Dakirennis

“Why are politics being brought into internal family affairs? Nonsense.”

Take the plunge brother.

Imma eat a few of these.

I truly believe a forced disconnection has a place for those ‘taboo’ users of the magic and can have potential. As long as such a decision isn’t simply left to one person (better a group mt/lm decision). But that is why Hedge added the red line about false accusation too, to avoid the ooc hunts. But you do bring up a very good point that I keep trying to make in conversations about this. The orcs as a whole actively worship about three spirits, Leyd, Enorhk, and Laklul. Scattered totems and shines of spirits are always present but they aren’t the names the orcs shout. The general orcish playerbase doesn’t care much for the spirits or shamanism and that’s shown in the roleplay over they years with the decline of shamanism as a whole, which sort of brings me to my next point. The spirits don’t care. The orcs are fuel as much as any other race that worships them, just that the spirits have a much simpler trust towards orcs than other races. ‘Honor’ is subjective and changes from spirits to spirit, to orc to orc, to elf to elf. Let’s not forget that most sacrifices are road side pvp goon bands that don’t do a hell of a lot of engaging rp. I know, I’ve been part of them in the past. ‘Honor’ should be what pacts one makes to a spirit. Because worship can vary and people don’t understand that. If it isn’t some world of warcraft lookin orc that’s scooping up slaves, it isn’t shamanism. We have indeed actively (and pretty unsecretly) been worshiping various spirits, no different than the orcs have since about early athera after some damn fun and cryptic rp with some shamans. It’s just that the dark elves have a greater placement on their Ancestors than the spirits, and why wouldn’t they? They only owe their creation and salvation to one, who in turn made them worshipers of the spirits. I am indeed active again now and waaay overdue to finish that TA. But yes, I’d prefer any mass teaching be kept out of events. That’s only ever cause a quick boom and a quicker faceplant. I’ve had a lot of personal issues this year and work as well, which isn’t really much excuse but I don’t think this is something that needs that type of acceleration or skip. It’s a simple, let it be and let it grow situation, it can’t be forced. Which is funny because people seem to think that since I’ve gotten this magic it would mean some end to shamanism, as if I’d hand it out willy nilly, which I find laughable but anyhow. To address what you said something Mog said in a previous post about dark elven magic or separate shamanism. Lutaumancy basically is the dark elven shamanism. The orcs don’t really care much for their ancestors with the exception of raguk and yar and it’s shown. I believe Divine is one of the only ones left among the orcs (correct me if I’m wrong) and though I’m sure he and others have tried it's simply not been something that’s very practiced among the orcs. Though I’d happily still teach any who proved themselves worthy of it. I’ve done my work with shamanism and been pretty open about my opinions on it and the dark elves/their form of worship. I voiced them when they mattered most and worked as hard as I have these years to get to where the dark elves are now and for anyone who wants to know about the darkies and their connection to Luara and why shamanism had become a thing, consult the lore. Anyway there was a lot to read here in this shitshow of a thread so I’m sure I missed a lot if anyone would like me to address anything I’d be happy to.

The Primarch would reply in turn... “To begin with, quite frankly you may not call me uncle. After I’d had you exiled for spitting falsities of the Ancestors and Spirits, and no bounty has ever been placed on your head. There’s no purpose in killing you in such a manner, nor is it worth the thought or mina. Yes the Ancestors have a bloodied past, no matter how many times I had explained that to you, Khel was a murderer and once a mori sympathizer. Blessed Ancestors, he used to hunt for dryads in Darkhaven’s forest. But he atoned for his sins when his unresting spirit came to Athera. However in your own naivety, you forget that your own family was part of that inactive leadership. You’d had been given the opportunity then to exact all the wonderful ideas you spewed to me, but you didn’t. And while yes, I have of course been inactive, my training was the only way I could learn. I planned on stepping down centuries ago though my duty is still my duty. And I will do my best to carry it out as I always have. But between gender confused younglings and your incessant complaining, no I do not want that present among what I am trying to achieve or even the Dominion itself. I make this home not for any ‘Ker but those true enough who wish to know the Primordial Truth, our origins and history, our culture, the truth you kept demeaning but I simply did not know an elven year ago. But you couldn’t understand that because you wanted it now, like a child. And I am tired of you stamping your feet like one when you do not get your way.”

Dak’ir settled beneath fresh willow in Velunor’s new housing area. His students left for the evening and the moon’s familiar gaze soon peeked over Valleinor’s high peaks. After weeks of work and the blood, sweat, and tears of a few unwilling captives to appease the Spirits. The harbor had been fixed up following the recent volcanic activity. Expansion came with the repairs, homes for the new followers. Though many still remained hollow. The tired shaman soon rose from his place upon the tree, wandering the path to the nearby totem he’d created in dedication to the Mother Moon, Luara. Blood and the strands of white hair from a mutant still dotted the altar before the great totem, from a recent sacrifice. Tapping his staff twice against the stone he’d bow his head once to the totem before quickly departing again. Despite Dak’ir’s tenancy to slip away from the mortal world from time to time, the moment had finally come to bring his people together once more. His true kin, sons and daughters of the Spirits. That night, the squeaks and chirps of chittering grey jays scattered from Velunor and to the lands beyond...

The Primarch sat alone in Velunor at edge of the docks, a perpetual haze of smoke seemed to permeate from his being. The waters of the harbor were still that night as they shined softly under the moon’s tender glow. Dak’ir closed his eye and smiled softly, seeming to bask in the light as well, soaking up it’s silver warmth. His pilgrimage had come to an end, and his training finally complete beneath the Ancestors. Everything had finally fallen into line and his dedication had brought him to the very beginning and ending of it all. A sense of pride and peace came to the humble ‘Ker and so he closed his eyes and fell once again into the world beyond. Dak’ir felt more at home within Stargûsh’stroh than in the mortal coil. It was where he truly felt free, where he felt he belonged but he knew better than that. Than to fall to that temptation. He sat at the top of the mountain that housed the souls of the long forgotten ‘Ker of old and those of renewed faith, in the shadow of a city they once knew. Night had fallen on the Ancestral Realm and all was quiet. The Mother Moon’s soft touch felt this lone peak in this realm as well and under her gaze, they met once again. A tall ‘Ker woman clad in a brilliant, simple, white dress. Her hair the same snowy white and her eyes a pale silver, a perfect image of primordial dark elven beauty. “You come once again, shaman? Do you not tired of this old soul’s tales?” Truth be told, he could listen to her for ages, as vague as she could be sometimes. The woman before him could inspire armies or move the hearts of a people. Which had in fact been her duty in life. Veluleai the Prophet stood before Dak’ir in all her grace. The sleepy shaman turned from the cliff’s edge to face her fully, his ebon mane falling around his face as he bowed before her. The Ancestor gave a tired smile, as if the gesture had been wasted. She never seemed to care much for formality or praise, Dak’ir had noticed, and after an awkward greeting he spoke what was on his mind. Seeking guidance once more. “Do you think they are prepared? Do you think some will care to know? Or even accept?” The elfess did not hesitate. “Gather your faithful, your strong, your kin. You cannot force that which is a constant motion. We are a wayward people, and the Old Ways are not for all in this modern time they should not be your concern. Our true people, the Ancestors and the Spirits should.” Dak’ir nodded at her wise words. He’d learned long ago that he could no longer waste time on those not wishing to learn. This was a game of preservation, not influence. Dak’ir nodded to the wise elder’s words and the two spoke just a little longer into the night. The shaman sat and listened like an attentive child as she spoke of the times before conflict. Of peace and worship under the mountain and moon. Oh how he yearned for even a fraction of that. And as the crescent moon began to slip and they sky turned to the soft pink of the morning, Dak’ir bid his farewell to this most honored Ancestor, knowing their precious meetings were all too rare

"And Haelun'or finds it's way to the Dominion. Ancestors how Kalenz is probably spinning in his grave." The shaman would laugh to himself as he read the missive. "That means good tea is nearby though."

+1 for delicious fluff, +1 for the darkies straight chillin.

Smoke skooma cactus green, worship daedra Spirits. +1 to my tree loving brothers. I've seen this lore grow a while now and it's nice to see how far its come and grown.

Cant WC a corpse

Dak'ir pinches the bridge of his nose at the news of the new Virarim pincushions. "Khel's balls, these organizations are getting old now. So many seeming to forget we've fight alongside humanity for ages now. Burn your humans that mate with elves. I'd happily burn any elves that mate with humans if that makes their short lived lives feel a little better. They spit on their own Ancestors in this sad copy the proud Kaedrin men of old."

The old, tired 'Ker watched from the nearby foothills. Pride swelling in his chest as another of his kin realize the true path of their people, mumbling to himself a small mantra. "Afar Ilzgul, brother. Witness what was once lost to our people and help me guide our kin so that this paradise is never lost to them again..."

The old lutauman rattled in his hazy den. Puffing his pipe he recalled a time of incline for shamanic ways. A camp of all kinds worshiping and praising the Spirits. Totems and shrines dotting the mountains side and cohorts of shaman roaming the land together in an effort to preserve balance. A time would come once again for the Spirits to rise. “Afar Ilzgul, Lup Ilzgul.”

A sour old shaman sits in his den, milling about his usual business of mixing herbs and writing in tomes. History had always been a focus of the old 'Ker and as he stuck new books into old shelves, he came across an old journal that he'd written during the time of the Fringe. The first page being a old map roughly scribbled by him when he was but a young mercenary lad. His hand dragged across the page over the various locations before noticing one in particular. Huntshill, home of the Satfyr family and the location of one of Dak'ir's first battles along side Orenian bannermen. An evening storm of arrows and a long bout with dwemer forces, it was a fond memory the old dark elf liked to recall... Fighting alongside the honest men of the "Wheat King".