"We built the first throne from a broken wheel." — Stone inscribed at Mirehold Gate
The Eithari were not gifted godhood. They survived it. Born in the aftermath of fallen dragons and weeping gods, they rose from ruin. They carved their civilization into cliffstone and drought. Their capital, Mirehold, is a city built into pain and memory. They are not defined by greatness—but by refusal to fall.
The Eithari of southern Verathuun have turned hardship into innovation. Using salvage-tech and bonewave transmitters, they've developed widespread signal networks across ruins, towns, and undercities. Originally used for war updates and mourning broadcasts, these systems have evolved—hosting ritual chants, public memory readings, and now the first iterations of Eithari “broadcast television.” Known as Echo Pulse, these programs feature masked performers retelling ancestral myths, grief-cycles, survival dramas, and even live duel recordings—blending sorrow and spectacle in a way only the Eithari can.
The Eithari do not beg gods. They keep records. Of every fire. Every fall. Every failure that still walked forward.
They are the stone-souled, ghost-armed, the ones who stayed when others fled. Their power is not forgiveness—but remembrance.
The most hybrid-prone of all races, Eithari blood mingles easily with demon, elf, or angel.
Traits emerge unexpectedly across generations—proof of survival, not impurity.
Mages are called Stonevoices, Signal-Binders, or Windmouths. They use grief-work as spellwork.
The Eithari are not known for raw magical power. Unlike other races, most cannot access elemental breathforms or perform spoken spells. Their bodies reject divine channeling—but they adapt.
“We do not shape fire. We survive it. That is our spell.”
The Second Sundering shattered many truths. For the Eithari, it confirmed one: magic was never theirs to command—it was theirs to survive. In the modern day, Eithari magic is fragmented, gritty, ritual-heavy, and deeply personal. Most rely on stitched relics, soulbound tech, and broken memory forms left from the old world.
“We don’t need gods to cast spells. We have hands. We have hammers. We have everything that hurt—and we made it live again.”