Queen Serzy is an alchymist. She augments what nature has provided with intelligence and a form more suited for her utopia. She isn't royalty, but her pets think otherwise; the Canidaur knights have a loyalty beyond honor.

Reux (pronounced 'rooks') is a village in the heart of Sedgemoor. There are seven main families, and a population of approximately 220. They've been having a hard time lately.

Elder Murdagh was the last of the thegns. He was eighty-two when he was found spontaneously combusted in his home on 1 King's Week RP 268. It was then that a meeting was called to name a council of aldermen to rule in his stead. 

The seven prominent clans are MacKee, Sharpe, Brewer, Standish, Kent, Thomasson, and Barrett. There are others, but they are neither numerous nor prominent. Of these seven, all but Thomasson own longhouses in the town center. The Thomasson clan is split, and its living members live among the Sharpe and Barrett houses.

Most of Reux is made of sod and slate houses, or wattle and daub huts. The exceptions are the six longhouses in town, which are built of petrified wood blocks, with lacquered goatskin roofs. That, and the stone priory, where Karna is worshiped among several smaller gods, including Speed, and Tarkus of the Hunt.

A single Hadrus named Hamish is co-owned by MacKee, Sharpe, and Barrett. Hamish* knows how to pull a plow, mainly. Don't imagine that there aren't fights about who gets to use Hamish.

There's an orchard called Abhlord half a mile out of town. Young 'uns go there to get frisky, and the apples and pears provide for the town's supply of scrumpy and pabulum.

Rooks all grow yams in their personal gardens, and most of their trade shepherding or tending goats. There's a canidaur named Publius around town who makes cheese, and a Sandringer named Sakarias who runs a smithy. Other than that, almost every Roux in town is human. 

*F

This is a work in progress. 

In appearance, the Púkafólk are small human-like creatures, pallid, no more than a meter in height, and very slight of build. They have larger heads and slightly bulging dark eyes. They decorate their bodies with white, blue, and green bioluminescent pigments in intricate patterns, for they have an art for tattoo ink that glows by the heat of the body.

Púkafólk have little hair, lacking even eyelashes. They have a small but sprawling underground civilization numbering several thousands. They are never seen above-ground in daylight, as they are deathly allergic to direct sunlight (suffering fatal anaphylaxis in most cases from even an hour's exposure). There are groups of above-ground Púkafólk enthusiasts who share stories and theories about them, almost all entirely false and conjectural. Popular theory has it that they are the ghosts of children who were killed unjustly sent to haunt their tormentors. Others contend they are evil spirits who can kill with a gaze and feed on nightmares. People of quality indeed have been slain in duels over disagreements about the true nature of Púkafólk.

They are in fact human, with human souls, but they were created by a demonic convocation to be made into slave soldiers for a future war against the Cerentian Cosmonauts (refer to Ismeretlen). However, against all probability the light of Karna found them and they rejected their evil masters. This resulted in an underground war of independence lasting a decade. Knowing that the little folk were created by demons to abhor sunlight, Karna gifted them with the sálarmosa, a new breed of blessed underground moss that converts the light of faith directly into sunlight. This gave them the ability to grow their own food, and break free of the tyranny of their creators. Fierce underground battle lines, protracted sieges, and deadly encounter battles were the norm while they fought hosts of Beastmen, lunar Mothfolk, and vicious Theri spies. The veterans of that war are a much-depleted host of consummate soldiers. There still may exist a remnant of loyalists who failed to die in service of their demonic masters. Encountering such would be highly dangerous. 

Before they gained independence, the little folk were brought great stores of dried meat, and given knowledge of evil weaponry by their erstwhile masters. After gaining independence they take no meat, but still they make war with guns. In fact, the deep mysteries of gunsmything are kept by an inner circle of priests. By a pact with the divine, they are the sole keepers of this deadly art, and if knowledge of gunsmything were ever to fall into the wrong hands, Karna would rescind the blessing of sálarmosa and they would be again assailed by the vengeful demons whom they betrayed.

The púkafólk cannot ride beasts in their underground roadways. No beast of burden could tolerate such a gloomy fray. For long distances, they use machines that, when cranked by foot or hand, can move quickly along steel rails. In manner, the little folk are hardy, even-keeled, and highly pragmatic. They know not the elaborate honor codes of nobility, but they value courage, pride in work, a sense of fairness, and a posture of taciturn self-reliance. They speak in a patois of Altonian and Mashaya, but with a peculiar drawling guttural accent possibly acquired from demons. It would be just about possible for a speaker of both languages to converse intelligently with the Púkafólk, but even then the accent would be a hindrance to comprehension (and likely to be taken as an inexcusable peculiarity in any case).

They dress sparingly. Civilians wear little but their tattoos and paints, and their warriors don roughspun waxcloth ponchos, fierce masks, and heavily armored extremities. They wield massive repeating scatterguns and cruel knives in the dark, and their regiments are foremost in the art of sapping, engineering, and trapmaking.