Infobox
Property Value Name Blond Aliases — Category Races Is Subrace Yes Origin North Continent Status Flourishing Maturation 16 – 18 years Lifespan < 100 years Fertility 1.8 – 2.2 Height 168 – 196 cm Weight 65 – 97 kg Deity Omnivorous Reproduction Sexual Genders Male\Female Bio Traits Cold Resistance Vulnerabilities The Scorching Sun Dist Feature Pale Skin, Pale Hair Anatomy Feature —
Overview
Arrogant, at first glance, are these migrants from the Northern Continent. One might think even their pallid frames have stiffened from the encroaching frosts.
Do not speak nonsense
The Chronicler is raving; it is plain to see his foot has never once graced the soil of the Northern Continent.
Ashen Visages. These folk, with complexions of raw chalk and hair reminiscent of a funeral pyre, gaze upon the world through a prism of icy loathing. Yet, their venom is never squandered on their own kind. The Blonds are obsessed with the purity of human nature. To them, Zoomorphs and Kilui are naught but errors of the cosmos, a loathsome mingling of sacred flesh with a bestial core.
In their domains, xenophobia is elevated to the rank of liturgy: they might share wine with an Afir while debating grain shipments, yet in the same hour, they would coldbloodedly condemn an entire settlement of wolf-kin to the flames—simply for the “wrong” shape of a pupil.
Where is your professionalism?
You truly are something, Laurus. How exactly did the Blonds spite you so that you dare weave such biased vitriol into a masterpiece of documentary prose? Ah, I think—I have guessed it…
Physiology and Psychology
Pale, as if they were the living dead, their hair has lost all vibrant color. Their eyes are cold and blue, piercing your very core with icy sparks. Looking upon them, one would hardly suspect a shred of human warmth. Yet, seeing them in action, all doubts vanish—before you stands a typical, ordinary human.
There are bodily distinctions from the primary race, such as height, but these differences are not significant enough to warrant detailing every limb.
Codex of the Iron Sires; Manual on the Fortitude of the Spirit
The disposition of a Blond is not merely a personality trait; it is a discipline forged through generations, where emotions are sacrificed to Order. Through their veins flows not mere blood, but “cold steel”—the conviction that the world is a chaos that must be bridled by an iron will. For a representative of this subrace, life is an eternal Service: to one’s lineage, one’s sector, and one’s “purity.”
The movements of the soul in this subrace are a noose of “Order” tightened to the point of breaking bones, fueled by rigid species division:
- Embryo of a Nation: The Blonds are not merely a group of people; they are a swollen, unified monolith. Within their circle, they display a mercy and cohesion rare for Amar Dag. They view themselves as the future of humanity, a pure spark destined to grow into a conflagration. Among themselves, they are steel supporting steel.
- Human Complicity: To them, any human—be it an Afir or a savage from the wastes—is an equal in their claim to this world. A Blond may despise an Afir for his cunning, yet he will never place him on the same level as the “beasts.” It is a pact of locusts: they may squabble over a throne, but they will always unite against anyone bearing the blood of the Kilui.
- Treatment of “Spawn”: Here, their disposition turns to stone. To them, a Zoomorph is not a living being, but a function or a threat. A slave to be worked until the heart bursts, or spawn to be eradicated. » Oh, how noble! A “function”! Laurus, call it what it is: they see us as meat that has learned to beg for mercy. To them, our scream is merely the grating of a broken mechanism, nothing more. »
Bitter Observation
Their racism is no mere whim; it is a part of their fundamental order. They truly believe that by oppressing us, they are protecting “human purity.” When I presented them with documents, they did not see a Chronicler. They saw an error of nature that had stolen a human voice. Their unity is a wall, and we shall always remain on the other side, in the shadow they cast upon the world.
Culture and Society
Originally, “Blonds” was merely a nickname that arose among the Zoomorph tribes on the northern side of the Delin River. Yet, after a century, this moniker took root among the Einhers themselves, becoming the official designation of their fair-haired kin. Thus, I prefer to distinguish between the Einhers and the Blonds. The Blonds are those who settled on the northern shores of the Mangfold Continent, whereas the Einhers are those who…
Emperor Odwin; Address to the People…
— “Look at one another; look into your crystal-blue eyes. What do you see? A thirst for power? A frantic rage? No? Neither do I. I see memory. The memory of three generations whose blood has fed this blinding snow.
The Zoomorphs did not come for our lands—for we have no lands here! They came for our lives: every one of us, from the youngest to the eldest. They taught us fear; they hunted us like game, hoping we would vanish, dissolve into the cold. But we only ignited with the flame of unity! It was unity that gave us the will to withstand those who did not even perceive us as a threat due to our former fragmentation! It is unity that allows us to stand here, upon these vast plains!
I, Odwin, stand before you not as a warrior whose sword strikes without fail, by no means. I stand as the one who sees a path where others saw a dead end. And then—on that fateful day—I spoke, and the question was simple: “it is either us or them”! No third option was given to us!
And now, decades later, I stand before you, my brothers and sisters by blood, shared grief, and a common destiny. Every one of us, the Blonds, is ready to share this fate despite the Baleful Eye and the Cursed Crown. Our shared history shall meet with us again in the future! And we must be prepared for it!
Your fury is no whim. It is the echo of our pain. These beasts… you wish to tear their hides asunder for what they have done! It is just. But revenge is a dish we cannot afford right now. We are too weak. We are too few. If we turn and rush into battle now, we will die as heroes, but we will die. And I have no need for dead heroes. I need a living people!”
…a long silence…
— “They started this war of extermination. We shall end it differently—on our own terms. Extermination is the choice of an unhewn animal. The victor of such a war remains only the king of an ash heap. It is the strategy of fools. We have already won: we can slit the throats of the beasts at any moment. But that is a talentless waste of resources.
Listen to the one who sees the blueprint of the future. I do not ask for mercy toward the enemy. I demand calculation from you. Every time your rage takes over and you slay a captive, you steal a brick from the wall meant to protect your children. You destroy the bridge our convoys must cross. That is not vengeance. That is the sabotage of our future.
An enemy’s corpse will sate your anger for but a single minute. A living slave will mine ore and haul timber for the rest of his days. Who among you is rich enough to squander decades of free labor for the sake of a moment’s pleasure?
I forbid you to be wasteful. I forbid you to break the tools won by the blood and sweat of generations! Hide your emotions. Engage your reason. We are not here to carpet the earth with bones; we are here to make those bones work.
First, we shall build the Empire. We shall wring them dry, turning their blunt strength into our majesty. And only when they have become useless—only then, and not a day sooner, may you give free rein to your blade.”