The Ohiya People: A Tale of Depths

Origins in the Abyss

When shadows danced and wars darkened the skies, the Earth wept, and the seas whispered secrets anew. From the ashes above, a race took root below—born not of time’s slow hand, but of a tempest’s wrath and the deep's embrace. Magic flowed where it had once been bound, and in that current, life twisted and turned. Was it the human heart that beat beneath the waves, or had the sea claimed new children, shaped by ancient forces and the cold press of the ocean’s floor?

In the depths where light dares not tread, those who fled the ruin above found more than refuge; they found transformation. Flesh met magic, and in that union, something neither human nor beast emerged—tentacles of light and claws of might, a people reborn where darkness reigns.

Form and Function

On heads of these deep dwellers, tendrils dance—a crown of senses and sight. Eyes wide as the abyss, seeing what none above could ever know. They grasp the world with claws that echo the might of the sea’s own hunters, crafting, building, defending. Though clumsy to the eye, their claws weave wonders, as nimble as the finest hands.

In waters tainted by the world’s sorrow, they breathe with ease, through masks not made by man but by nature’s hand guided by magic’s touch. Machines, yet living things, these masks sip the poison and give back life, ever adapting, ever renewing—a marvel of both craft and mystery.

Clans Beneath, Secrets Within

In the quiet of the ocean’s embrace, they gather in circles of kin. Wisdom flows like the currents, shared by those who have seen many tides. No king, no queen, but the will of the many, steering their course through tunnels unseen and paths unknown.

Their homes are not built, but grown, where coral meets stone, and art is life itself. They take what the sea gives, and give back only what is needed—never more, never less. To live in harmony, they say, is to live in truth.

Magic and Machines

What is craft without magic in the deep? The Ohiya know not the difference. Their hands shape the unseen forces, bending light, guiding currents, whispering to the very storms that rage above. Their cities pulse with light, not from the sun, but from the very life they cherish. Technology and nature—two sides of the same coin, one unseen by those who walk above.

Hidden Pact, Unseen Path

In the world torn and sundered, the Ohiya chose silence. To the old creatures, who command the dead, they spoke only once.

"Touch not the waters," they warned, "and the deep shall be yours to ignore."

Thus, a pact was sealed, not in blood, but in shadow—a secret known to the few who still remember.

Above, chaos reigns; below, the Ohiya remain. Ignorant, some might say, but wiser it is to call them watchers of their own world. The surface wars do not stir their hearts, for their eyes are set on the balance of the sea—the only home they know, the only world they care to save.

Their cities glow with a light that few will ever see, hidden in the deep, where stories are lost to time and tides. They guard their secrets well, and those who might know of them, say little. The Ohiya are a riddle to the world—a mystery in the depths, a whisper in the waves.