The Grmkel are the oldest race on the continent, with a proud lineage that stretches back before this land had even been surrendered by the sea.
Originally they had been scavengers nosing along the sea's bottom, but as the eons passed an offshoot of the race become land dwelling, and inhabited the tunnels and caves deep below the earth.
At this stage they changed from a small eel-like creature to larger rock worms, that could burrow though rock and received sustenance from eating minerals.
Still time moved on, the eons rolling by. Until on one fateful day a mutant was born, the Great Prowser who looked around itself and had a divine vision. His thoughts, though wildly crazy and wacky seeming to his fellows, where of such power that the entire race was possessed with them.
His thought was simple, the results of it were amazing. Prowser had asked the big questions about existance, and despairing of ever finding the answer had instigated a social breeding program aimed at genetically improving the race. As his genetic makeup was the best available, Prowser died a very tired slug. However his dream lived on, and slowly the slugs evolved as a race into intelligent creatures.
Vast cities where built, complexes of incredible complexity and diversity. Eventually contact was established with surface dwellers and some adventurous Grmkel left their homes to wander the world. While they viewed most other races as being crass and undeveloped, the great opportunities of the surface enthralled them.
There was only one problem, a problem of such immensity that it saved the entire world from domination by the Grmkel's. Grmkel's abhorr water. They cant stand it. Rain sends them into a crazed state, and the sea makes them faint from terror. If they could they would drain the oceans, and turn the world into a vast desert.
Their worst nightmares involve being in a wet tunnel, and not having enough grip to control their movements. Many tragic accidents have resulted in uncountable numbers of dead. Some places, called in the local terminology as "wet spots" are strewn with the shredded corpses of the unwary.
It is generally accepted wisdom amoung the Grmkel's that you would have to be a raving loony to want to go onto the surface.
There is a good chance you will get rained on!
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