New to Tambra yet everywhere at once, humans are adaptable, ambitious, and divided. They travel the plains as nomads, trade through rivers and roads, and build rising settlements like Riverrun Hold with dreams of their own kingdom. Though viewed with suspicion by the elder races, humans exhibit an uncanny connection to the Primal Powers—often more frequently than others. While their lack of unity slows their rise, their potential, for good or ill, looms large in the minds of all who watch the center of the world.
Attributes
Humans receive +1 Spirit bonus at level one.
Language
Spoken across campfires, caravans, budding settlements, and shifting alliances, the language of humanity—often called the Common Tongue—is as fluid and diverse as the people who speak it. Rooted in practicality but blossoming with emotion, it reflects the defining human traits: adaptability, creativity, and the need to connect.
It borrows and blends, simplifies and expands. For humans, language is not a relic—it is a living tool that grows with every encounter, trade, and tale. In a world of ancient tongues and rigid traditions, the Common Tongue feels young, hungry, and wide open.
Tone, Cadence, and Structure
Unlike the structured cadence of Dwarven speech or the melodic elegance of Elven dialogue, the Common Tongue is chaotic by design—yet deeply expressive.
Tone: Direct, emotional, and flexible. It can be blunt in conflict, tender in song, and poetic in grief.
Cadence: Highly variable. Among desert scavengers, it’s clipped and swift. Among riverfolk and plains tribes, it rises and falls like a song. In formal speeches, it becomes slow and deliberate, heavy with borrowed metaphor.
Gestures: Physical expression is woven into speech—a shrug, a pointed finger, a clasped hand. Especially among nomadic or coastal groups, gesture often conveys as much as the words themselves.
“Say little. Mean much. Let your hands speak what your lips cannot.” — Common Tongue proverb
Regional Dialects & Borrowed Speech
Though all humans speak a recognizable form of the Common Tongue, regional dialects diverge quickly—an effect of scattered tribes, nomadic life, and exposure to other cultures.
Northern Dialects: Stronger consonants, more Dwarvish loanwords, especially around settlements near the mountains.
Riverlands Speech: Fast, fluid, with idioms pulled from Elven and Gnomish travelers.
Desert Cant: Sparse, efficient, built around short phrases and long silences—shaped by necessity and heat.
Coastal Slang: Colorful, metaphor-heavy, with Gnomish flair and sing-song delivery, often laced with sailor jokes and coded meanings.
Where other cultures guard their language, humans embrace evolution. It’s not uncommon to hear a sentence in the Common Tongue laced with Elven metaphor, Dwarvish curses, or Draconian honorifics.
Common Sayings in the Common Tongue
“The wind speaks kindly today.” – A hopeful omen.
“He’s got stone in his shoes.” – Said of someone slow to change or make decisions.
“Trade me truth for silence.” – An offer of honesty in exchange for discretion.
“Every fire starts with one spark.” – Used to inspire or justify bold actions.
Cultural Significance
To humans, language is not sacred—but it is sacredly human. It’s a record of where they’ve been, whom they’ve traded with, and what they’ve dared to believe.
Storytelling is central to identity. Myths are shared in shifting cadence, songs are passed from mother to daughter, and sayings are carved into walking staffs and tent posts.
Writing is growing among larger human settlements, but still rare among nomads. Traders use pictograms, brands, or trader marks to sign deals and leave warnings.
“Words are our inheritance. Use them wisely, or lose them to the wind.”
The Common Tongue is not polished. It is not ancient. But it is alive—growing in every whisper and shouted name across the plains. In its raw beauty lies the spirit of humanity: bold, uncertain, eager, and endlessly evolving.
Names
Human names in Tambra are as diverse as the people who bear them—shaped by tribe, trade, geography, and the unfolding story of a people still finding their place in the world. Unlike the ancient traditions of the elder races, human naming is fluid, adaptive, and deeply personal, often carrying echoes of lineage, labor, or land.
Most follow a simple but meaningful structure: First Name + Surname. Yet within that simplicity lies an infinite variety of origin, meaning, and pride.
Structure and Variability
While the first name is chosen at birth—sometimes after a family member, sometimes after a virtue or event—the surname offers insight into who a person is, or once was.
Family Lineage
Passed down from parent to child, these surnames are most common among settled communities or growing towns. They represent continuity and ancestral pride.
Examples: Arden, Marcos, Bennett, Thorne
Occupational Names
Rooted in craft, skill, or role—common among nomads, scavengers, and tradesfolk.
Examples: Smith, Hunt, Carver, Mason, Thatcher
Descriptive or Locational
Some surnames describe a trait, physical feature, or place of origin.
Examples: Rivers, Strong, Wainwright, Reed, Maren
Honorific or Chosen Names
In some tribes, a person may adopt a new surname after a great deed or turning point. These names can mark rebirth, fame, or personal transformation.
Examples: Tomas Reed, son of the Plains; Clara Fletch, the Last Arrow of Dunmar.
“I was born Elena Maren—but if I survive this, they’ll call me Elena of the Hundred Fires.”
Cultural Expression and Regional Trends
Humans, being scattered across Tambra, have developed regional naming customs that reflect their environments:
Plainsfolk: Often use natural imagery or place-based surnames (e.g., Reed, Wainwright, Holloway).
Desert Scavengers: Favor functional or earned names that reflect survival (e.g., Flint, Dustwalker, Shade).
Coastal Nomads: Adopt fluid, sometimes borrowed names from Gnomes or Elves (e.g., Mira Tidecall, Jonas Drift).
Settlers near other Kingdoms: May reflect naming influences from their neighbors, such as Dwarven compounds (e.g., Garrick Ironson) or Elven-sounding flourishes (e.g., Aelina Wren).
In some regions, surnames may even shift with generations—a reflection of a family’s journey, not just its bloodline.
Common Human Names
| Given Name | Surname | Meaning |
| Tomas | Reed | Plains-born hunter lineage |
| Clara | Fletch | Descendant of arrow-makers |
| Garrick | Ironson | Born near Dwarven forges |
Philosophy of the Name
For humans, a name is not sacred—but it is important. It is both a record and a challenge, something to honor or outgrow. Where the Elves sing their names and the Dwarves stack theirs with ancestral pride, humans shape their names like they shape their lives—imperfectly, but with purpose.
“A name is a place to begin, not a place to rest.” — old human saying
Some change their names. Others defend them fiercely. But all humans understand this truth: a name is a story—and stories can always be rewritten.
Economy
Humanity may be young in Tambra, but it is growing faster than anyone expected. Where the elder races see the world through the lens of legacy, humans see it as an open frontier. With quick hands, curious minds, and an uncanny knack for learning, they are transforming the Great Plains into a patchwork of tent camps, trading routes, and wheat fields that bend golden under the wind.
Human economics is improvised, flexible, and experimental. They are not yet master craftsmen, nor powerful merchants—but they are learning, and they are hungry.
A Culture of Fast Growth and Fierce Trade
Human settlements begin as simple camps, then become villages, then trade hubs almost overnight. Each is built with borrowed knowledge—a bit of Elven forestry, a Dwarven forge plan, a Gnomish contraption salvaged and half-understood. No tool is too strange to copy. No tradition too sacred to question.
Farming has become a defining human trait. Wheat, in particular, thrives in the Great Plains—and with it, bread has become humanity’s first great contribution to Tambra.
Where Elves revere nature, and Dwarves carve the mountain, humans cultivate, plant, and reshape the land—not to conquer it, but to survive.
“We don’t need ancient roots. We’ve got seeds.”
Exports — Simple Goods, Great Promise
Though their goods are still rough around the edges, human exports are gaining popularity—especially among those tired of overly ritualized or elitist economies.
Bread:
Simple, soft, and shockingly delicious, human-made bread has become a sought-after delicacy across Tambra. Nobles, warriors, and even Gnomish traders clamor for the new flavors and textures.
Basic Crafts:
Humans are producing pottery, leatherwork, textiles, and baskets—sometimes clumsy, sometimes brilliant. Their work lacks polish, but it is affordable, useful, and improving fast.
Innovation Over Perfection:
Some human settlements export modified tools—axes turned to weapons, plowheads reforged into spears, or patchwork gear made from scavenged Dwarven or Gnomish parts.
Currency and Trade Habits
Humans have not yet unified behind any formal currency system. Most prefer barter, especially in nomadic groups, but simple coin systems are emerging in more established villages.
Preferred Exchanges:
Tools, food, leather goods, trinkets, and favors.
Approach to Trade:
Curious and willing, but wary. Many humans have been taken advantage of by more experienced traders, making trust an evolving commodity.
“A favor lasts longer than a coin.”
They’re unafraid to walk for weeks, if it means finding a better trade. Traveling bazaars and frontier markets are becoming central to human identity—gatherings of storytellers, craftsmen, and wandering traders that move like festivals across the plains.
Materials and Craftsmanship — Function Before Form
Human equipment is a work in progress—functional, adaptable, and often cobbled together from necessity.
Materials: Leather, wood, bone, scavenged iron, and repurposed parts.
Weapons: Clubs, spears, repurposed farming tools, rough-forged blades, and crossbows based on Gnomish models.
Armor: Hide and leather are layered over an improvised plate, and wooden shields are often carved with family marks or tribal symbols.
Craftsmanship Style
Practical and eclectic. One human’s sword might be half-Dwarven steel, another’s a jungle vine whip wrapped around a bronze pickaxe head.
They may lack precision, but they make up for it in cleverness.
The Patchwork Survivors
Humanity’s most significant economic strength is improvisation. When a tool breaks, they fix it with something else. When a trade fails, they learn and try again. When a storm ruins the field, they plant something new.
No rule is sacred. No tool is wasted.
Their economy is an evolving story, written not in stone or law, but in sweat, hunger, and hope.
“We’re not the best at anything. But give us time, and we’ll make something no one’s ever seen.”
Human economics is less a machine and more a garden—growing, spreading, tangled with borrowed vines and new roots. It may not be elegant, but it is alive.
Government
Unlike the time-honored hierarchies of the elder races, human governance in Tambra is still being shaped, improvised, evolving, and deeply regional. Where Dwarves have councils and kings and Elves are guided by matriarchal lineage, humans have what they can hold, who they can convince, and what they can build before it falls apart.
No unified banner flies over the Great Plains. No singular monarch speaks for humanity. Instead, campfires and caravan trails become courts, and tents, wagons, and palisades serve as halls of power.
A Fragmented People, A Scattered Future
Humans are the youngest race in Tambra, having emerged—or arrived—only in the living memory of the oldest elves and dragons. Their origin is unknown:
Some Elven sages say the Great Tree seeded them, as a balancing force in the world.
Draconian mystics whisper that they wandered through a forgotten gate, drawn to this world by hunger or destiny.
Gnomes shrug and say they simply “showed up late, but eager.”
Whatever their origin, their present is marked by division, struggle, and surprising resilience.
Human Factions
Nomadic Tribes: Hunters, herders, and wanderers of the Great Plains.
Desert Scavengers: Rugged survivors scraping life from heat and dust.
Coastal Folk: Fishermen, traders, and rising pirate bands learning the ways of the sea.
Forest Dwellers: Bandits, herbalists, and fugitives hiding beneath green canopies.
Each group answers to its own customs, elders, or strong arms. Alliances shift with the seasons. Wars can begin over water rights, hunting grounds, or stolen bread. Unity, when it exists, is brief and hard-won, but always memorable.
Riverrun Hold — A Beacon of Order or the Seed of Chaos?
If any human place can claim to be the heart of something greater, it is Riverrun Hold—a frontier settlement clawing its way into permanence.
Positioned where the Mountain Kingdom, Forest Kingdom, and Great Plains converge.
Built on the banks of the Silverleaf River, sharing waters with the Elven city of Rivermist.
Muddy streets, makeshift markets, and growing stone walls.
Tents cluster around a half-built keep, while merchants and mercenaries flood the river docks.
The sound of hammers, shouting, and distant music fills the air.
Riverrun is a city being invented in real time, and everyone has a stake—whether to see it flourish or fall.
Leadership
Governed (tenuously) by a Council of Elders—former warriors, hunters, scavengers, and ambitious traders.
Power struggles are constant. Would-be kings whisper promises in the alehouses. Mercenary captains press their might at the gates. Wandering priests claim divine authority from gods no one else has heard of.
Despite this, Riverrun persists, held together by mutual need, shared dreams, and the occasional lucky harvest.
“We’ve no crown. Just a cause, and that’s enough for now.”
The Politics of Survival
Among humans, power is personal. Leadership is claimed, challenged, and often short-lived. The strongest or wisest may rise—but only if they can inspire, protect, or outlast their rivals.
Titles are fluid—today’s “Lord of the Fields” may be tomorrow’s refugee.
Laws are often oral, drawn from tribal wisdom, or borrowed from neighboring cultures.
Justice varies wildly—one camp may rely on public trials, another on duels, another on elder judgment.
Still, something is stirring in the chaos. A handful of humans speak of unity, of a banner to rally behind, of a nation born not of birthright, but of will.
A People on the Edge of Something Greater
Human government is not yet a system. It is a seed, scattered and weather-worn, waiting for the right storm or sunrise to bloom.
Some believe Riverrun will grow into a true capital—a human kingdom forged in real time.
Others whisper that a warlord or visionary may rise from the dust, uniting the tribes by strength or spirit.
A few, more cautiously, suggest that humans were never meant to unite—that their power lies in flexibility, not centralization.
Whatever path they choose, one truth remains:
“The other races were shaped by history. We are shaping ours now.”
Locations
The Great Plains are Tambra’s wildest breath, stretching far between kingdoms, unclaimed by any crown and unguarded by ancient tradition. Beneath skies that shift from gold to storm, the plains whisper opportunity—and danger. This is humanity’s cradle, where small fires of civilization begin to glow against the sweeping wind.
Though other people travel these lands, it is humanity that dares to settle, to farm, to build something lasting. Here, every road is a story, and every river a prophecy.
The Thunderfields — Storm’s Domain
Far to the west, where the sky never sleeps, lie the Thunderfields—an endless expanse of tall grasses and rolling winds, where storms gather like stampeding herds.
Lightning arcs for miles, and thunder sings for days.
To human tribes, this is a sacred testing ground—to endure a Thunderfield storm without shelter is a rite of passage.
Some say those struck by lightning and left alive are “touched by the sky” and destined for greatness or madness.
The Hollow Oaks — Roots for the Rootless
Dotted sporadically across the plains are the Hollow Oaks, ancient giants whose trunks are wide enough to shelter entire families.
Nomadic humans have used them for generations as temporary homes, places of rest, or sacred meeting grounds.
Carvings of ancestral symbols and travel marks cover their interiors.
Some oaks are said to whisper during storms, revealing secrets or warning of danger.
The Three Rivers Confluence — Where Destiny Pools
At the crossroads of three great rivers—the Silverleaf, the Sunveil, and the Stoneflow—lies a place thick with power and prophecy.
The land here is fertile, contested, and strangely magnetic—a center for human settlement and legend alike.
Many believe that a king or queen will rise from this very spot, uniting the scattered tribes under one banner.
At the heart of this confluence sits Riverrun Hold, the closest thing humanity has to a capital.
Human Cities and Fortresses
Riverrun Hold (Emerging Capital)
Already established as humanity’s greatest settlement, Riverrun is a hub of trade, tension, and dreams. Built on the river bend where the three rivers meet, its palisade walls rise each month, and so too does its importance in the eyes of neighboring powers.
(See full Riverrun entry under Government section.)
Tallowfort — Sentinel of the South
Constructed of rough stone and timber, Tallowfort stands vigil over the Stoneflow River, built by human warbands to guard against bandits, beasts, and worse.
Still half-finished, with scaffolding clinging to its rear towers.
Home to grizzled warriors, proud standard-bearers, and mercenaries with muddy boots and sharper tongues.
Within its walls, arguments erupt as often as songs—no lord rules here, only the strong and the respected.
Lowmeadow Crossing — Between Harvest and Hope
A peaceful village on the banks of the Sunveil, Lowmeadow is both a waystation and a way of life.
Farmers tend wheat fields just beyond its edges, while fishermen cast nets into waters fed by the desert’s breath.
Its river docks welcome travelers heading from the desert to the forest, and its taverns are full of maps, rumors, and muddy boots.
“The Sunveil gives and takes. That’s why we bless every cast and every cup.”
Minor Rivers and Sacred Streams
Crooked Hollow Creek
Winding like a snake across the plains, Crooked Hollow is a nomad’s compass. Its water is sweet, and its bends mark migration paths, grazing routes, and spiritual crossings.
Many caravans follow it seasonally, carving stories into its stones.
Bitterrush Stream
Salt-heavy and mineral-rich, Bitterrush is considered useless for crops, but prized for its healing salts and rare clays.
Herbalists and river-priests sometimes journey here to gather sacred muds, believed to draw out fever and poison.
Its waters taste like iron and regret—but its gifts are undeniable.
Brookhollow
Tucked quietly between Crooked Hollow and Bitterrush, Brookhollow is a farming village defined by hedgerows, honesty, and superstition.
Notable Features:
The Twin Wells
Two side-by-side springs—one clear, one murky. Locals say one brings luck, the other sorrow. During weddings or harvests, villagers draw from the wells blindfolded, leaving fate to the spirits.
Notable Residents:
Garren Fieldsman: A charismatic farmer with a secret—ancient relics buried under his barn and a past he won’t speak of.
Sister Yala: A quiet priestess of Life who came from the rivers, bearing knowledge of forgotten rites. She hides scars, and a tattoo said to belong to the old river cults.
The Plains Beckon
The Great Plains are not empty—they are wild with potential. Here, the land shapes the people, and the people dare to shape the land. In every field, storm, and stream lies a new beginning or an ancient echo.
The plains are wide. So too is the path ahead.
Tensions and Plot Hooks
Humanity may be young in Tambra, but its flame burns quickly—and often without control. Where other peoples have structure, tradition, or divine lineage, humans have only ambition, fear, and potential. In the fields and camps of the Great Plains, especially in the rising settlement of Riverrun Hold, that potential is both a light in the dark and a fuse near fire.
Below are three major tensions and plot hooks that reflect the fragility, volatility, and hidden promise of humankind’s emergence.
Border Tensions — Eyes in the Trees, Whispers in the Stone
To the Elves and Dwarves, Riverrun is more than a curiosity—it is a threat.
The Elves of Rivermist whisper that humans are growing too fast, consuming forest edge and riverbank alike. They fear cultural corruption and ecological imbalance.
Dwarves near the Mountain Gate worry that humans will compete for territory and trade, or worse—disrupt delicate alliances forged in stone and blood.
Now, agents from both cultures have been spotted in Riverrun—masquerading as traders, pilgrims, even lovers.
Elven infiltrators charm their way into homes and council halls, quietly sowing dissent against expansion.
Dwarven saboteurs study the defenses, catalog weapons shipments, and may be plotting industrial sabotage of the keep’s ironworks.
Plot Hook
The players are recruited to investigate mysterious disappearances and political leaks within Riverrun—only to uncover a tangled web of foreign operatives, some of whom may be sympathetic… and some who will kill to stop Riverrun from taking root.
The Prophecy of the River — A Crown in the Mud
In hushed voices and weathered song, some humans speak of an old tale—perhaps borrowed from Elven lore, perhaps born in a fever dream:
“Where river and mountain meet the wild heart, a crown shall rise.”
To some, it is nonsense. To others, it is destiny. And now, that prophecy has begun to pull people toward Riverrun:
Claimants and pretenders arrive weekly—mercenaries with forged lineage, wandering priests claiming visions, warlords demanding loyalty.
Some in the Council fear this prophecy may tear the town apart, while others hope to use it to rally the clans.
Worse still, others believe the prophecy may awaken something older beneath the Silverleaf—a guardian spirit, or a buried threat.
Plot Hook
The party is hired to verify the prophecy, locate its origins, or protect a so-called heir before rival factions can eliminate them. But the closer they get, the more the line blurs between legend and manipulation.
The Bandit War — Freedom or Flame
The forests beyond Riverrun hide more than trees—they shelter outlaws, exiles, and idealists who call themselves the Verdant Hand.
Once mere thieves, they now claim to be liberators, seeking to topple Riverrun’s “false council” and return the land to its people.
They paint humans in the town as servants of foreign powers, and their raids are growing bolder and bloodier by the week.
Led by the charismatic and ruthless Cale Thornblade, the Verdant Hand promise freedom, land, and loot to anyone who joins.
Within Riverrun, sympathizers grow more vocal. Some settlers agree with the bandits’ message, if not their methods. Others whisper of defecting to the forest.
Plot Hook
The players must choose whether to help the council root out the rebellion, negotiate a truce, or perhaps—join the uprising themselves. But Cale Thornblade may have more planned than freedom… and not every rebel fights for justice.
The Crossroads of Fate
Humanity in Tambra is on the edge—of greatness, of ruin, of identity. These tensions test their values, divide their loyalties, and invite outside powers to interfere or manipulate. Whether Riverrun becomes a capital or a cautionary tale, one thing is certain:
The age of humans is beginning. But how it begins… is up to those who survive it.
Affinities
Of all the peoples of Tambra, humans are the most unpredictable when it comes to the primal forces. Where Elves are drawn to Nature, Draconians to Light and Fire, and Dwarves to Earth and Stone, humans show no natural leaning—and yet, somehow, they are touched by all.
They are called by some “the children of possibility.” Not because they are the strongest, nor the wisest, but because they are the most open. Magic flows in their blood not as a lineage, but as a chance—a glimmer that can appear in anyone, at any time, in any form.
The Story We Carry
As told by wanderers and warbands across the Plains
The dwarves say stone remembers.
That the world began with weight and fire,
That Light struck deep, and the earth sang back.
The elves say it was a song.
Light danced with Darkness,
And from their union grew leaves and stars.
The gnomes say it was a joke.
A spark that slipped, a tumble, a twirl—
And the world laughed itself into being.
The draconians say it was Judgment.
Light tested Darkness and scorched the sky.
The strong stood. The rest were burned away.
We have heard them all.
Around fires. At borders. In blood and in bread.
And still we ask:
What came first?
Was it fire, or song, or silence?
A hammer’s ring, a whisper’s breath, a roar?
Maybe it was all of them.
Maybe none.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
We are here.
We plant. We build. We break.
We remember and forget in equal measure.
But still—still—we carry the tale.
Not because we know it’s true,
But because we are part of it now.
Equal in Affinity, Unequal in Number
What makes humanity unique is not which affinities they possess, but how often they do. Compared to the older races, a significantly higher percentage of humans manifest a primal connection—some weak and flickering, others strong enough to reshape battlefields or heal the dying.
A human blacksmith might awaken an affinity for Fire, shaping blades without coal.
A traveling midwife might find she can sense Life, calming labor pains with a touch.
A poet might unknowingly speak Truth so deeply that lies unravel in their presence.
A bandit, bitter and cunning, might channel Trickery to vanish in plain sight.
“We are not born to one force,” said a river-tribe elder. “We are the clay. And the world sculpts us in ways it never dared with the others.”
The Blessing and the Risk
This diversity is both a gift and a danger. In ancient cultures, affinity is trained, bound by ritual and heritage. In human lands, it often erupts unbidden—a child freezing a stream with fear, a grieving lover calling up roots from the ground, or a dreamer drawing stars down with whispered words.
Without guidance, power becomes peril. And yet… with guidance, it becomes something more: freedom.
Temples and hedge-priests across the plains have begun teaching gifted youths.
Some villages revere those with affinities as chosen.
Others fear them—especially those aligned with Death, Darkness, or Trickery.
“The gods may have given the Elves the forest and the Dwarves the mountain,” a settler once said, “but they gave us fire, ice, breath, blood, death—and the choice.”
A People of All Paths
While other races see affinity as legacy, humans see it as calling. There are no forbidden affinities. No sacred monopolies. No expected paths.
A warrior with Air may leap farther than his foes can run.
A baker with Water may calm the rains over her fields.
A thief with Darkness may silence even his own heartbeat.
There is no pattern, no prophecy. But what humans lack in certainty, they make up for in potential.
Cultural Reflection
Across Tambra, other peoples watch humanity’s affinity with a mix of wonder and unease.
Elven seers whisper that humanity may be the balance—or the undoing—of the primal weave.
Draconian priests warn that the untamed spread of magic could bring ruin.
Dwarven scholars marvel at humanity’s variability, calling it “a storm without a sky.”
Among humans themselves, a quiet belief is spreading—that perhaps they were not born of the world like the others, but born for it. That the primal forces—Truth, Death, Life, Fire, Water, Nature, and all the rest—waited for a people who could hold them all.
The Many Are Rising
In the fields, in the cities, in the caravans and holdfasts, young humans are waking to powers unknown even to scholars of the old kingdoms.
And with each awakening comes a question:
What will humanity become, when it learns to wield all the powers of the world?