The species is a mystery. Homo Sapiens Angelus. Wrote Leyel, his third pen bled dry and his fifth cup of tea drained.
Known across the world under as many different names as there are languages and in as many forms. They continue to baffle and astound scholars and mystics of the highest orders. Government reaches into their communities have always been met with a expulsion followed by the group vanishing.
Leyel sipped his lemon-ginger tea.
They possess magics and knowledge unknown to men and dwarves.
As with all the major sentient races; humans, orcs, goblins, dwarves, giants and all forms of beastfolk; Angelics are twisted into the myths and legends of the Right Side.
Angelics share a remarkable solidarity across world cultures in keeping their secrets. The Nordic Vakal and Nipponi Tengu are long allies, even without any historic record of their meeting.
Leyel tapped his pen. He had spent much of the day and evening at the table in the off-street bar. He was lost in writing. Was it poetry? History? Science? He didn’t know. He just wrote what he knew to be true and acknowledged the limits of his academic knowledge.
Rumors linger of their immortal divinity, similar to the aelfen of North Europa and other mystic beings. Tied deep into magic. As the modern scientists call it; Veiled Radiation.
Those are the concerns of the Franco Academy of Magics and other sorcerer institutions.
Further rumors that places of legend are real, civilizations and cultures unbound by the earth. Knowledge beyond us groundlings.
Asgard? Heaven? Shamballa? Olympus? Leyel grew an exhausted smile. Laputa?
Rainbow bridges and forgotten magic!
He set down his pen.
What was he to this? He was a poet… or maybe now a chronicler or sorts. What did it matter? These mystic beings. His writing was just a method of ignoring his pain and grief.