CHYMANNI

A Codex of the Chymanni: Dancers of Stone, Spirits of the Bough

Long before cities rose or guilds were formed, the Chymanni leapt from branch to branch in the emerald canopies of southern Pentara—playful, wild, and free. In the deep jungles and choking swamps of Myrr’Kael, the ground was never safe. Beneath the roots lurked jaws and shadows, things that watched and waited. So the Chymanni learned early that survival favored those who did not linger.

They lived above danger. In leaves, on stone, across vine and rope.

When the first great storm tore through the jungle—toppling sacred trees and shattering the harmony of their forest—the Chymanni looked not to rebuild what was lost, but to adapt to what remained. They climbed higher. They followed wind and instinct to the Sky-Fangs—jagged mountaintops where cloud and current braid like song.

There, between thunder and silence, they discovered a stillness hidden inside motion. A balance between effort and ease. They built temples from stone and vine. They watched the stars spin above shifting mist. And in quiet patience, they began to train.

Chymanni believe every being is born with two tails—one wild, one wise.

“Favor either, and you fall from the branch.”

From this belief, their lives unfold in duality:

Mischief sharpens perception.
Discipline channels perception into precision.
Play reveals truth.
Focus delivers it.

To the Chymanni, laughter is not weakness. It is a solvent that dissolves pride. A rigid mind shatters easily; a flexible one bends and survives. Thus, a Chymanni monk may prank a visiting noble at dawn, then serve them tea at dusk, bowing with flawless grace.

In combat, they taunt, spin, feint, and vanish—only to strike with sudden clarity. They believe true strength flows through those unbound by form, and that ego weighs heavier than armor.

Their primary martial doctrine, the Way of the Windtail, is a living philosophy shaped by Myrr’Kael itself. It rests upon three principles:

Flow — Movement is life. Stillness is only a pause between forms.
Feel — Logic is a tool, but intuition is the path.
Flip the World — When faced with chaos, invert it. Play with it. Own it.

Students of the Windtail train for years among cliffs and canopies, leaping from ledge to ledge, balancing on ropes, dodging fruit thrown by elders, and meditating beneath waterfalls. They learn to strike from all angles—feet, tail, elbows, breath, laughter.

They are taught that rest is not indulgence, but preparation. Exhaustion clouds judgment. Joy restores it.

Not all who dwell in Myrr’Kael share the Chymanni view.

Beyond the canopy paths and wind bridges dwell the Arekai, neighbors and rivals whose beliefs mirror the Chymanni as stone mirrors water. Where the Chymanni seek balance through motion, the Arekai pursue it through restraint. Where Chymanni laugh to loosen the self, the Arekai meditate to refine it.

The Arekai believe discipline is found by stripping the world away. The Chymanni believe it is found by dancing within it.

Their rivalry is old and quiet. Rarely violent, never simple. Each sees the other as incomplete—one too loose, the other too rigid. Yet neither can deny the other’s strength. In times of great threat, they have fought side by side, moving and stillness aligned, if only for a breath.

Scholars note that when Chymanni and Arekai spar, neither seeks victory. They seek understanding—and often leave more unsettled than before.

Each year, Chymanni tribes host the Spirit Mask Festival, a days-long celebration where warriors don enchanted masks representing primal forces—Monkey of Fire, Serpent of Rain, Crane of Breath, and others whose names change with the teller.

In ritual duels, masked monks engage in contests that blur the line between combat and dance. Victors do not win by force, but by style, wit, and harmony of spirit.

It is said that during one such festival, a masked monk leapt so high in combat that he did not return. His mask later drifted down from the clouds, burned with the sigil of Hathos, lord of air. Since then, many Chymanni believe their ancestors watch from the skies—laughing, flipping, guiding.

Though they rarely build cities, Chymanni wander far beyond Myrr’Kael as performers, scouts, messengers, and teachers. They are often misunderstood—seen as jesters by some, unpredictable weapons by others.

Those who earn a Chymanni’s trust find a companion who moves like wind and thinks like water.

Some serve greater factions as agile scouts or martial instructors. Others roam freely, building shrines in forgotten ruins or teaching combat through comedy and motion. Few swear lifelong allegiance, believing that loyalty must be renewed with every step.

Chymanni Sayings

“Still water is deep water, but it drowns the stiff.”
“To master chaos, swing with it.”
“A cracked bell sings truer than a perfect one.”
“Even fools fall up, sometimes.”