Musin
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The Musin furthermore known as the Mousemen, is a race of digitigrade humanoid like creatures sharing many biological traits similar to that of a common rodent.
Contents
Physical Attributes
Musin closely resemble upright mice of the house mouse variety, with several human-like features. Their heads and bodies are covered in fur, with significantly less hair appearing around the hands, feet, and tails. Musin heads resemble the head of a mouse. Unlike their cousins the Ratiki, their noses are pointed and less blunt, their tails are thin, their bodies are more slender and their ears are far larger, proportionally. The height of a Musin ranges from 1’8” (or 50 cm) to 2’6” (or 77 cm). Their tails are as long as they are tall, give or take 3 inches. Healthy Musin weigh anywhere from 20 to 30 pounds. Their eyes can be three colours: Red, pink, or black. The whites of their eyes are visible. Their fur color can be any fur color expressed by the common house mouse which includes the fancy mouse variety. This is any combination of two of the following colors: White, grey, orange, brown, black, and tan. For information on exact color limits, visit https://www.afrma.org/fancymice.htm. Musin are far cleaner than their rat-like cousins. As a result of wishing to fit in with the modern world, they have taken up bathing and grooming themselves. No longer are they pus-ridden rodents wallowing in their own filth! Musin groom their fur to a silky-smooth state at least twice a day, whether it be with a brush or their own fingers. Musin men and women are hard to tell apart. Musin women do not have mammaries, or any significant features that separate them from men. They will try to style themselves with makeup or fur trimmings to make them look more feminine or masculine, combined with differing clothing for the race. Females have a different sounding voice than males. Musin clothing is usually either ill-fitting or shoddy in quality. Given their extreme size difference from all other races, Musin either have to steal children's clothing, or craft their own out of patches and quarters. Rarely is a Musin seen clad in fine cloth! Despite these shortcomings, Musin try to look their best. They are quite fond of bright colors, and will gleefully scavenge any vivid scraps. They will attempt to patchwork their collections into a mosaic of fabric, although it often results in a jumbled, vibrant mess.
Aging
As a result of their cleanliness, Musin live far longer than their Ratiki cousins. Musin live up to 70 years old in good health, with the longest recorded mouseman living to 78. They look relatively young through the majority of their lives to outsiders, although Musin are able to tell the minute differences between a young adult and an older fellow. A Musin’s life begins as a young mouse pup, barely larger than an apple. It is blind and weak, yet grows fast. Within a few months the Musin is considered a toddler, and acts like such. Their growth begins to stunt somewhat from here, deviating from the usual path of the short-lived Ratiki. They reach physical maturity at around age 12, and mental maturity around the age of 15, which is when they are considered a young adult. Musin usually have a litter of 2-3 children at once, although it is not uncommon for mouselings to die in infancy. Musin are only pregnant for 3 months, and are able to birth more afterwards. However, most Musin try to limit themselves to a few children at a time, so as to prevent a dreaded horde. It is noted as taboo to care for more than 5 children at once. Only a few key differences make an old Musin look different than a young Musin. Old Musin’s exposed skin, like their paws and tails, grow increasingly paler after the age of 65. By the age of 70, their pink paws and tails have lost most pigment.
History
Note: Some information below is derived from in-character beliefs and legends.
Origin
Musin history is much shrouded in mystery, as they only learned how to write around 100 or so years ago. For as long as Ratiki have existed, there have been runts in litters. The ones who were smaller than the others, meeker than the others- not fierce, not fit for battle. Traditionally, they were left to die, abandoned to the harshness of the deep to fend for themselves. Many survived through resourcefulness and cunning, eking out a living by proving themselves to be a valuable enough portion of the horde. Yet, most did not- starving or succumbing to diseases, as their weak stature and high metabolism could not be sustained. Rarely did a runt rise through the ranks, historically working as slaves in the mines or scavengers on the battlefield.
The Runt Revolt
During the time of the Great Plague, many runts in the Xetrialkian empire were sent to work in the mines for their entire lives. Life was brutal and short. The Second Great Ratiki war only made life worse. Quotas were up, the caves always filled with the thick smog of coal, suffocating any unfortunate and chained Ratiki stuck below. At the time, the Xetrialkian military was short on numbers and gearing up for war in any way possible- it was a time for promotion, a chance for new recruits to gain their bearings. Among the new recruits was a runt named Musin. Musin was white-furred fellow half the size of the average officer, yet braver than all of them. A previous scout for the scavengers, Musin had acquired a small, shiny dagger from an old civilization- far higher quality of a weapon than anyone in the land. His resourcefulness, dexterity and bravery was enough to warrant giving him the role of Warchief. As warchief, Musin the Brave had far more freedom than the rest of his brethren, and was able to see the injustices committed. Despite being a hardened soldier, he still had a heart. He was born in the mines, after all, he could not bear to see his people suffer. He elected several runts as his Foreman beneath him, and many former slaves as grunts. In the midst of the Battle of Red Vale, when most of the warchiefs were away, Musin fled with his group, and four-hundred runt slaves. They surfaced for the first time, the sun blistering in their eyes.. Or so they’d thought. At the mouth of the cave stood the mighty war-boss Stanqolk Highslayer and his army of two hundred, swords drawn and ready! Insubordination was not tolerated, and no slave had ever escaped the Xetrialkian Empire. Stanqolk was not about to ruin their reputation, and give any miners any new ideas. The mice and rats fought- their first battle, and hopefully their last, both sides thought. The mice knew they were outmatched, if not outnumbered. None of them had weapons except the soldiers and Musin, daggers at hand. Two foremen and the civilians were tasked with escaping, while Musin and his loyal lieutenants were to give the civilians a chance of escaping, just a sliver of an opening, so that a few may have a better life! The battle had begun. Musin led the charge, clashing swords with Stanqolk. While Musin had fought larger and nastier foes than the Highslayer, Musin knew he would die here. Stanqolk was his warboss, and Musin had made the folly of giving him a fine, shimmering shortsword he found during his time as a scavenger. They clashed swords for what seemed like hours on end- and probably was. The rest of the rats fought the mouseman’s 40 or so soldiers, fending off the two-hundred from touching their wives and children. Despite their best efforts, the soldiers quickly succumbed. They were less armed, weaker, and outnumbered by the Ratiki. Some civilians were slaughtered, but most escaped. The defense was a success, and the mousemen fled into the sunny wilderness. The Ratiki were about to chase- they were larger and faster after all, until Musin dealt the final blow. Musin the Brave had slain his opponent in battle, stabbing his blade upwards into Stanqolk’s heart. The War-boss clutched at his chest, sliding onto the sword in a hunched posture, and reached his dagger around Musin’s shoulder. One quick stab to the spine rendered Musin immobile, and dead. The soldiers looked over at the commotion, the warchiefs and foremen speaking amongst themselves, hushed tones slowly rising in volume. Soon after, a frenzy amongst the Ratiki troops broke out, each side vying to be the new warboss, forgetting about the escaped slaves.
Escape From Rat Island
The island of Ratiki was barren. The vale was covered in scars- sinkholes from failed tunnels, mounds of rocks and stone from excavated caves, an earth salted after years of pestilence and war. Nevertheless, they ran straight forward. Not even knowing their destination, the runts headed east while unsure of their numbers. When they stopped to take a break inside an abandoned cavern, the mice counted. Around a hundred were missing, mostly men, including their brave leader. The mice continued to trek in search of fertile lands for weeks, their metabolism quickly running through their already-thin rations. Two hundred more had perished before the mice found a forest. The forest was small, yet could provide for a few weeks. More importantly, it was near something odd - a large body of liquid, unknown to the creatures of the deep, that stretched on farther than the eye could see. One of the foremen spoke up, informing the runaways of what he knew. Apparently, something called the ‘ocean’ surrounded their world, and beyond that was fertile land. He showed a scrap of paper he stole from the Qhrol to his fellow inmates- blueprints for a device known as a ‘boat’! For a year, the mice chopped trees with what little they had, gathered rations, and built the fabled ‘boat’. During this time, the foreman became their leader, and was dubbed Crumlin the Sailor. They began to form their first civilization, known as the “Clan of Musin”, with their first culture based around peace and protection for the meek. They adopted a staunch non-aggression policy, instructing only to flee. The Musin, as they now called themselves, finished their boat exactly a year after they arrived at the forest. It was a crude vessel, little more than an oblong box caulked together with whatever the Musin could find. Barrels filled with apples for sustenance lined every inch of the boat, with a hundred mice packed together like sardines. The finishing piece of cargo was an odd, black pentagonal box, about half the size of a mousefolk, fastened to the bow of the boat. Musin instructed Crumlin to apply it to the boat at the end, to ‘guide them to new lands’. The ark drifted out to sea as the tattered, colorful sail took the boat wherever the wind pleased. After days of traveling, a terrible storm hit the boat. Winds pushed the mousemen’s floating coffin through and under the waves, rattling them about and pushing the box forward at enormous speeds. Eventually the box hit exponentially high speeds, and vanished into an orb of purple light. No one was quite sure what happened at the time, but the black artifact crumbled into bits soon after.
New Beginnings and The Giant
The Musin crashed into eastern Almaris a few years before the Ratiki arrived in Atlas, ready to explore this new and bountiful world. This new continent was covered in trees and fields, more than they had ever seen, full of life and steady ground. The Musin hoisted their ship onto the land, flipped it around, cut a hole in it, and called it their new home. For a few months, nothing happened. A tall figure lumbered over their shoddy cabins, packed with huddled mice. He was twice as tall as any rat they’d ever seen- around 6’2, with a scruffy, dark grey beard and a furrowed brow. He was clad in leather and cloth of far higher quality than the Musin had ever seen. He had no tail, no paws, no fur, only hair. He awaited for days until the mice finally came out, upon whence he showed that he meant no harm. Surprising to both groups, they shared a language, and many wary mice began to listen to his stories. His name has long been forgotten, perhaps never told, but he has since been known to Musin as The Giant. It is unknown what The Giant truly was for the longest time. Whenever asked, he would simply grin and give a joke of an answer with a wave of his hand, giving cryptic and unclear answers. Soon after meeting the Musin, he listened to their tale, seemingly curious as to how they arrived in such a land. Before they could finish their sentences, he cut them off- telling them that he was disappointed in their lack of manners. He instructed them to clean themselves up before he would talk any further, and left. The next day, The Giant returned. A meeting had been held the previous night, and the general consensus between the Musin had to clean up and let him return. While they could flee again, they desperately needed this wise-man’s help to survive in this new land. The mice cleaned and groomed themselves for the first time in their species, and waited. The Giant was pleased to see them in a slicker form, and took a seat on a log in the middle of the village. He began to speak, lecturing the creatures about the importance of health and hygiene. He let the mice tell a bit more of their story, before cutting them off again. He explained that their dialect was uncouth- hard to understand, simplistic, unlike his. He told the mice he’d teach them the way of his people, how to survive in this land, how to thrive, and how to live better than ever before. And so, each day, the man came back, teaching generation after generation of Musin how to talk properly, how to dress properly, how to farm, how to read, how to write. Generally, he taught them the culture of the humans, and their history- albeit, in an overly-romanticized fashion. He made it seem as if being like him, being a ‘tall one’, was the greatest thing in the world- no wars, no famine, no mines- only jovial times with instruments and festivals abound. He introduced to them a mish-mash of different ideas over the 50 years he stayed in the village, until they began to act in an ‘acceptable’ manner. The only trait he was unable to remove was their thievery- too kind to punish them for stealing an odd trinket or two, or 'recycling' anything not nailed down. Finally, he sat down, and listened to their story, although he had already known it at this point. The mice had grown quite fond of him, and all saw him as a sort of father-figure, the protector and savior of the village, second only to Musin himself. He furrowed his brow upon hearing their predicament, humming loudly to himself. He told them he’d help them recover their runt brothers in the Ratikkan mines, if they promised to take down the Ratiki with them. The man coughed and wheezed, leaning over on the stump from which he taught. He was greyer, much older than when he first arrived. He explained to the Musin that he did not have much time left, and expressed guilt that he had never told them his story. He let them sit down for his final teaching, one about his own life.
The Giant’s tale has been passed down through generations, yet wasn’t written down when it was first spoken. Some details are vague, omitted- yet it generally is recited as such. A long time ago, far longer than the arrival of the Musin, the Ratikans had explored their ruined island to the fullest, and were digging through their wretched caves. The empire that used to live here had long fallen, already in disarray before the rats were set upon their home island by whatever hell-spawn created them. The only thing left was the kill the last few stragglers and claim the decrepit island as their prize. The Krothian empire had dug up into the mountainside atop their lairs, seeking out ore and treasure inside the caverns long after the descendants had seemingly fallen. As they approached the mountaintop, however- they hit stone, hard stone. Atop the highest mountain on the Ratikan Island, where no rat had gone before, a wizard’s tower and his haven shot into the sky- the last bastion of hope for the descendants on the Ratikan island. The Ratiki burst their way in with a flood of men, quickly overwhelming the small community inside. They barricaded the doors, activated all failsafes, and entered their vaults in an attempt to escape. Only three men remained, retrieving their prized artifacts that might aid in their getaway attempt, before the Ratikan war machines busted down the door. Two of the men were shot down instantly by rudimentary thrown spears, and the youngest activated his device, vanishing into thin air. The two devices left over were wayfinding devices- solid black stones in a pentagonal shape, pulsing with strange inscriptions and incantations. The Khrolians collected these items, which passed down to their successor states over the many wars. The last device was activated by forcing an intense flow of mana into it by the young man, who was now stuck on the other side of the disc. Stranded and alone, with everyone he’s ever known murdered by the Ratiki, the young man wandered around Almaris for many decades. The wayfinding device was a one-use artifact, and he could never return without another. He spent many decades eking out a living as a hermit, practicing his magic, biding his time and hoping that one day he could return to his homeland and eradicate the Ratiki. After nearly half a century, the man encountered what seemed to be Ratiki- but shorter, weaker, more frightened of him. He believed the armies may have invaded his shore, and prepared to annihilate them- but cut short after seeing their terrible condition. He could not bring himself to kill them- they seemed far more timid than those he encountered before, without weapons or fangs to harm. Only a small number of them were here, seemingly separated from their hyper-aggressive brethren. He figured it may have only been them here, and he might be able to turn this isolated group against his brethren. And so, he began to interact with the Musin, fashioning himself as the Giant, quickly gathering information about their circumstance and how he can abuse it.
The Departure
The Giant expressed a deep apology to his friends for his initial misunderstanding and hatred of them, and expressed thanks to their companionship. He informs the Musin that he harbors no ill will, thankful he didn’t slaughter a group of innocents and is pleased he can spend his final moments with them. He offers to use his last bit of strength to guide them on their mutual quest to rid the world of pestilence and plague. He warns that the Ratiki still have the last wayfinding artifact, and may invade this half of the world soon. A type of soft light formed around the man, as he gave the mousefolk the last of his strength. He took their existing anatomy and altered it slightly, giving them less children yet longer lives, solidifying their presence as a new race, different from the Ratiki. He told the Musin he would return one day, and to never lose hope- to defeat the evil Ratiki at all costs and remember their promise. And so, looking far older than the day he arrived, The Giant perished, soon buried beneath the crypts of Crumlin Keep. The mice were sad and confused but mostly grateful for what they had been given. They aimed to recreate the pristine worlds he had so vividly described before, and create a society out of ‘descendent’ culture. Over the few hundred years the Musin have lived on Almaris, many forts and villages have risen and fallen. Trying to recreate what they’ve heard in miniature- old medieval keeps out of loose-fitting rock, manors out of old cracked hardwoods, carnival tents out of leftover clothing, all to various degrees of success. When the descendants finally arrived in Almaris, the Musin were overjoyed to meet them- unaware of the havoc their brethren caused in Atlas. It is now up to the mercy of the descendents to deal with this vulnerable race, whether to raze this vermin to the ground or to accept them for who they are.
Culture
Musin culture is the antithesis of everything the Ratiki hold dear. It is pacifistic, non-confrontational, and idolizing of the descendants. Never were the Musin taught the horrors of the countless Orenian wars, or even the existence of the Orcs. They try to base their culture out of the old fantasy tales of yore they heard from The Giant. Musin clothing attempts to mimic descendent clothing to a fantastical and outdated degree. Musin try to cobble cloaks and hoods that belong more in a shoddy carnival than an actual peasant house. Their clothes are always made out of recycled material. Examples include scale mail out of painted seashells, hoods out of potato sacks, and capes out of worn blankets. Musin err towards a peaceful life without physical conflict, due to their small stature and nature. They are prone to fleeing at the slightest sign of danger, scuttling off like a squirrel. Those who are more ill-natured than others still usually never get into a physical altercation, at least not one that requires any degree of strength. While mousefolk are pacifistic, the tales of old The Giant informed them of has instilled the will for adventure into their hearts. They are curious creatures, seeking out ruins and adventure. They idolize the epics they heard about in their youth and frequently wander from the nest, hoping to one day make a title for themselves. In the days before the descendants landed on Almaris, life was much safer, with only boars or bears to worry about. Musin crafted their own tales of glory. Now that real adventure has arrived with the races of man, many adventuring mice are eager to live out the fairy-tales of yore. Sadly, being 2' tall doesn't usually result in a happy ever after, something most Musin still don't understand. The architecture of the rodent race is very small. It is built to accommodate men their size, and as a result, even halflings have a difficult time squeezing in. Not that a halfling would wish to, anyway- rodent architecture is abhorrently unsafe. With the low amount of knowledge they had received from the Giant, structures built to last are nigh-impossible to construct. Musin attempt to create something much grander than they’re able to practically achieve, to no results. Buildings consist of nailed and glued together wood and stone which are painted and dyed to try and look like something one would see in a capital village, in their idealistic minds. However, the end result is often nothing more than a wooden shack with faux waddle and daub crudely slathered on the sides. Due to the thievery built into their blood by whatever daemon created the Ratiki, Musin have a desire to use things that aren't quite theirs. At the very best, Musin may recycle trash lying around in a dump for their own devices- but at the worst, a gang of Musin will pull off a large, pilfering heist. Musin tend to not steal from other mousefolk nowadays, far more interested in descendant relics due to higher-quality goods than their own. Overall, the rodent race tends to act polite and subservient to those they see as civilized, willing to do most anything to portray themselves as part of their modern world. Most micefolk are in denial of the true nature of war, simply praying that it will never reach their doorstep again. They speak common with remarkable fluency, almost greater than many descendants, and try to stifle any chittering and squeaking. However, they are prone to slip in times of emotion. They try to distinguish themselves from the Ratiki even to this day, staying clean, civilized, and keeping their instincts to a minimum.
Mentality
Musin have a unique mentality, with many of their characteristics coming from their ancestors- both the Ratiki and regular mice. The first and most notable thing that occurs in a Musin’s head is an intense and unignorable urge to scavenge that which is around them. Scavenging is the reusing of materials excessively, never letting anything go to waste, even if it isn’t particularly theirs. This instinct can appear in Musin in a wide variety of ways. At the bad end of the spectrum a Musin may become a kleptomaniac for many things- not just a hoarder of gold, but a collector of cloth, food, and much more. They see it as a form of reclamation- no one was using it at the moment, so they might as well. It would be a shame to see it go to waste. At the best end of the spectrum a Musin may simply have an urge to recycle anything they’ve been given, not stealing, but never letting something go to waste if they can help it. One trait added to the Musin that defines them as a distinct species is their cleanliness. Musin are compulsive when it comes to cleaning, combing and brushing themselves comes naturally to them, and is regarded as an enjoyable, soothing activity. It is also of great importance to their health, as dirty mice will quickly wrack up fleas and catch a myriad of diseases, leading to death. Their same sense of cleanliness may or may not apply to their living situations, and Musin homes can either be neat or messy. Musin all undeniably hate Ratiki. It is nigh-instinctive that the plague-ridden, larger, stockier Ratiki are treated with contempt. They do not share this instinctive hatred with any other race or species, however. To a degree, most Musin are slightly fearful of the larger races due to their smaller stature and weaker frame, but this behavior has been shown to be grown out of with enough time and effort. Musin are curious at heart, always willing to inspect new things and environments. For some Musin, this has developed into a love for adventure. For others, this has developed into a willingness to interact with new and unusual things. Like most races, Musin are social creatures. They can grow depressed to the extreme when not around other sentient races.
Settlements
Due to the lack of engineering skills and knowledge within the Musin clan, buildings tend not to last very long. In fact, Musin could almost be considered nomadic with how often they rebuild- believing that if maybe they just built a few miles up that hill, or a little farther from that lake, that their buildings might weather the elements a few more years. Although most of their attempts fail, a few have met noticeable success only due to sheer dumb luck.
