Foranen

As the sun breaks over Uinsil, the continent of Emdarea has only seen the light of the many moons and dazling stars. Never has a dawn broken over the chilled banks of the sea where luminisce creatures dance. Yet, high in the mountains dwell a people, their eyes turned to the horizon. To them, the edge of the world is set to dancing flames. Mountainous peaks prevent the spread turmoil of the consuming light. To the Foranen, the edge of the world is where disaster lies.
In the blue glow of carefully tended plants, the Foranen carry on their work. Pastes made from the encroaching vines are delicated gathered, a brush stirring gentle as the master sets to work. With each stroke, the lightless skin is made present. The mask set, the Foranen steels its resolve.
The Foranen have a wide range of characteristics. The variety of their height range from two feet to several feet. Their builds similarly ranging from slender to obese. For most Foranen, it is difficult to tell that a child is derived from a parent due to the seemingly random characteristics that make up each individual. The most distinctive characteristic for some are their hair, which occasionally bears an ethereal glow in one of many colors. Then, their eyes glow as soft platinum spheres in the moonlight. Their existence seems to represent chaos inself. Unknown to the light and unseen in the darkness.
There have been rumors in Uinsil of creatures from another world that walk as shadows. They believe that these creatures are the unbound half of the soul come to reclaim its body. These stories are often cast aside from rumors, except by those who have seen the creatures that even Aven (the sun) has rejected. Often, they hide themselves under painted masks, the rumor goes. When you get too close, they'll remove it and steal your body.
"I've almost finished," the painter announces to the tired captain. "Would you like to look tired, or would you like me to draw something more inviting?" The captain smirks, the paint stretching with motion to reveal a pleasing smile.
"I'm sure it will look great either way," the captain turns, appraising his face in the mirror. "I wonder if this is what I really look like..." he trails off.
"One thing about paints," the master says. "I can enhance or hide what is already there, but under it all, it's you."
For the Foranen, their eyes will never see the texture of their skin. They shroud themselves in clothes to mask the darkness they believe has cursed them. Gloves give form to the ghastly fingers, clothes give shape to their formless bodies. And paints give them expression that would otherwise be unseen. But the Foranen people, best of all, have mastered their voice.
Each of the Foranen seem to be touched by some arcane prowess. They exist in a common belief that they were never meant to have form, but were to exist solely as a living voice. But there are those among them who believe that they can be more. To do this, they must find the light. As the first groups prepare to venture into Uinsil, the hardships will surely await them.