No one agrees on when the Oakspeople first appeared in Leonoria—least of all the Oakspeople themselves. They do not keep histories the way other races do. There are no carved tablets, no songs of lineage, no grand origin myth. Ask one of them where their people came from, and you may receive a riddle, a shrug, or merely a cryptic statement: "We grew where the roots remembered us." Whether this is metaphor or literal truth remains impossible to discern.
What little is believed comes from scattered encounters deep within The Sanctuary—the ancient eastern forests where the air itself seems to breathe. Travelers who have wandered too far off the path speak of a presence before they ever see one: a subtle shift in the wind, a hush among insects, the feeling of being watched not with malice, but with patient curiosity. Then, suddenly, they are there. Small figures, rarely taller than a human child, with skin in hues of moss, bark, and damp earth. Their hair grows in tangled forms resembling vines, roots, or fine lichen, swaying not only with the wind but sometimes against it, as if responding to something deeper. Their eyes are often dark and reflective, like still water beneath a canopy. They are unsettling to behold, not because they are hostile, but because they feel ancient—not aged, but old in a way that suggests they belong to the forest as truly as stones belong to the ground.
Nature and Magic
The Oakspeople are not merely attuned to Materium—they are steeped in it. Where other races learn magic as a discipline, the Oakspeople exist as a quiet expression of it. Their connection is neither scholarly nor ritualistic; it is instinctual. They do not "cast" in the traditional sense. Instead, they coax, nudge, and invite the energies of the world to move with them. Roots part beneath their feet. Leaves muffle their passage. Light bends subtly around them, not as illusion, but as a courtesy granted by the living world.
This same affinity grants them rare resilience. Their bodies, marked with strange interwoven tattoos, act as conduits and dampeners of magical force. These markings are not decorative—they are grown into the skin over time, part ink, part scar, part something else entirely. Together with their unusual biology, they render the Oakspeople highly resistant to all forms of magic, whether born of light, dark, or neutral Materium. Spells that would scorch, bind, or corrupt others often lose coherence when touching them, as if the magic itself forgets its purpose.
Life and Culture
The Oakspeople dwell deep within The Sanctuary, in regions few outsiders survive long enough to map. They do not build in the conventional sense—their homes are grown, shaped from living trees, woven roots, and hollowed stone. Entire settlements may shift over time as the forest grows, leaving no permanent trace. They live in small, fluid groups rather than fixed communities, with individuals coming and going without announcement. There is no visible hierarchy, no leaders, no formal structure, yet they function with an eerie cohesion, as if guided by a shared, unspoken understanding. They eat what the forest provides, but never in a way that depletes it. They take, but always leave something in return—even if that "something" is invisible to others.
They are, by all observable measures, benign. They do not raid settlements, wage war, or seek dominion. Yet their actions often confound those who encounter them. An Oaksperson may guide a lost traveler safely to the edge of the forest—only to steal a small, seemingly insignificant item before vanishing. They may sabotage a logging effort, not with violence, but by subtly warping paths, dulling tools, and unsettling workers until the effort is abandoned. They might watch a battle unfold from the treeline, intervening only at a moment that seems arbitrary to outsiders, yet decisive in outcome. Their morality is not absent—it is simply rooted in a perspective that does not align with common reasoning. They act in accordance with balance, growth, and preservation, but these concepts are interpreted through a lens shaped by the forest itself, not by civilization.
Combat and Skills
Physically, the Oakspeople are not strong. They lack the mass and endurance for direct confrontation and avoid it whenever possible. But what they lack in strength, they compensate for in subtlety. They move through dense undergrowth without sound, vanish into shadows that should not conceal them, and can remain perfectly still for hours, blending so completely with their surroundings that even trained eyes pass over them. This makes them exceptional thieves, scouts, and infiltrators—not driven by greed, but by purpose. When an Oaksperson takes something, it is rarely random. Whether reclaiming, redistributing, or simply removing, their actions often serve a logic that only becomes clear much later—if at all.
Playing an Oaksperson
- Strengths: Magic resistance, stealth, intuitive connection to Materium, shapeshifting through natural environments
- Weaknesses: Low physical strength, poor in direct combat, slow movement
- Key Traits: You are not driven by wealth, glory, or recognition. You observe more than you speak. Your actions follow internal logic tied to balance and preservation. You avoid direct conflict, preferring stealth and subtle manipulation. Others may see you as eerie or untrustworthy, but rarely as an enemy.
- Class Affinities: Beastwarden Elementalist Scholar Lifewhisperer Verdant Warden