Dragonborn
SRD 5.2.1
Born of dragons, as their name proclaims, Dragonborn walk proudly through a world that greets them with fearful incomprehension.
Creature type, size, speed and the traits that come with your lineage — one card per species, the details a click away.
SRD 5.2.1
Born of dragons, as their name proclaims, Dragonborn walk proudly through a world that greets them with fearful incomprehension.
SRD 5.2.1
Bold and hardy, dwarves are known as skilled warriors, miners, and workers of stone and metal.
SRD 5.2.1
Elves are a people of otherworldly grace, living in the world but not entirely part of it.
SRD 5.2.1
A gnome's energy and enthusiasm for living shines through every inch of their tiny body.
SRD 5.2.1
Towering over other folk, Goliaths descend from Giants and carry a supernatural spark of their ancestry.
SRD 5.2.1
The comforts of home are the goals of most halflings' lives: a place to settle in peace and quiet, far from marauding monsters.
SRD 5.2.1
Humans are the most adaptable and ambitious people among the common species, with a wide-ranging drive to explore and achieve.
SRD 5.2.1
Orcs trace their creation to Gruumsh, a god who imbued them with a fierce tenacity and the ability to press on against any odds.
SRD 5.2.1
Tieflings are the recipients of a fiendish legacy that leaves its stamp on them, granting them supernatural gifts.
Homebrew
The chaos of a death slaad took root in this body and was driven out again — almost. What is left is someone walking slowly back from a transformation nobody was meant to survive: grey mottled skin, black eyes, claws that keep growing back, and a presence that makes a room quietly rearrange itself around them.
Sporebound
In Lumen Hollow, where a whole cavern-lake burns soft and blue and the raft-markets never truly darken, the smallest folk carry their own light. A Glimmerkin stands no taller than a human child, capped and fine-boned, and glows—gently, from somewhere behind the skin, a lantern lit and kept. In the Lantern Warren they cluster by the thousand, and the Warren at rest looks, from across the water, like a fallen constellation caught among the reeds.
Sporebound
Before the Gleaning, before the first surface-foot ever bruised the Velvetfields, the Myconids were here. They are the elder folk of the Deep, and they wear their age the way the Weave wears the centuries—quietly, and without hurry. A Myconid rises from the loam as a pale stalk crowned in a cap of muted color, and moves through the dark with a stillness that surface-folk find either holy or unnerving, and are usually right on both counts.
Sporebound
To die in the Mycelial Deep is not, always, to end. When one who is loved is laid into the loam, the Sporesung sing the rite of continuance, and sometimes—not often, and never on command—the Weave answers. A gravebloom rises. It wears a familiar face. It remembers the taste of rain it never tasted here. This is a Sporeborn: a person the Deep refused to release, continued through the Weave and returned to walk among the living with the loam still warm under their tongue.