Tiefling
Tieflings are the marked offspring of infernal, abyssal, or otherwise otherworldly ancestry—beings whose bloodlines were long ago entwined with devils, demons, or darker powers that stir beneath the world’s surface or in planes beyond. Their appearance sets them apart at a glance: curling horns rising from their foreheads, sinuous tails flicking with thoughtless grace, and skin shades ranging from deep crimson to ashen violet, obsidian black, or pallid gray. Eyes without pupils—glowing gold, silver, or pools of pitch—hint at something unearthly within.
Though their fiendish heritage is ancient, many tieflings are born to mortal parents, often with no warning or apparent cause, as if the curse or legacy of their bloodline lies dormant until stirred. Their presence is an omen to some, a mystery to others. In Aigusyl, they are regarded with suspicion, curiosity, reverence, or fear—depending on where one treads. While some see tieflings as dangerous remnants of infernal pacts, others view them as tragic inheritors of sins not their own.
Despite their reputation, tieflings are not bound by their origins. In fact, they are perhaps more fiercely determined than most to carve out their own identities. Many walk paths of redemption, while others embrace the shadows cast upon them, becoming cunning warlocks, daring tricksters, or fierce defenders of the downtrodden. They often possess an iron will, born of a life spent being judged before speaking, and an uncanny resilience—both physical and emotional.
Tiefling culture is a tapestry of borrowed traditions and hard-earned unity. Rarely having lands of their own, tieflings often form tight enclaves within cities, where they look after their own and build identities out of shared struggle. In some places, tieflings become wandering performers, occult scholars, or cursed mercenaries—roles the world expects of them. In others, they become scholars of ancient lore, guardians of forbidden knowledge, or peacekeepers who understand darkness better than most.
Magic flows easily in their veins, especially spells linked to fire, shadow, or charm. Many tieflings exhibit innate magical talents, gifts inherited from their distant progenitors. Some can manipulate flames with a thought, vanish into smoke, or speak in tongues unheard by mortals. It is not uncommon for a tiefling child to cause strange phenomena when frightened or angry—an invisible force knocking objects over, whispers that chill the room, or torches flaring to life unbidden.
Religiously, tieflings are divided. Some shun the gods entirely, believing no divine being would truly embrace them. Others turn to deities of redemption, fate, or rebellion—gods who see beyond blood and form. A rare few are drawn to darker patrons, seeking power, vengeance, or understanding through infernal lenses. In Amoxis, some tieflings find a strange kinship with the exiled or those touched by The Writhing Deep, drawn by shared alienation rather than ideology.
Yet tieflings endure. Their lives are stories of resilience—of building something true from the ashes of mistrust. Whether draped in silks or armor, seated at council tables or lurking in alleyways, tieflings are ever-adaptable, ever-watchful. To be a tiefling is to carry a legacy not chosen, but never denied—and to forge meaning in its shadow.
