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. But when the first great storm tore through the jungle, toppling the sacred trees and shattering the harmony of their forest, the Chymanni looked not to rebuild, but to adapt. They climbed. They found shelter among the Sky-Fangs—jagged mountaintops where wind and cloud swirl like song.

There, they discovered a stillness between chaos—a balance between motion and meaning. They built temples from stone and vine. They watched the stars spin. And in silence, they began to train.

Chymanni believe every being has two tails—one wild and one wise.

“Ignore either, and you fall from the branch.”
Thus, their lives are lived in duality:

Mischief sharpens perception.

Discipline channels that perception into precision.

Play reveals truth.

Focus delivers it.

It is not uncommon for a Chymanni monk to prank a visiting noble and then offer them tea, bowing with perfect grace. In combat, they may taunt, spin, and feint—only to strike with blinding speed. They believe laughter weakens ego, and that true strength flows through the one who is not bound by form.

Their primary martial doctrine, the Way of the Windtail, is a living philosophy built on 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 in jungles and cliffs, 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, laughter.

Each year, Chymanni tribes host the Spirit Mask Festival, a days-long celebration where warriors don enchanted masks representing primal forces (e.g., Monkey of Fire, Serpent of Rain, Crane of Breath). In ritual sparring matches, masked monks engage in playful duels that blur the line between combat and dance. Victors do not win by force—but by style, wit, and spiritual harmony.

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

Though they rarely build cities, Chymanni travel widely as wanderers, performers, bodyguards, and spiritual teachers. They’re often misunderstood—some see them as jesters, others as unpredictable weapons. But those who earn a Chymanni’s trust find in them a friend who moves like wind and thinks like water.

Some join the NRG as agile scouts or martial arts instructors. Others roam south, teaching combat through comedy or building shrines in forgotten ruins.

✨ 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.”