Playable Races

Every lineage tells a story. Every ancestry leaves a mark.

The following ancestries are available for play:
Human, Elf, Dwarf, Dragonborn, Entling, Aasimar, Gnome, Goliath, Half-Elf, Magen, Half-Dwarf, Halfling, and Reborn.

While the core game statistics for each lineage remain unchanged, their cultural roots, histories, and mythologies have been carefully reimagined to better serve the world of Masada. These versions emphasize tone, setting integration, and thematic depth ensuring each choice feels like more than just a mechanical bonus.

The Humans

 What was lost still shapes what remains.

Centuries ago, something erased humanity’s past. No records, no monuments, only scars and silence. Today descendants of the scattered survivors can be found in almost every corner of Masada. Hardened by their tumultuous journey back to prominence two great powers emerged; The Militocracy of New Antioch, forged in discipline and divine mandate, and the Elden Concordat, a remnant of ancient pacts bound by shared memory and survival.

New Antioch - In New Antioch, duty defines the citizen. The Militocracy holds that only those who willingly serve whether on the battlefield, in public works, or in spiritual service have earned the right to vote and shape national policy. This does not strip rights from the uninitiated; all residents enjoy legal protection, freedom of movement, and access to education. But to have a voice in the nation’s future, one must first prove their commitment to its survival.

Citizenship is overseen by the Church Militant and the Census Primaris, sacred institutions tasked with recording oaths of service and marking those who have earned the right to vote. Whether through years of military duty, public labor, or spiritual devotion, those who serve are inscribed into the Roll of the Proven, a living document housed in every major parish and fortress. To be named within it is not merely a legal recognition, but a rite of passage. It marks one as a protector of the state, a voice in its direction, and a bearer of its burdens.

Elden Concordat - Where New Antioch binds its people in service and scripture, the Elden Concordat binds them by oath and tradition. Formed from disparate survivor communities after the Fall, the Concordat is less a single nation and more a network of freeholds, townships, and city-states bound by ancient agreements. Each member swears to uphold the Concordat’s founding principles: mutual aid, shared defense, and the preservation of history.

Governance varies from one province to the next, but all Concordant lands send delegates to the Council at Caer Haleth, a neutral seat of power where law is debated and consensus forged. While slower to act than the Militocracy, the Concordat values discourse over decree, and local autonomy over rigid control.

The Elves

 The forest does not forget though it rarely explains.

Centuries of reclusion have left elven history more myth than record. Descended from the forest-bound denizens of Almaerina called The Heartwood by outsiders, elves dwell primarily along the western edge of Masada. Their kind is few in number but functionally ageless, living for millennia unless claimed by violence or driven to stagnation by ennui. Most choose to experience the world for a few centuries before returning home to join the forest as new growth, literally and spiritually. Those who linger beyond this natural cycle often become consumed by singular obsessions be it perfecting a musical discipline or chasing subtleties of flavor across distant lands.

Almaerina – The ancestral home of the elves is both sanctuary and crucible. Its groves are alive with ancient magic and self-governed by consensus among elder circles, though these councils often move at a glacial pace. Outsiders are rarely permitted within the Heartwood proper, and even the rare diplomats who speak on behalf of Concordant lands find no formal audience in Almaerina only patient silence and unspoken rules. Almaerina’s protectors the Watchers of the Root enforce a sacred law: no fire, no metal, no harm without purpose.

Wanderers – Not all elves remain bound to the Heartwood. A growing minority, restless or curious wander the wider world. These "fallen leaves" often take up roles as scholars, rangers, or artists. While viewed with wary pity by their homeland, some return centuries later bearing wisdom or sorrow that alters the course of their entire bloodline’s philosophy. Others never return at all.

The Dwarves

 To build is to endure. To endure is to belong.

To be dwarven is to carry weight of stone, of oath, of name. Found in nearly every mountain range across Masada’s mainland, dwarves are a people defined not by bloodlines or banners, but by their craft and their code. They are few who speak often, build slow, and remember long. Though scattered, their shared values bind them into a cultural force more enduring than any single kingdom.

The Holds – Dwarves live and govern through a network of independent strongholds, called Holds, each ruled by a Forgelord and their Council of Makers. While not unified under a single crown, most Holds recognize one another through the Chain of the First Flame a symbolic alliance that preserves common law, trade routes, and mutual defense. Every Hold is built around a central forge-temple, where labor is sacred and law is cast in iron. No outside power, Militocracy, Concordat, or otherwise has ever successfully imposed its will on a Hold.

Virtue Through Work – Dwarves believe that morality is proven through action. To build is to serve. To feast is to honor. To sacrifice is to remember. Their craftsmanship is not merely utilitarian it is spiritual. The creation of a masterwork is akin to a prayer, and its destruction a tragedy. While outsiders often value dwarven goods for their quality, few understand that every hammer strike carries ethical weight. A life without service to one's kin, clan, or craft is viewed as wasted.

Legacy and Tension – As gnomish firearms and surface technologies spread, a rift grows within the Holds. Younger dwarves, eager to experiment and modernize, clash with elders who see innovation without reverence as dangerous. Some argue that the Chain must adapt to survive; others claim that the moment dwarves follow the pace of the world, they cease to be dwarves at all. Beneath the mountain, in the shadow of the forge, a question burns slowly: Is virtue preserved by tradition or proven through change?

The Dragonborn

 Born of brass and fire, made to remember what others fear to name.

Created or called into being by unknown means, the dragonborn of Masada are a mystery even to themselves. Exclusively born within the borders of the Militocracy of New Antioch, they possess innate resistance to corruption and an intuitive grasp of infernal lore. Whether by design or providence, dragonborn have become the Militocracy’s foremost experts in demonology and devilology, and are feared and revered in equal measure.

The Rock – Nearly all dragonborn trace their origins to The Rock, an ancient fortress-city of bronze and brass nestled in the southern mountains. Outsiders are forbidden entry, and even high-ranking military officials speak of its interior only in whispers. Rumors tell of sleepless automatons, subterranean vaults lined with ancient machinery, and sealed chambers where things older than the Church Militant still stir. Dragonborn raised within are subjected to rigorous spiritual and martial training from birth, molded into living weapons of faith and will.

Servants of Fire – Beyond the Rock, dragonborn serve as inquisitors, battlefield commanders, or arcane advisors to the Church Militant. While their loyalty to New Antioch is unwavering, many dragonborn struggle with a spiritual dissonance called to a destiny they do not understand, shaped by a history they cannot access. In the rare quiet moments, some whisper that they are not merely soldiers, but warnings, reminders of an ancient war not yet won.

The Entlings

 Not born, not made... only called.

The Entlings are not a people in the traditional sense. They do not build, nor rule, nor reproduce as other mortals do. They simply exist quiet, patient, and ever watching. Born of the deep groves surrounding the Heartwood of Almaerina, Entlings are thought by some to be the forest's answer to civilization: not a race, but a response.

The Blooming – No two Entlings are alike. They emerge sporadically, often at moments of great ecological or spiritual imbalance. Whether they are born from root, seed, or some unseen ritual is unknown, even to the elves. Some awaken already aware of language and custom; others learn slowly, wandering the woods in contemplative silence until something someone requires their help. Entlings do not name themselves. The names they carry are given, and often forgotten.

Keepers Without a Creed – Though the elves regard Entlings with reverence, no formal pact binds them. They do not sit on councils, nor accept tribute. And yet, when blight strikes a crop, or sickness lingers in a village too small to matter, it is often an Entling who appears wordless, bearing herbs or knowledge, and then gone before thanks can be spoken. These acts of grace are rarely explained and never repaid. To some, they are miracles. To others, unsettling manipulations. What motive could such beings possibly have?

Legacy and Tension – As the wilds grow sick and the Heartwood dims, more Entlings have begun to stir and wander farther than ever before. Some now linger near human settlements. Others engage in conversation, even ask questions. These deviations trouble the elder elves, who fear the Entlings may be changing, or worse acting on behalf of something far older than Almaerina. The Entlings themselves offer no explanation. They listen. They act. They vanish.

And somewhere, just beyond the treeline, they are watching still.

The Aasimar

Divine remnants claimed, cast aside, or still searching.

Aasimar are born beneath veiled constellations, their arrival heralded in silence, not song. Though they appear human in form, something in their gaze betrays the truth: they are not entirely of this world. Thought to be the blooded children of divine forces or their final echoes Aasimar carry a fragment of celestial will, dormant or burning, and are shaped as much by Masada’s broken age as by whatever god once dreamed of them.

Favored Instruments – In the Militocracy of New Antioch, Aasimar are seen not as miracles, but as assets. The Church Militant monitors bloodlines, dreams, and omens with fanatical precision; few Aasimar reach adulthood without discovery. Once identified, they are seized for grooming: some become generals, others living saints, and a rare few are “Sealed” entombed in relic-vaults for prophecy or war. Their very existence becomes state property. Official doctrine calls them Remnants of the Dawn, evidence that the gods have not wholly abandoned mankind. Unofficially, they are weapons beautiful, terrible, and unpredictable.

The Unclaimed – But not all Aasimar kneel. Some are hidden by desperate parents or isolated cults. Others grow up unaware of their nature, their powers erupting during moments of trauma or revelation. These unclaimed often become wanderers drawn to ancient ruins, cursed lands, and wild places where the divine has been silenced. They wrestle not only with the weight of their gift, but with the expectations it invites. To be Aasimar is to be feared, venerated, or broken rarely understood.

Legacy and Tension – Whether cloistered in palaces or hunted in exile, all Aasimar must eventually answer one question: Was I born to serve, or to choose? In a world where gods no longer speak, and faith is wielded as law, the existence of a true divine vessel is both a miracle and a threat.

The Gnomes

 What they build is not for glory, but so they might breathe another day.

The surface world knows gnomes as inventors, alchemists, and tinkerers. This is true, but incomplete. Gnomes are a people under siege brilliant minds shaped not by curiosity, but by survival. Deep beneath Masada lie the ruined strongholds of their ancestors, hollowed out by the relentless advance of an enemy few have seen and fewer understand: the Core Spawn. Everything the gnomes build, they build to endure.

The Subterranean Holds – Hidden in the cavernous depths of Masada’s underworld, gnomish Holds are sealed bastions of steel and stone, illuminated by ever-burning conduits and guarded by mechanisms older than the Fall. Each Hold operates autonomously, governed by a Triumvirate of a Forge-Speaker, a Tactician, and a Lorewright. Every citizen is trained in arms, craft, or medicine. Childhood ends when a gnome can maintain a firearm under pressure. Adulthood is earned in blood or invention.

The War Above and Below – With the advance of Core Spawn forcing the evacuation of several Holds, increasing numbers of gnomes have emerged onto the surface. While some act as envoys or researchers, most are scouts, saboteurs, or logisticians preparing fallback plans should the surface become their last redoubt. Gnomish ingenuity explosives, firearms, mechanical prosthetics has begun to alter warfare in the surface world, particularly in the Militocracy. But gnomes rarely share technology freely. Every invention is a tool, and every tool is meant for a war that has never ended.

Legacy and Tension – A growing generation of surface-born gnomes has begun to question the war-forged culture of their people. Some have never seen the Holds, and speak of settling openly among humans and dwarves. Others abandon the cause entirely, seeking art, connection, or peace. The elders call them deserters. The young call themselves free. But even these wayward gnomes sleep lightly, haunted by distant tremors and the quiet certainty that the Core never stops digging.

The Goliaths

 Strength is not a birthright. It is an inheritance paid forward.

To call a Goliath merely strong is to mistake cause for effect. Forged by extremes of climate, of duty, of history Goliaths are a people who have learned to survive where others would be broken. Their bloodlines are scattered across Masada’s most inhospitable frontiers, but whether in frostbitten tundra, divine-scorched peaks, or industrial heartlands, they endure not for pride, but for purpose.

There is no single Goliath nation. Instead, they are divided into cultural enclaves rooted in region and circumstance. Though distinct, these three major traditions share one unshakable belief: strength is not dominance it is stewardship.

Northmen – Children of the Ice – In the far north, where no maps remain reliable and the sun dies for months at a time, dwell the Northmen. These Goliaths live in harmony with the land and its ancient inhabitants ice giants, glacier drakes, and other forgotten titans. Their society is communal, ritual-bound, and largely oral. Leadership is temporary, earned through deed rather than inheritance, and ceded once the season’s need has passed.

Every hundred years, the giants name a champion to lead the Deepmarch a perilous expedition into the eastern white, where legends claim time itself fractures. Few return. Those who do speak in hushed tones of impossible ruins and changing stars. Those who don’t are remembered not with grief, but with reverence. The Deepmarch is not a quest it is a debt, paid forward.

Yet among the younger hunters, some now question whether the old pacts are still honored. The giants have grown silent. The winters lengthen. And when strength no longer brings understanding, what remains?

Panarchian – Blood of the Stone God – In the southern reaches of the Rock Teeth Mountains, legend speaks of a war in the sky a battle between the gods and an elder thing that sought to devour the sun. When it fell, broken and bleeding, its corpse seeded the mountains with magic and madness. From those peaks, the Panarchian Goliaths emerged.

Marked by runes that shimmer faintly beneath the skin, Panarchians are mystics and sentinels, half-cleric, half-warrior. They serve not a church, but a tradition The Bearing of the Pulse, a practice that aligns their lives to the rhythms of the mountain’s dormant heart. Their settlements are carved into cliff faces and crater rims, fortified against what stirs below.

Though feared by outsiders and barely understood by other Goliaths, Panarchians claim to hold the line against a second Falling. But among the youngest rune-bearers, dreams grow stranger and some have begun to wonder if the mountain is warning them… or waking.

Concordant – Shields of the Pact – Among the fractured holdings of the Elden Concordat, Goliaths serve not only as defenders of the freeholds, but as keepers of oaths older than the Council itself. Centuries ago, in the wake of the Fall, scattered human and Goliath communities forged a mutual bond one born not of conquest, but of survival. Together they repelled the gnollish war-clans and orcish raiders that swept down from the eastern steppes. What emerged was not a kingdom, but a principle: defense is duty, and duty is shared.

Concordant Goliaths now live integrated within human townships and freeholds, but remain culturally distinct. They organize into hereditary Shieldbands, multi-generational units responsible for the protection of their settlement and the transmission of oral law. While local governance is often left to human elders or elected councils, the Shieldbands act as both militia and moral compass. To break one’s word in a Goliath-held Concordant town is to lose more than trust it is to be judged.

Yet tensions simmer. Some Shieldbands resent the increasing reliance on elven arbitration and distant Council rulings. Others fear that oathbound service to fractured communities leaves their people scattered and directionless. Among the young, there are whispers of unification not to conquer, but to reclaim cohesion. If the Concordat falters, they ask, who will keep the peace when pacts turn brittle?

The Half-Elves

 Love may bend law, but it cannot defeat time.

Half-elves are not born of chance, but of choice. Across Masada, the blood of elves and humans does not mix naturally; to create a half-elf requires a ritual known only to the elders of Almaerina, granted rarely and never for convenience. Each half-elf is the living consequence of something powerful: a love deep enough to ask the forest to make an exception.

The Rite of Joining – Within the Heartwood, when an elf and a human choose to walk together beyond a single lifetime, they may petition for the Rite of Joining. The ritual is neither swift nor guaranteed. It binds more than blood; it threads spirit to lifespan, granting the resulting child human growth but elven longevity. No institution can compel the rite, and even among elves it is considered sacred bordering on taboo. Those who undergo it are changed by more than parenthood.

The Shadow of Time – All half-elves live with a clock that only they can hear. Their human parent, no matter how strong, wise, or beloved, will age and die within a fraction of their child’s life. Elven kin may remain, but rarely understand the grief that comes with such early loss. Some half-elves carry that wound quietly. Others let it shape them into poets, guardians, or drifters. Whatever path they choose, the memory of the love that made them and the mortality that ends it never fades.

Legacy and Tension – Among elves, half-elves are reminders that love can bend law, but never break it. Among humans, they are walking elegies too graceful to be ordinary, too long-lived to remain. Some find belonging in small, shifting communities. Others choose exile rather than be watched as they fail to age. And yet, they endure. Not because they must, but because someone once believed they were worth the effort. That belief, more than blood, defines them.

The Magen 

 Made to serve, now free to question.

Magen are not born they are made. Sculpted from flesh, thought, and intent, a Magen is a being conjured into the world by a spell of immense precision and risk. Some are forged in ancient towers, crafted for singular purposes and awakened only when needed. While many of these arcane foundries lie in ruin, a few remain active isolated, secretive, and increasingly unstable. Others emerge as side effects of arcane disasters, magic storms, or war rituals whose origins are lost. Whether deliberate or accidental, all Magen begin life not as children, but as answers to questions no longer being asked.

Arcane Progeny – Most Magen trace their lineage if such a word applies to the great towers and schools of the Old World, or to rogue practitioners desperate or brilliant enough to attempt the rite alone. The spell that creates them binds mind and matter around a central purpose: to protect, to serve, to witness, to destroy. While they may resemble humans or elves, their memories begin at awakening. Some are taught language and etiquette. Others are simply given orders. Not all are told why they exist.

Purpose and Divergence – A Magen’s early life is shaped by intent. But intent fades. Orders end. Masters die. The longer a Magen survives, the more distance forms between what they were made for and who they choose to become. Some cling to their original design, refining it into something meaningful. Others abandon it completely, carving new identities from curiosity, art, or war. A few lose coherence entirely breaking down in body or mind as their tether to purpose erodes.

Legacy and Tension – Magen walk a narrow path between miracle and malfunction. To arcanists, they are proof that life can be engineered. To the fearful, they are unnatural soulless constructs with borrowed flesh. But the Magen themselves ask harder questions: If I was made to serve, does that mean I cannot lead? If I was created to kill, can I choose peace? If I was not born with a soul… can I still earn one? In a world shaped by intent, they are beings of choice. And that choice is everything.

The Half-Dwarves

 When stone does not accept you, build your own wall.

Half-dwarves are born of two worlds that seldom bend. In most Holds, dwarven bloodlines are guarded with ancestral reverence tracked, recited, and maintained like living ledgers. The appearance of a half-dwarf, especially one born outside the bounds of traditional clan structure, is not a scandal, but a disruption. Neither rejected outright nor embraced easily, half-dwarves often learn early that acceptance must be earned, never assumed.

Clans and Castes – Dwarven society is governed by caste and craft. Each individual is a link in a chain of labor, honor, and ancestry. For a half-dwarf born within the Hold, lineage may be a matter of dispute. Some clans recognize such children if their dwarven parent makes formal petition and restitution. Others deny them outright, branding them stone-thin a term implying blood too light to bear the weight of dwarven virtue. Those few who rise within the Holds often do so by surpassing all expectations: mastering a trade, leading a defense, or dying with distinction. Even then, full clanhood is not guaranteed.

Lives Between – Beyond the mountains, half-dwarves find more freedom, but not always more clarity. Among humans, they are often mistaken for dwarves held to standards they never learned. Among dwarves, they are seen as shaped wrong, speaking too quickly, dreaming too wide. Many choose to live on the fringes: caravan guards, smiths-for-hire, independent prospectors. They rarely form large communities, but when two half-dwarves meet, there is often an unspoken recognition you were not built to fit either mold, and yet here you are.

Legacy and Tension – Half-dwarves are defined not by what they inherit, but by what they build. Some spend their lives seeking legitimacy in a world that measures worth by tradition. Others abandon the pursuit altogether, forging lives defined by freedom, defiance, or invention. But beneath their choices lies a quiet question: If stone does not accept me, and soil forgets me, what will remember me when I’m gone? For many half-dwarves, the answer is simple: something I made with my own hands.

The Halflings

They need no permission and leave no explanation.

Halflings are the hidden weight behind Masada’s balance quiet, cloistered, and resolutely inward. They do not claim dominion over cities, mountains, or seas. They do not evangelize, colonize, or invite. What they do, they do without permission and with a precision few understand. Sealed behind monumental stone fortresses carved into cliffside and vale, the halflings of Masada have chosen seclusion not out of fear, but principle.

The Stonefasts – Each halfling city known as a Stonefast is a marvel of defensive architecture and internal order. Outsiders are not permitted entry. Trade is conducted through vetted intermediaries in strictly regulated markets. No map accurately depicts their true scale, and few even agree on how many exist. Stonefasts are governed by The Silent Assembly, an oligarchy of masked elders who speak only to their own. Laws are absolute. Disobedience is rare and rarely repeated.

The Quiet Accord – Centuries ago, the halflings issued a singular message to the outside world: We do not require aid. We do not invite conversation. Leave us to our duty. That message has not changed. In return, halflings offer steady trade gemstones, rare ores, and finely machined goods. They purchase weapons, medicine, and raw materials in vast quantities, but reveal nothing of their population or plans. Diplomats sent to establish deeper relations are turned away, always alive, always with a single written reply: Respect our seclusion.

Legacy and Tension – The world sees halflings as enigmatic isolationists, but the truth may be stranger. Among certain circles gnomish war councils, elven memory-keepers, even the Church Militant there are theories: that the halflings remember what others have forgotten, or that they guard something buried too deep to name. Among halflings themselves, no one speaks of such things. Duty is not explained. It is performed. And while the world argues, expands, and bleeds, the Stonefasts wait behind their walls for what, none can say.

The Reborn

 You were not supposed to return. And yet you did.

Most who die in Masada remain dead. Their names fade, their bones return to soil, and their stories end. But not all. Across the fractured isles, a scattered few rise again not as undead, but as something caught between life and afterlife. These beings, known as Reborn, awaken in shallow graves, forgotten ruins, or on blood-soaked battlefields alive, aware, and utterly changed. They carry no clear memory of their prior life, only fragments, sensations, and dreams that may not be theirs at all.

Awakenings – There is no single cause for a Reborn’s return. Some rise near places touched by the Blight. Others awaken amid divine miracles, arcane anomalies, or acts of unspoken violence. A handful are exhumed by cults or dragged from the brink by forest spirits or forbidden rites. Whatever the catalyst, the result is the same: a body stitched by will rather than breath, a soul dragging behind it a half-torn veil.

Echoes of the Self – Reborn are not mindless constructs. They think, feel, and reason. But their sense of self is fractured built from flashes of a life they can’t recall and instincts they can't explain. Some cling to what few memories return, rebuilding a sense of identity from their past. Others reject the fragments entirely and forge something new. Many live in secrecy, afraid of what others might see or what they themselves might become.

Legacy and Tension – To most, Reborn are abominations neither living nor dead, unnatural by definition. The Church Militant views them as dangerous remnants, often hunted unless they can justify their state as a sanctioned miracle. In Concordant lands, they are tolerated cautiously, sometimes studied, sometimes feared. But among themselves, the Reborn whisper questions no doctrine can answer: Was I meant to return? Did something call me back? And if I am not who I was… then who is steering this body now?
Some seek meaning. Others seek peace. A few suspect they were returned not to live, but to finish what they once failed to destroy.