentimes unsaid assumption that everyone is a citizen of the Arcwhite Kingdoms, or at the very least is aware of all its customs, mores, and landscapes. As such, I will provide a cross-section here of the culture and mores of this incredible nation.

Hatchban was proud of many things.

He was proud that he was the Seneschal of the Palace of Ever and Always, a servant of incomparable honor. While he had no official power over the nobility that wandered the Palace grounds and resided in the honorable guest rooms, there were few who doubted his authority, and no servant in the Empire could hope to command more respect. Even the meanest noble knew of Hatchban, Seneschal and master of the Palace, and would not dare to hinder or question him in his duties.

He was proud he was the only Esquin in the Ever Palace. By virtue of his people’s natural proclivities, the Ever Lord had commanded that would ever only be one Esquin in the whole of the Ever Palace, and Hatchban had been the one chosen. He knew there were other Esquin who lived in the Five Worlds as citizens of the Empire — even a few on the First World — but they were ephemeral things; rumors and myths at best. The Esquin were a solitary people, and the Lord of Ever and Always had not only accommodated their culture, but chosen Hatchban to represent his people to every noble who crossed the Palace threshold.

Originating in the icy mountains of the Shadow-seas, the Yattrinti are perhaps the most aggressively bizarre people among the Myriad Worlds. Though many profess to know the subtle and intricate details of Yattrinti ettiquite, the most common experience among any of the races of the Myriad Worlds when dealing with Yattrinti is one of cold and callous disregard.

The biology of the Yattrinti is distinctly unique. Much of what we might consider integral to a species nature is belied by the differences between individual Yattrin. For immediate example, the number of tentacles posessed by any Yattrin varies between twelve to twenty. While most Yattrin have a singular row of tentacles around their body, almost twenty percent of Yattrinti possess multiple rows, up to three. Width and angle of tentacle tapering is also highly variable, while length is remarkably consistant.

Skin color ranges from pale green to deep purple, burnt red, or even effervescent blue. There appear to be no colors or patterns more common than any other. However, size and shape of a Yattrin’s central trunk is uniform across individuals. Beak length is likewise consistant, while curvature is not.

A singular breed of Gilbrim that lives on Ritear, known as the Ohgrim, have an origin tale that has chilled the hearts of thousands: in the beginning years of the land, the Trygim and Gyanim fought a war of ten thousand years.(There are many hundreds of translations for these two names, though most historians believe there is some cultural connection between this war and the legendary war between the Dragons and the Giants.) The greatest and most evil Gyanim was named Gromagorand, and its size was such that it could devour a whole world. When the Trygim King finally drove their claws into Gromagorand’s throat, the blood spilled over the world, and it is from this blood that the Ohgrim were born.

While the Ohgrim perform a kind of worship of Gromagorand, it is a fatalistic and hateful kind of worship. The Ohgrim believe that Gromagorand will return, and unless the Ohgrim are strong enough to fight the war the Trygim failed to finish, Gromagorand will devour Ritear whole. This has led the Ohgrim to live lives of constant warfare and violence as a kind of training, to strengthen their bloodlines and ensure when the Ohgrim are called upon to defend their world, they will not be found weak or wanting.

A knock on Sarisa’s door pulled her from her thoughts. Wiping her eyes, she stood, tugging at her rumpled dress and brushing her hair back. “Enter,” she commanded, drawing herself up tall and proud.

Her chest relaxed when she saw Aisha peek in from around the door. “Your Excellency, The Countier has returned with her Royal Honor. They await you in the eastern sitting-room”

Sarisa nodded.

For a moment they stood there, staring at each other. In her lover’s eyes, Sarisa could see the fear for her husband as well as the steady calm of the wetland Aeolam. There was so much she wanted to say, but even here, with no one around…

Aisha opened her mouth, and then closed it.

Sarisa took a deep breath and nodded again, slower. Aisha returned the nod, and slowly closed the door.

Vagabond, Sarisa thought fondly as she moved to the large mirror that sat in the corner. Scoundrel and fiend, she mused as she adjusted her dress and reached for a course-hair brush. To leave without asking permission.

It had been a difficult process to make the wetland Aeolam understand the idea of hierarchy. In the end, it was only because of several Aeolam who had lived in other regions of the Second World that they grasped the concept, and even then it was a tenuous grasp.

No, Sarisa knew that Aisha didn’t ask for permission to leave because if she had, Sarisa would not have been able to say yes.

The Bloodaxe of Buriip, the Count of Spilled Blood, and the Quantiscain of Ironlock Monastery are monikers given to the quasi-deity of the Buriip faith. Arising from a cultural religion devoted to acts of blood sacrifice, the Buriip faith grew into a widespread organization devoted to conflict and violence.

An apocalyptic religion, the Buriip church engaged in near constant conflict with any and all surrounding cultures for generations. It was not until a resounding loss on the Red Fields of Ressin that the Buriip church was split into two sects; the Church of the Cuirass, and the Followers of Bloodaxe. These sects warred with each other for several centuries, until after a resolute victory by the Followers of Bloodaxe, the Buriip religion was reformed.