Origami Folk

In abandoned libraries, lost ruins, dilapidated wizard towers and disorganized accountants' offices, the latent magic of the written word can reach a terminal mass, causing the paper to animate. Initially, it is nothing more than notes not being where they were last or pages missing from books. Given enough time, or a helping hand, the pages organize themselves into humanoid shapes, giving rise to Origami Folk.

They stand no taller than six inches and cannot speak, but can gesticulate and organize amongst themselves. Most importantly, they are themselves master paper-folders and are capable of building simple machinery with only paper and scraps scavenged from their environment. They can create new Folk, but any paper folded into other shapes will not animate for unknown reasons.

Origami Folk social structure seems to develop naturally according to a combination of their environment, their source material, and outsider influence. The societies they form are, thus far, communal in nature. It appears they have no sense of wealth and instead treasure items that will most benefit their settlement. Their sense of aesthetics is geometric, with intricate cut and folded paper being prized, and interesting baubles are placed on public display. They have no apparent laws, and infighting is rare unless two or more groups are consolidating their numbers together, forcing the collective to adjust their internal nonfictions.

One such enclave of these small wonders was discovered in a toxin-filled chamber of a king, lost to time. A citadel of sorts was suspended above the gas by paper chain links. A rudimentary elevator allowed "expedition teams" to descend into or ascend out of the toxic gas, wearing what appeared to be protective equipment, despite their lack of lungs to poison. This small retinue escorted the adventurers that stumbled upon them through the mists safely, and accepted a matchbook as payment. Reportedly, the same Origami Folk were later seen fighting off a slime, utilizing the gifted matches in a surprising display of tactics.

Another group, in an abandoned abbey library, created a circle of standing books and conducted rituals of great complexity in order to produce cantrip-like effects, usually involving the repair of their fellows or cleverly constructed machinery. Yet another, a hierarchy of knights astride compliant beetles, was witnessed waging war against another similar "kingdom" for resources in a noble's personal library, closed off after their death. it was only discovered after the groundskeeper reported the theft of hedge shears by dozens of insects.

The Origami Folk have an unprecedented resourcefulness and ability to adapt to new situations. Their cultures are as diverse as the books they find and assimilate. Their obviously frail nature leads them to incorporate parchment and leathers into water and fire resistant clothing. When torn, they utilize tar or glues to repair themselves. Generational knowledge is passed on through the transference of text before it fades out of existence. Origami Folk may not look it, but they embody the ideals of the authors that contributed to their texts and are capable of feats of heroism and treachery of incredible scope, relatively speaking. A collection of societies, bound to struggle in a world far to big for them, thrives in the musty, tome-filled places of the world. How long until they learn to write stories of their own?

Both images sourced from here

Boons of the Origami Folk

Should your players find themselves in the same dungeon as an enclave of Origami Folk, it is likely the paper-people are having some sort of trouble with either the local wildlife or some environmental change that jeopardizes their existence. Help them resolve the issue, and they will likely offer some sort of boon as payment.

1. A needle, sharpened to an invisible point. It can pierce any surface once before breaking.
2. 1d4 microprint scrolls containing random cantrips.
3. The answer to any one question about the history of the enclave's home territory.
4. A retinue of 6 warriors, willing to travel by your side to gain knowledge of the world. Collectively they have the stats of a 1st level Fighter.
5. A powerful, hour long ritual resulting in a party member recovering 1 HD of damage.
6. The key to a door, somewhere in the area.
7. A vial of magic inks, unable to be erased or washed away.
8. A "feast" in the party's honor. Paper food is prepared but is not consumed, nor is it nutritious. The Origami Folk seem especially thankful.

Where do birds go when it rains?

Source: British Library

It's a question everyone has asked at some point. When it rains, why are there no birds? Chickens of course return to their coops, so it would be reasonable to assume that wild birds return to their nests. But, if you ask anyone, no one has ever seen birds in their nest in the rain, almost as if they have disappeared. The learned men and women of the world have not reached a consensus on what causes this phenomenon. The radical view is that people simply do not see the nests because they themselves are too self-absorbed in staying dry to notice them. The vast majority of scholars, however, believe something more foundational is occurring.

Rain, as everyone knows, is the regular attempts of the god of the seas to flood the world and usurp control from the Earthmother, out of spite. Ducks, seagulls and pelicans are known agents of Oceanus. Other birds are believed to be distant cousins to the gulls, and as such carry inside themselves a small portion of the seas' power. Therefore, it stands to reason that rain is a direct result of birds taking flight into the clouds above and transforming themselves into rainwater, desperate to merge with the sea. 

Why then, do the rains stop after some time? This, too, is easily explained. Though they may carry an ancestral bond with their creator, Oceanus, birds prosper most while inland. "The early bird gets the worm" is a common expression amongst the farmers of The Continent, referring directly to the benefits one reaps when working the earth before sunrise. The reason rain stops and the world does not flood in its entirety is a conscious act by the terrestrial birds; rain draws worms to the surface of the soil, allowing the birds to gorge themselves and feed their young. A side effect of this avian self-interest is the creation of fertile farmlands and rivers essential for Humans and Ratlings to survive and thrive. It should not a be surprise that some villages venerate birds for their vital role in the continued well-being of crops.

Detractors from this mainstream stance argue that birds do not carry the necessary intelligence to organize such coordinated displays of restraint. To them, I reply that it was not until recently that it was discovered that coal was not full of fire spirits, but instead attracted them; science marches forward daily and mysteries are solved every year. A century ago it would have been thought impossible to treaty with the Dryads, and yet now they are a staunch ally of Evergreen. Is it impossible that birds do not in fact cause rain? I cannot make such a claim, but I strongly caution against assuming the negative until evidence presents itself to raise such doubts.

-Professor Henry Droop, Professor of Weatherology at the Natural-Industrial Society University of Port City (NSUP)