Also known as: Stone Coats, Nvyunuwi (nun ・ yoo ・ noo ・ wee)

Tribal affiliations: Cherokee, Seneca

Fury fed by a hunger for human flesh and an invasion of his territory, a mighty Stonecoat attacked a neighboring human village; hoping to punish or eradicate the offenders, the beast slaughtered and consumed all that lay within its walls.

News spread of the monster’s massacre, spawning hunting parties throughout the land; they vowed to destroy the creature and avenge the dead. Throughout numerous battles, many warriors fell to the giant’s strength and size. Eventually, the unyielding hordes felled the elemental monster, bashing his body into minuscule pieces. With excitement and triumph, its crushed form was paraded. Faced by the once-living rubble, the villagers began to recall folk tales from other peoples; according to these stories, if one killed a Stonecoat, ground it into a fine powder, and mixed into bread, that they would gain the beast’s strength. Intoxicated by victory and battle, they followed the folk tales and took the creature’s body in the form of fresh bread.

Grinding a Stonecoat to dust prevents it from regenerating; however, eating part of a Stonecoat grows youths inside of the consumer—mixing both creatures’ attributes to make a new one; each Stonecoat is believed to be able to produce an entirely new race of beings if ingested. According to the Stoneclad’s origin story, both men and women who partook of the bread grew halflings within them; the strange beings required no womb to incubate, only a stomach. Over the next few months, the villagers did feel stronger, but they also began to experience greater and greater discomfort — which turned to excruciating pain as their stomachs swelled with 3 - 6 Stoneclad. When the individuals died, the youths climbed from the mouth or forced themselves from the belly like a bird exiting an eggshell. Horrified, yet empathetic for the innocent beings, those who did not partake of the bread helped raise the children. A few years later, the youths turned on them, as they had developed a taste for human flesh and an innate hatred towards humans, born of their Stonecoat blood. Growing up, the offspring quickly congregated, developed their own ways of life, and lived for the pleasures of life.

Part Stonecoat, part human, Stoneclad can be double the size of a man, though they usually grow to be 8 ft tall. Most have dark features, mottled, gray skin, and vibrantly colored eyes — which mirror bright hues found in forests or stone; large humanoids, they have muscular bodies, weigh at least 400 lbs, and possess great strength. In reverence, as well as for protection, the halflings cover themselves in large cloaks made of flat rocks — which are arranged and attached to hide garments in patterns, resembling a reptile’s scales. The apparel is imbued with strange, elemental magic, making it impenetrable and resistant to cold and heat.

Stoneclad fear their Stonecoat ancestors, avoiding their territory and gatherings. This group of halflings, however, does not fear or avoid humans but pursues and kills them for sport or food. Some Stoneclad capture entire towns of people to torture or devour later. On rare occasions, the beings may spare evil humans that can cast magic; the worst of these are adopted into their communities, taught their ways of life, and given a cloak. Though a Stoneclad in name, they never receive one of their most treasured possessions: a life talisman.

All true Stoneclad are born with one mossy stone in the center of their chest; if destroyed, the creature dies. Stoneclad cannot die of disease, blood loss, or age, though, if a limb is severed, it will not regrow, and if a major organ is damaged, it may prove fatal. Some individuals pry the stone from their body or their children's, deftly hiding them from harm. Beings animated by magic, their vitality can be weakened or siphoned if exposed too long to deficiencies, like bodily fluids. Due to this, assaults by the halflings are usually intense bombardments followed by a quick retreat; preparation of meat is carried out only when safety is guaranteed, as well as basic, bodily functions. According to legend, Stoneclad are especially weak to menstruating women; in Native American stories, they have been defeated and even killed by having many women standing in their path at once. As such, menstruating Stoneclad separate themselves from the group, keeping the community strong while also hiding away in their own moment of vulnerability.

Magical creatures, Stoneclad can enchant an object to tell its bearer where what they are looking for is located. These magical items only need to be told what the user is looking for, as it points toward it of its own volition. These significant tools are only possessed by older Stoneclad or passed down in families. In folklore, humans have deceived the Stoneclad to gain these trinkets, easily using them and attempting to recreate them as ‘divining rods.’ Some Stoneclad have a gift for enchanting items and can cast other spells on them, which help them along their travels and hunts.

Like their giant ancestors, Stoneclad spend their days out in the open, feasting, hunting, gathering forageables, and exploring. Unlike the Stonecoats, they get along with each other and live in moderately sized communities high in the mountains or deep valleys. These villages do not have leaders; instead, each does as they see right. Squabbles and disagreements do occur, but are usually resolved quickly; great offenses, like the destruction of another’s talisman, are remedied by ex-communication or death. Smarter than their Stonecoat ancestors, but less intelligent than humans, Stoneclad are content with simple lives and do not like to spend much time contemplating, but doing what pleases them.

As for anatomy, the Stoneclad have almost identical interior anatomies to those of humans—though some organs reside in different placements or are larger. Their exterior features, though similar to humans, are rough, bulky, and less expressive. Their eyes and ears P Kristen Puckett 141 are smaller, but their noses are notably larger, as are their hands, feet, mouths, foreheads, and chins. Their skin is always dry, itchy, and irritated, forming a rough, uneven texture. Additionally, the halflings’ blood coagulates incredibly fast, preventing them from bleeding out. On average, women are larger than men.

The Stoneclad reproduce like humans, though their children need little parental interaction aside from nursing. The babes grow over time, reaching physical maturity at 25; the beings are born 1 ft long and are fully able to think and speak as an adult. They continue growing a little each year until they die. When a Stoneclad dies, their forms harden into stone and their interiors liquefy, then congeal. Friends and family cover the deceased with their cloak, draping it over the body and covering it with a thin layer of topsoil. A memorial hill, ample foliage grows upon it, nourished by nutrients encased in the thin, rocky layer; the thick gel found within dead Stoneclad is enjoyed by plants but an irritant to human skin. Some people believe that powerful Stoneclad will come back to life if they are not burned to ashes after dying; though durable, their corpse’s skin is flammable.

Cold and Frost: a Seneca Legend

In ancient times, four men invented the first canoes for a special hunting trip up a large river; the best huntsmen of their village, they hoped to gather enough food to last their people through the winter.

Several days out on the water, the men were happy to come upon their destination, “Here, we will land at King Fisher’s place. There, each of us must bring in as much game as possible,” instructed the old chief. Rested and excited to be on land, they soon accumulated plenty of meat. Two of them announced that they were going further into the forest to hunt elk. “You must be careful,” reminded the chief, “Do not stray from the trails; something bad may be out there.” One of the hunters, known to be stubborn and inadvisable, immediately deviated from the paths, delving deep into the woodlands.

When night fell, all men returned to camp except the belligerent hunter. They gathered around the fire, muttering about how he must’ve wandered too far. Far away, the lone hunter had happily spent his day exploring. When night darkened his path, he built a fire.

In the middle of the night he was awoken by voices across the river; peering through the trees, he saw two women holding a crying baby. One of the women sat and nursed the infant, which filled the hunter with relief—nearby villagers meant safety.

Suddenly, one of the women noticed him on the riverbank, “How did you cross, brother?” The man found it strange that he could hear her words from so far away, but he answered, “Come here and I’ll tell you!”

Again, the woman asked, “How did you cross, brother?” He repeated the answer, which only elicited the same question again. He answered her a third time, becoming fearful, “Just come here!” He had growing suspicions about these women, especially after noting their cloaks—heavy garments lined with numerous, flat stones.

The younger woman called, “Can we stay all night by your fire?”

The man replied, “Yes, if you come over, you can stay.”

They turned to each other, “If we go up the river, we might find a place to cross.” Soon they came to the fallen tree where the hunter had crossed over the swift water. When the left, he ran downstream, crossed at a ford, and went upriver, standing where they once sat. The women appeared by his fire, “Why did you run from us? Nothing will happen to you, come back! We won’t harm you.” The younger woman picked up his tomahawk, “But, I do wonder if this would take a person’s life?”

“Yes,” shouted the man, “It would take anyone’s life, put it down!’

The woman set it down and urged him to return to the fire. When he refused, they both became furious, determined to get to him, “Wait, stay there, we’re coming over!”

“Fine,” answered the man. As soon as they were out of sight, he ran, crossing the river once more. When they reached the other side, the older woman screamed, “I will catch you!”

“No,” yelled the man, “You may kill others but you won’t kill me!”

“You,” the younger woman jeered, “are not able to kill anyone.”

“I’ll show you what I can do,” replied the man, throwing his tomahawk at a large boulder, splitting it into several pieces.

“He thinks he can kill us,” the younger woman mused, eyes shining.

The man picked up his bow and aimed at a branch on a faraway tree; the arrow went straight through the mark. The women saw his skill and were astonished, telling each other, “He is a man to be feared. He must be of Híno.” The older woman paused, angered, “He is running around a lot, but I will kill him tonight.”

The hunter saw them crossing the river again, so he went into the cool waters, diving below where they could not see; there he stayed until dawn, slowly stealing breaths of air. Feeling safe in the sun’s rays, he began back towards camp to rejoin his friends. Though he was an agile runner, he heard a voice near him say, “Now I have caught you!”

A sleepless night and a busy day had weakened the man, and he knew he could not outrun them very long. Hurriedly, he climbed a tree, settling in a thick set of twisted branches. The older woman stopped under the tree, catching her breath; the other caught up and untied the babe from her back, nursing it. With an irritated sigh, she said, “We have to hurry and catch up to him!” The woman pulled out a disembodied finger, placing it limply in her hand. She asked it where the hunter was; the finger stood straight up on her palm, pointing at the man. The women gasped, but could not look up, as the heavy cloaks prevented their heads from doing so.

Frantically, the man jumped from the tree, grabbed the finger from the woman’s hand, and ran as fast as he could. Sprinting, he breathed, “Which path is the fastest?” The finger pointed, the hunter following its commands; as he neared his friends, the finger barely wavered over his hand, signaling that he was near where he wanted to be.

Upon reaching camp, the man breathed a sigh of relief; he ate, rested, and regained his strength before he told the others his story. However, he left out the magic finger.

Soon after his arrival, the chief announced, “Gather your things, it’s time we go home.” When the men pushed off in their canoes, they saw a woman running towards them through the trees, “Give back what you’ve stolen from me! If you do, you will have good luck! Else…” the young woman threatened.

“What did you take from her?” demanded the chief. “Whatever it was, give it back.”

The man pulled the severed finger from his pouch and showed the group, recognition dawning on their faces. “Let her have it if she will promise not to bother us afterward or send her people,” said the chief, staring the woman in the eyes. Begrudgingly, the man placed the finger on his palm and reached it towards the woman, as far as he could without exiting the canoe.

From the bank, the woman reached for the trinket, but slipped and fell into the river, quickly and noiselessly sinking—after several minutes, only bubbles rose to the surface. “We should leave quickly,” said the hunter, on edge, still gripping the finger. The group rowed away as fast as their arms could take them. They arrived home safely and the hunter used his magical object every day; with it, he was viewed as a hunting expert and never wanted for anything as long as he lived.