Dakirennis

“Heresy...”

The vagabond Primarch muttered between himself and the few ‘Ker wise enough to leave. “Ashwood hardly even has the right to claim dominion over the ‘Ker. ‘Nobility’ itself has no place within our people. Only those that we respect enough to lead us. None but Luara herself holds such sway over us. The ‘Ker will follow who they believe in. As they did with Avurak and Vulnir. If Avurak’s death was the grave dug, and Valen was the coffin. Then the Ashwoods were each nail that sealed it shut. The visions of Vira’ker have long since fallen and it’s become a barren, barnacle stricken rock. It would take a miracle to wrestle that place from the yoke of the pale-skins and their sickening magics now...”

“Oh how far our vision fell on small, sad isle...”

Dak’ir scoffs over a flame. “Ratmen? Can’t be true.”

Far far in the nameless north, the small ashen caravan had come to an early rest near the base of their next challenge. Setting up for the night to collect their water barrels, the pair of shamen moved ahead of their people with determination in their steps. Only a haggard old ‘Ker wolf following behind them dragging his paws as he went. The elder of the pair led them up high into steeps, where they’d discover their salvation. Like the dark maw of a great beast the darkness stretched far into a black abyss. The Primarch would nod in his approval. The words of his Ancestors guiding their steps and they entered the great hollow. Barren and cold as the mountain in which it was nestled the two knew it would soon know Freygoth’s touch of life. Bundles of fungi feathered various walls but soon they would spread far and wide, tall and strong. Further they traveled before coming upon what seemed suitable to them. A fresh spring clattered lightly against the stone walls at a small intersection before the cave entered it’s deepest echelons. The shamen would drink deeply finding it cool and clean, a good omen. They sat in quiet observation after cleaning themselves up, looking to the nooks and crannies nearby, making for certain nothing lay in wait for the ashen kin. Aside from the various starts and scrapes of dens nothing seemed to inhabit their future home. Until the younger ‘Ker elbowed the elder, pointing to a series of blue orbs on the roof of the far end of the deep cavern. They seemed to sway back and forth in an ethereal dance, first only a few then many. The young ‘Ker looked on in bewildered awe as too did the elder, though his grip around his staff seemd to tighten as their number grew. But as suddenly as it had begun the light show would begin to dwindle, all seeming to turn and retreat deeper into the abyss. Over the sound of the elves’ breathing, the chitinous scrape of carapace on carapace rasped through the halls with a sickening grind that made their skin crawl. The wolf would hunch low, wise not to rise and attempt a challenge, the Primarch knew this too was a sign. “As our ancestors of ages past did so, so too shall we. Under Luara’s guidance and the Spirit’s vigil. We return to our roots and shall live as they did. We need not fear the deeps, for our Ancestors know them better than any of us and they shall be the spear that pierces the veil. For the purity of our people, to safeguard them in their worship of the Spirits. Let beast and heretic alike fear us.”

Over the years I’ve seen people emote their cheeks darkening to a deeper grey or a deep red/purple. I’d say darkening personally but it’s kinda your choice.

Dak’ir debates asking some elementalists to switch this up a little for the laughs.

Dak’ir smiled wearily as he watched the pointed hoods of the zealous gobos bob around to goi during one of his visits. “Lȗp Luara, my moon lit kin. We’ve much to do in this spirit forsaken land.”

Atop steed and wolf the kin of the moon had set out under Luara’s guidance and with the cloak of night to protect them as they made their pilgrimage to the frozen north. The sky began to turn to a soft pink as they left the forests, facing only the barren mountains before them. Dak’ir’s breath rose into the air as they stared at their next journey. “Somewhere in these far cliffs we shall find the peace we seek. A mount worthy of calling home and practicing our faith. Our dream in Vira’ker fell long ago… Vulnir and Avurak’s dream will never be realized in that port state. I’ve faith in Xavis but I believe our home too far gone. To void mages and druids, pale-skins and to those of darker persuasion. Perhaps those of faith will seek us out, to learn the secrets of their people and their heritage. But for now, I see no place for us in this lost city. May the Ancestors and Spirits watch over the ‘Ker who remain… If they even care anymore.” The kinsmen of clans Des’Nox and Isilioleth shifted uneasily before moving forward. Their resolve strengthened by their hope and faith. And the promise of peace through isolation.

Dak’ir motions to rename the pact to the Pact of Ash and Onyx 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Why must you scare me this way

+1 for the name alone