The Vhalandir are the heart of Vhalandar — gentle, clever folk whose lives flow in rhythm with the world around them. Broad of face, with long noses and thick hair that falls like wild moss, they carry the mark of the earth itself. Some walk on splayed toes, others on cloven hooves, and a few even bear tails that twitch when they laugh. No two look alike, yet all share the same spark of joy: bright eyes that glimmer with wit, and voices quick to lift into song.
But the Vhalandir have not always lived in peace. In forgotten centuries, their tribes fought endlessly, driven by pride and hunger for dominion. Villages burned, rivers ran dark, and the land grew weary of their strife. Balance returned only when a strange sickness swept through every tribe, sparing but a handful of survivors — gentle souls who carried less hatred in their hearts. Forced to join hands in order to endure, they discovered new strength in unity. They built bonds where there had once been blades, and from this covenant rose a new way of life.
Now the Vhalandir are keepers of harmony. They value music and craft above conquest, philosophy above war. Scholars pore over scrolls, artisans weave wonders, children learn by story and song. They live long lives — two centuries or more — and with every passing year they deepen their devotion to the fragile balance of Vhalandar itself. They are not a perfect people, but they are a hopeful one, bound together by the vow their ancestors swore: to never again lift a hand in needless violence, and to live as guardians, not rulers, of their world.

The Thaeryx tribe
Among the many tribes of the Vhalandir, scattered across the breadth of Vhalandar, the Thaeryx are known as one of the largest. Unlike some of their kin who wander far, they have long settled in the heart of Thalorien, where green canopies rise like cathedrals and rivers wind in silver threads between the roots. Summers there are bright and humming with life, the forest floor strewn with flowers and dappled light. In winter the boughs grow heavy with snow, and the tribe gathers close around hearth and hall, their songs carrying warmth into the frosted silence.

The Thaeryx are known for their closeness to the Fyr — great, shaggy beasts with curling horns, clever green eyes, and heavy coats that shimmer with bronze and gold. To the Thaeryx, the Fyr are not cattle but kin. They ride them along the mountain paths, weave garments from their shed fur, drink their rich milk, and even share their fires with them in the bitterest of nights. A few are traded each year to distant tribes, but never lightly, for each creature is valued as dearly as a child.
Yet it is not only their beasts that make the Thaeryx renowned. Their camp hums with artistry: smiths shaping silver filigree, carvers coaxing faces from knot-wood, weavers binding stories into cloth. Scholars copy the old scrolls and debate by firelight, while musicians stir both herd and kin with their flutes and drums. It is said that many of the wondrous creatures first known in Vhalandar were named and recorded by the hands of Thaeryx chroniclers, who venture into wild glens and return with sketches, songs, and stories.

The tribe itself numbers near sixty souls. Some are stooped and weathered with age, their hair long and silver, their laughter deep and rumbling. Others are bright with youth, eager to prove themselves in dance, debate, or the chase. Warriors adorn themselves with beads, bells, and painted wood, more to honor tradition than to threaten foes. For the Thaeryx do not make war — yet they stand fiercely for one another, quick to shield their kin from danger, their songs rising even in the face of the storm.