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Were World is a land where all sentient creatures share at least two DNA types. They may be the classic human and wolf, or they may be dog and cat, or almost anything. They are the result of experiments in gene splicing gone madly wrong centuries ago. [i am going to use capitals to make this easier to read]
In the years since the experiments got out of hand, the greater society has lapsed into more primitive patterns. Technology is forgotten; everyone relies instead on their own powers. Each double type, and there are many, shares one power for each DNA pattern it models. So, this usually means two powers per person.
Nations have dissolved. Some have broken down into tribes. The pack animals tend to stick to themselves. Some groups try to band different types together for safety, or for things like agriculture, hunting and trade. There are two main forces working against each other, the predators on one hand, and those who would reclaim science on the other. Most people, however, simply try to stay out of the way of these conflicts.
Most people you see will look like humans, since this is the default mode, and the safest appearance. It is less likely to arouse enemies than an animal likeness would be.
The most dangerous predators are those whose root stock were actually beasts who were then genetically modified.
In the central land of Beanblossom everyone appears to be human. There are villages, some trade, some traditional crafts, and a hopeful air of peace and prosperity, But rumors have it that secret agents have infiltrated, trying to turn the land toward one side or other of the great conflict.
In the central town of Ward, there are several inns around the great crossroads. The roads are the source of the prosperity of the land since they connect to most of the rest of that continent. The road from the north crosses a deep chasm; there is a toll gate. To the south is arid waste; travellers must hire guards to attempt that crossing, since there are bandits. The road from the east descends through a perilous mountain pass where wild things dwell; a fort is stationed at that border. To the west, the road simply enters the tiny tribal land of Hillock, populated by were-prairie dogs. They do not mingle much.
Tonight there is a bad storm. Travellers are forced to seek shelter in the least desireable of the three inns, as the other two have quickly filled. Everyone in that seedy inn is a stranger to everyone else, with few exceptions (some locals at the bar, and the owner, cook, maid and serving man). Sitting at table, the strangers eye each other warily. WHo are they...really?
What is their true business here?
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