The Races of the Continent

The Living:

The Anemics hate and fear death, far more than the death cult to which the principal cast belongs. Long term users and abusers of blood serum. Blood serum is potent medicine: Anemics can suffer fairly traumatic injuries with less pain, survive more serious injuries, succumb to shock less frequently, and survive disease and infection easily. Originally developed to keep wounded soldiers alive until stronger medicine or surgery could arrive. Lasting weakness and tremors often ended soldiering careers, making it unpopular with career soldiers but popular with conscripts. It followed users out of wars and into civilian life, where it became passingly common household narcotic. Anemia was briefly fashionable until it was discovered that it inhibited ambulat mortis and it was banned. Users turned to blood theft to craft their medicine, driving themselves to the edge of civilization. When the plagues started, the Anemics were protected by their addiction but against the human element were easily overpowered. They persist and diversify today behind the mountains, small packs hunting for amongst the Eblinish ruins and and southerly foothills.

The Living/Dead?

Judges are the remains of an orthodox Eb death cult devoted to immortality through unlife. The final ablutions saw them sitting in the Shroedinger Mandorla, which either kills them or doesn't. There's no way to know until they're taken from the Mandorla, but they continue talking and moving to some degree while they're in the chair (often indefinitely) and until their status can be ascertained they remain in limbo and in their chair, which they quite like. At some point they acquired a fellowship of knowledge, and share quite intimately in each other's company. How they became cerebrally entangled is anyone's guess because nobody observed it happening and the Judges are quite keen on not being observed too thoroughly lest somebody observe their death and collapse the superposition.

The Dead

Ghouls are machines that haven't quite got the hang of living yet. Designed with a significant portion of their controls accessible only to a human rider, they also have internal controls that lack the processing power necessary to work properly. As a result, a riderless ghoul clatters about dumbly looking for a fresh body whose hands and brains can be safely integrated into the whole. Once the ghoul has control over the rider's brain (and, by proxy, access to its limbs) he becomes capable of operating himself at maximum effectiveness. Residual memories from the rider may trick ghouls into behaving as though they are their deceased rider, and the machines often become amusing patchworks of whichever brains they can remember being connected too. Reside in a remarkably tidy corner of Ebling,