The Vyanoweir were once a mighty culture of community-oriented Deoric casters who wielded words of power to shape reality itself. Their mastery over the language of truth was the product of generations of reconstruction scholarship — the Vyanoweir systematically gathered Deoric fragments from titan-fall sites across the world, piecing together the titans' native tongue from eroded stone inscriptions, buried bone carvings, and crumbling ruins. Through this painstaking work they assembled a working corpus powerful enough to speak changes into existence with collective rituals that could reshape landscapes and bend the fundamental laws of nature. Their Deoric was never complete — gaps remained, phonemes were approximated — but it was the most fluent mortal reconstruction the world has ever seen. That reconstruction was the defining work of the Golden Age of Man: it first carried mortal scholars across the Deoric threshold, and the earliest daemons rose from among the Vyanoweir who died with the whole grammar held in living memory. The Vyanoweir are a scattered people of the human — a civilizational remnant, not a biological divergence from the human lineage.
Now their great cities lie in ruins, their libraries burned — repositories of irreplaceable reconstruction work, each scroll the distillation of fragments found across dozens of dig sites. The burning did not destroy the original titan inscriptions scattered across ancient ruins, but it erased centuries of scholarly interpretation that had made those fragments usable. Their people scattered to the winds. Only a handful of individuals with Vyanoweir blood remain, carrying within them the fading echoes of their ancestors' incredible power. These survivors often don't even know their true heritage until moments of great need awaken the dormant magic in their blood.
The reconstruction's reach was also its undoing. At the height of their fluency, a collective of Vyanoweir cartographers known as the seam-scribes turned the recovered grammar on the leylines themselves, in the working that became the Torn Hour. It killed them, and the body of knowledge they carried died with them, fifteen thousand years before the libraries that held the rest of it burned.
Among the scattered remnants are the Jae-Kai, nomadic spirit wranglers who have adapted their ancestral magic to herd spirits across those same plains. They make yearly pilgrimages to Estornum Agnostus, the ruined installation where the seam-scribes cut their inscription, to pay homage to the desolate ruins of their lost civilization.
Aspects
- The last echo of a great civilization
- Words have power beyond comprehension
Ancient Bloodline
Work with your GM. This culture is nearly gone.