Dakirennis

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.”

Dak'ir smiles wearily as a unity of Onyx, Bronze, and Silver begins anew.

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".

Clan Des'Nox ~ ~ In Midnight Clad Origin and History Rooting from Aegis, the Maki'ker of Des'Nox were originally a nomadic clan. While they tended to keep to the elven lands, they were almost hermit-like with their caution of outsiders, new members only joining after marrying into the family. As roamers, most children of Des'Nox grew up learning to hunt and craft things that could be sold for the betterment of the clan. Some member even selling their services as mercenaries. However over time the main family line found it’s way back into the fold of the elven people, even assuming the reigns of leadership over the dark elves for a few centuries and bringing them back into Ancestral and Spiritualism after their own awakening. From the days of the Fringe until this very day, the Des'Nox seek to enlighten and protect their people, as watchers in the night. Ancestral Awakening Not long after the Des’Nox assumed control over their people from the hands of the Old Families under the banner of Haelun’or, an estranged priestess joined their settlement preaching Khel’s old ways of the Ancestors. The seeds of elder tradition having been planted, Clan Patriarch Dak’ir began to seek out any and all historical information. So far was he in his devotion that he pledged his life to these ways, learning to communicate with them to voice their wishes via the teachings of honored orcish shamans. The ‘Ker soon learnt more of his people… long forgotten histories, names, and eldritch orders. And soon began preach the Old Ways and brought the word of the Ancestors to the dark elven people once again. But of course those of his family would also become devout followers and over the decades various orders devoted to them were created. But the traditions of the Ordinators have held firm with the family. Members becoming strange priests or zealous warriors that don the gold colored plate and enforce the will of the Ancestors. Vindication Inspired by visions and sights of Ancestors that donned golden chitten and once protected the ancient dark elven homelands, Dak’ir created the Ordinators strive to enforce that same safety and to spread the will of the Ancestors with sometimes vicious zeal. Members of Clan Des’Nox sometimes take personal oaths to the Ancestors before taking the golden face. Their armors marked with hanging scrolls with these written sacred oaths, trophies from battles or heretical purges, or idols made in dedication to their favored Spirits. The sons and daughters of the night favor Luara and Kor the most for their connection to the dark elven people, bestowing many offerings and prayers to these Spirits. The Des'Nox clan venerate the Ancestors above all else. They pray or reflect on the actions of their forebears for guidance. However in the recent centuries Spiritualism has become more prevalent, the clan favoring Luara and Kor the most. As of now, no other belief is accepted within the clan. To turn your back on the Ancestors and the Sprits is to turn your back on your family. Culture The Night The Des'Nox hold a great affinity for the night. As they were originally nomadic, the night offered direction and protection from the usual daylight dangers. But to them, the night was so much more. In concealing themselves, using the stars as guides, and even hunting. To them, the night’s fall was akin to a loving embrace. Watching over them Names The Des'Nox clan has a strange way of naming it's children. They use a combination of syllables from the parent's names as a way of symbolizing the unity between two mates. It's not uncommon for names to be passed down through the generations. (For example: Dak'ir's father was Dak'rezar). Traditionally, the mother's name comes first for their daughters and the father's name would come first for the sons. Full names imply that the member was either a bastard or simply married (or adopted) into the family. This roots from the original clan father’s belief of passion. Des’Nox believe that the effort and care taken to create a child should represent that bond. Hence why the parents names are needed to create the new name. Bastards find themselves with a whole name simple because they are usually raised by a single parent. Those who abandon their children cast out and exiled. Appearance Mali'ker of the Des'Nox prefer to keep their lines as pure as possible. Various shades of crimson highlight their eyes, hair of pure ebony, and their skin a deep grey. All members clad themselves in the colors of the night sky, various blues, silver, and black. Simple clothing or robes being the usual choice of clothing, however some Des'Nox tend to mix plates of armor into their attire as both a means of protection and as a form of fashion. These plates are almost always the same golden color of the Ordinators, to represent that they are always in these honored warriors are always in their minds. Rite of passage In the early to mid teens of young Des'Nox children, they go through a trial to enter adulthood. A simple test of survival and mettle. The clan will simply leave the child or children behind and return for them at a later date. With the only rule really being that you may not follow the clan, some parents will give their child supplies. While helping them is not against the rules, it is more simply frowned upon. For example: Giving your child a knife is nothing compared to giving it a bow and arrows. By giving them supplies, you're seen as not having faith in their abilities to survive. As well, all children must have found ‘a piece of night’ to complete their rites. Celebration Their pleasures are simple. But celebrating is something the clan frequently enjoys. Weather it be the birth of a newborn, the bond between two lovers, or even a successful hunt. A Des'Nox will turn it into a festivity accompanied by tale telling, drinking and music. They often favor string and percussion instruments. Craftsmanship The vagabond clan did what it could to make a living. While most were adept hunters and herbalists, coin was still needed for a living. Most clansmen were skilled cratfers and tailors. From dresses to wooden toys and even carved jewelry, the clan honed their skills for the betterment of the family. Black Stone Bracelets Most notable of their craftsmanship are the simple black stone bracelets most, if not all, Des'Nox are seen wearing. Mainly being something parents gave their children or juveniles gave their allure, it represented their love for that person. They were usually crafted from dark colored rocks, such as onyx or obsidian. The Night Father called these stones ‘pieces of night’ as the clan’s love for the night sky represented in these stones. It was thought that the more beautiful the bracelet, the more that person cared. As the clan was poor, it meant acquiring gems or carving stones would either take a lot of time to find or cost them more than they could afford. As it was mainly given to another as a clan tradition, these bracelets were almost never given to those outside of the clan. Magic Most Des'nox either show open distaste or simply do not care for magic, believing it corrupts the mind. In recent recent years, various shamanisms have become common with their worship of the Spirits coming more into the light. OOC

The Primarch smiles warmly as the blueberries seemed pop up around the harbor, bringing Dak'ir to thoughts of a simpler time in the war torn Fringe. "The Uuthlini have ever been a welcoming and jovial clan. Arganos watch their progress in this time as he has for centuries."