Clothed in rags and dirt, hung over with scrap; an ill-shaped body, a humped back, their hair long, coarse, matted. They are creatures of the Titans, stunted and warped by improper and reckless use of machines left to rust in the deserted, subterranean cities of their long-fled masters. They die of age, cannot read or write, but they know the ancient warrens of this Hollow-Earth well and they preserve and manipulate the antique tech-junk of the Titan cities with pious purpose.
Once the ever-youthful, ever-living companions of the Titans, they are now the sun-touched and degenerate remnants of a star-spanning culture. Abandoned, no longer immortal, they nevertheless see themselves as heirs and custodians of their lost civilization. Still long-lived they cling together aloof in scattered enclaves, vainly striving to maintain their dwindling authority over the Hollow-Earth, pathetically aping the grandeur of their forbears.
A diminutive offshoot of the primitive human species that inhabit the Hollow-Earth, they infest forest and jungle-canopy alike. They care little for the Titanic remains that dot the landscape, less so for the civilising delusions of the abandoned Atlans. Frivolous, gluttonous, and self-absorbed, they crave celebrity and seek fame and fortune with a complete disregard for consequence.