Human Description
The humans of the post-apocalyptic world are a far cry from their ancestors, shaped by hardship, survival, and the harsh realities of a ruined Earth. Their bodies bear the marks of a world where resources are scarce, threats are constant, and death is always one wrong step away. Unlike the long-lived Fae, humans burn fast and bright, their lifespans rarely reaching old age without severe wear and tear. Those who live in Enclave Sentius are hardened by its strict order and rigid laws, while those who survive in the wasteland are tempered by chaos, forced to adapt or die.
Most humans are lean and wiry, their bodies honed by necessity rather than excess. There is little room for indulgence in a world where food is rationed and work is grueling. Some develop stockier frames, shaped by years of hauling scrap, wielding heavy weapons, or performing backbreaking labor, but true bulk is rare. Fat reserves are a luxury few can afford, and the average human body is all sinew and scar tissue, built for endurance rather than comfort. Hands are rough and calloused from years of gripping weapons, climbing jagged ruins, or working with crude tools. Even those who live within the relative safety of the Enclave bear the signs of their struggle, with bruised knuckles, cracked nails, and skin hardened by exposure to the elements.
Their skin carries the imprint of a dying world. Sun exposure, radiation, and poor nutrition have left many with leathery, weathered complexions, marked by deep lines and patches of scarred or discolored flesh. Inhabitants of the Enclave may have slightly healthier skin, thanks to the protection of the city's walls, but they are still no strangers to rough living. Those who live beyond the walls are often sunbaked and wind-scoured, their skin tone deepened by years of exposure. Radiation has left its mark in other ways, as well—some humans have strange birthmarks, mottled patches of pale or darkened skin, or faint, unnatural hues creeping into their features, hinting at the slow but inevitable toll of the wasteland.
Their faces are sharp and angular, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes that betray the exhaustion of constant survival. Eyes, once the same range of colors as before the world fell, have begun to change in some, showing strange mutations—subtle luminescence in deep blues and golds, irises that seem almost crystalline, or sclera darkened by radiation exposure. Crow’s feet, dark circles, and bloodshot veins are common, giving the impression that no one in this world truly sleeps enough. Scavengers and hunters tend to squint out of habit, always on the lookout for movement in the distance, always wary of what might be lurking just beyond their field of vision.
Hair is typically coarse, unkempt, and cropped short for practicality. Shaved heads and military-style cuts are common in the Enclave, where discipline is valued, while in the wasteland, long, matted hair bound in tight braids or dreadlocks serves as protection against dust and grime. Some humans, particularly those exposed to strange energies or mutated environments, develop streaks of premature gray or even odd, unnatural hues in their hair. Facial hair varies—some keep their faces shaved for hygiene and ease, while others grow thick beards, both as protection against the cold and as a statement of their survival.
Scars are universal, each one telling a story of violence, hardship, or desperation. Knife wounds, bullet grazes, animal scratches, and burns cover the bodies of nearly every human who has lived long enough to earn them. Many also bear marks of punishment—lashes from the Enclave’s enforcers, brands burned into the flesh of those caught breaking the laws, or crude tattoos inked in dark corners by those seeking to remember the past. For those with magical or psychic abilities, branding is mandatory in Enclave Sentius, their flesh seared with a visible mark to remind them—and everyone else—that their power is not their own to wield freely.
Clothing is purely functional, pieced together from whatever remains of the Old World. The Enclave provides standard-issue uniforms for its workers, soldiers, and hunters—reinforced jackets, padded armor, and durable, stitched fabrics meant to last as long as possible. Scavengers and wastelanders wear whatever they can find, often layering scraps of old military gear, reinforced leathers, and patchwork armor cobbled together from salvaged metal and woven hides. Protective gear like goggles, dust masks, and rebreathers are common, necessary for braving the polluted air and frequent sandstorms.
The way humans move speaks of constant vigilance. Few stand with ease; even in the safety of the Enclave, their shoulders remain tense, their hands twitching near weapons, their eyes flickering toward exits and vantage points. Hunters and scavengers adopt a low, crouched stance, always ready to dart for cover or vanish into the ruins. Enclave enforcers, on the other hand, carry themselves with rigid discipline, trained to show no weakness. The elderly, few as they are, walk with stiff, pained movements, their bodies broken by a lifetime of strain. Even the youngest move with purpose, for in this world, idleness is a death sentence.
Despite all this, humans remain adaptable, enduring in ways that surprise even the long-lived Fae. Though the world has tried to break them, to erase them from existence, they continue to carve out their place, refusing to fade into extinction. Scavengers search for remnants of the past, hunters fight for the future, and those within the Enclave cling to their laws, believing that order is the only thing keeping them from ruin. No matter their path, humans remain what they have always been—stubborn, determined survivors, willing to do whatever it takes to see another sunrise.