There are no humans in the city. Or in the world.
They live in their private quarter, and occasionally turn up en masse to stare silently at a fight, then leave. Best not to ask why.
Tall, tough and often engaged in simple manual labour due to being covered in spikes. Previously exploited as slaves, now exploited as an underclass. Can store water for longer than other species – and bleed water. They root themselves instead of sleeping. The radical youth ‘smoothskins’ have taken to removing and cauterising their spikes, to the general harrumphing of the older generation. They have a huge taboo around showing their (rare) flowers and will stay at home for that time.
Turns out, Goblins are the men, Trolls the women. Goblins are short, sneaky, and fragile, Trolls are barely-sentient, huge, and walls of muscle.
A race who always wear huge robes and mirrored masks, no-one knows what they look like.
A species of intelligent feathered reptiles, that use hand-sign. They live in mountains, where thermals help them fly, reduced to waddling in the desert and the city. Some second generation Jaculi are resorting to Vivimancy to replace their voice-boxes.
Living in the deserts around Tarsium, Dustriders are so called because , when they were first encountered, they were thought to ride in on clouds of dust and sand, appearing magically. In fact, the Fennec (as they call themselves) are a nomadic people, who saw sandstorms and twisters as good omens and would often travel behind them, to see what the wind revealed and settle temporarily where it ended. Steeped in tradition and superstition, they were the founders of what is now known as Church of the Wind of Change. Though many have now settled in the city, they are still keen travellers and often find themselves in roles as traders and scouts, venturing out into the desert.
Gotta go fast.
Wild, desert elves with sharp needle-like teeth, who hate everything.
Originally from beyond one of the Doorways, now engaging in regular trade and intermingling with Tarsium. Their Empire was burned by volcanoes. Use the ashes of their home to paint sigils on their skin – coating themselves in ash and scratching arcane marks on their flesh.
The orthodoxy celebrate the cataclysm as a wake-up call, claiming their civilisation was narcissistic and corrupt, and want to make people understand how ephemeral everything is.
I WILL CRUSH YOUr line of argument with my superior rhetorical skills.
Graceful, spindly folk with leech-like mouths, famous for their marketplaces.
we want to be able to pretty much come up with minor races on a whim.
Golems are not sentient. They’re closer to industrial machinery than an actual species. They have stone punchcard-slabs in their chests.