Dakirennis

Dak’ir scuttled by their notice board in his usual haze, almost missing the parchment before something about the paper grabbed his attention. Stumbling over to the strange new addition a frown tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Though we do not know these strangers but this is a time peace and giving. Such a wretched act should not go unpunished. We’ll recover their lost gifts or at the very least bring some of our own for those poor children.”

Dak’ir celebrates with his fellow darkies of the Sanctum as an age of religious peace and understanding can begin. Let all ‘Ker realize the truth of the Old Way so that they may praise the Spirits and their Ancestors. And that their souls may one day celebrate eternal happiness in Stargûsh’Stroh.

10 hours ago, Man of Respect said:

6. Fix drug plugin

Please. ?

I mean, that’s my main concern as well. Let me have my dope again mods. 

“That mine shaft was terrifying.” Dak comments as he smacks a few lizards on the ass to get his caravan going.

1 minute ago, Evonpire said:

((But still, there is no monkey bomb))

((No we used regular run of the mill fireworks to blast some gravel.

5 minutes ago, Evonpire said:

Liao Chen, former Huangdi (king) of the Hou does not recall any explosives being made by hou.

((This was a joke as Leonie (Darksainthood) was the wonderful host of our event this evening.

Their intentions were simple that night as far as the others were aware. Despite the overhanging frustration felt among the ashen kin they picked up at the idea of a hunt to let the frustrations free. Tonight they would work together as they always did. Freeing their minds of the outside. They steeled their hearts as they embarked on their hunt. The rise of the hungering swarms were beginning to worry Dak’ir. He’d known of his kins previous attempts to cull their numbers. But every night it seemed as though the dancing blue lights grew in greater number each and every night. At the very least they would root out what was closest to them and buy themselves a little breathing room. Upon a lengthy trek south through the hollow they rediscovered the abandoned mine shaft. It had seemed as though the insects had moved their discarded gravel closer to the old entrance.

Clan Jusima had worked quickly to create a small blast, though underestimated the potency of Hou-zi explosives and whether by miracle or chance it seemed to ignite the entire inner chamber at once. Turning the nest into a screaming, writhing mass of pain and chitin. Thousands of  the awful, different sized things exploded forth in anger and fear, trying to both save themselves and lash out at the ashen kin as they passed. Engaged in a defensive fallback, they ‘Ker struck at the Lurkers closest and that dared approach. Though oddly enough the very earth would rumble around them. Great boulders and stones falling from the roof that threatened to split the ceiling wide and spill the light of Aztran into the Under-Realm. They fell in great avalanches, sweeping the swarming tides from the walls and driving south from the dark elves’ path. Truly his calls had been heard… As they rallied once more and pushed free from the swarm the cavern would churn and rise behind them. The great avenue now sealed off under layers of stone, chitin, and fury. Dak’ir and his kin would head home in a hurry. Knowing full well that what was unleashed was far greater than what a handful of ‘Ker could achieve. The prayers to Freygoth and Bregthar  were answered with a catastrophic symphony...

Hail, King of Dwed and fellow councilmen. These past few nights of deliberation between my kin, my fellow shaman, and even the Spirits have been draining upon both my mind and soul. We are a nomadic people, though not by choice. Strife is common among our kin and my goal within this hollow was ever pure to their safety and reverence to their Ancestors and the Spirits. I had surveyed this land, north of the border colonies and the eyes of those I’d feared may try to use us. Though I did not expect it would be from your kind, so far south that I had assumed we’d be free from even your reach, would threaten us in our barren tube of stone that we’d slowly bloomed into a den of life. Even upon greater heights than the Under-Realm. I look down even now to the small pits of lava as they churn, I hear the skitter of the things of the deep as they gather and writhe, and I hear the worried whispers of my people from the home they’d spend these last elven months making. We had offered to try and sate your greed and give you our word to never encroach south or into the lower depths to where your ruins lay. But it is dominion you seek, to remove our sites of worship to the Spirits from our halls, and They only know what other greedy terms your hearts will. But as I try to preach to my kin I shall so preach to you now. We may have greed in our mortal hearts but Theirs is always greater. The will of the Spirits can be dangerous when meddled with. But I digress. If still truly seek to root us from this hollow you are welcome to. Behind our gates your will find our halls free of my kin but something more terrifying than I would wish upon few people. The tread of your war efforts are too easily known to our kind and we’ve acquainted ourselves with this mountain enough to ensure our safety no matter the outcome. I apologize for this not being the outcome you sought, but I will ensure my people’s safety and freedom of worship. I do so hope that after tonight your kin may reconsider leaving us alone in our little realm now that the ceiling falls horrid things that swarm the lower halls. The Spirit of Earth and the Spirit of the Wilds watch over us. Our hearts are Onyx, not our home.

Ufur Ilzgul Lup Ilzgul, Dak’ir Des’Nox, Primarch of the Onyx Sanctum and Motsham of the Dark Elves.

Holla 

Dak’ir recalls the old elven calls to harvest crotch fruit. He knew he’d have to buckle down and do some honest work.

Praise be. Love that skin Luara gave you. Work it.

((Sorry for gettin in the way there boyos.

The Onyx Sanctum

‘Ker of the Old Ways

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Founded in faith and reverence. The ‘Ker Onyx Sanctum find themselves here to be free in their spiritual worship, free from the yoke of their pale skin cousins and the wars they would seek to use them in, free from the prying eyes of humanity. To forsake the outside world as their Ancestors did. Some clans as old as the times of Malinor and some as young as the strifes of Vira’ker. Some united in their will to purge heretics and their unclean kin, others simply staying to learn their lost history and wander once more, all together in faith under the Moon’s vigil and the Spirit’s will.

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Locations

The Common Hollow

 The epicenter of the Sanctum, this is where ‘Ker congregate most for the general day. Moving to and from their dens or shrines, to the craftsmen hut or forge, to the ever famous Uuthlini tavern, you’ll find most of the spiritual kin here living their day to day lives.

Luara’s Rise

Atop the Onyx Sanctum is the great Totem of Luara, built in blessed reverence to symbolize Veluleai’s hallowed prayer that was first recognized by Luara, it features a plateau with a great crescent shrine for various rituals and celebrations in the Moon Mother’s and Primess’ names. The stone pond around the totem bleached white by Her glow shines bright with the silvered offerings that sit at it’s bed.

The Lower Sanctum

Home to the Temple of the Ancestors as well as a host of fungal growth. The Lower Sanctum is both a place of harvest and tranquility. An untouched bio-luminescent oasis in the darkened void created by the ashen kin.

Clans of the Sanctum

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Des’Nox

Elder and deepened within the Spiritual Plane and history of their kin, the elder clan continues its work to its people. Uncovering the lost knowledge of the ashen folk’s Ancestors to return to their people though tales for guidance. Or to in turn lead the mortal ‘Ker to their Ancestors for open reverence or. Their patron Spirits are Luara and Kor and their current clan elder is Dak’ir Des’Nox.

Uuthlini

As jovial as they are timeless, the old Uuthlini clan continue to brew their famous ales and spin their songs alongside their people. The clan is quite famous for their fixation upon the color blue to the point they almost seem to revere it. Some wearing it upon themselves or even dying their hair the deep blue of a midnight sky. Whatever the cause, it has affectionately given rise to the nickname blueberries, not only for their clan colors but their delightful brews as well. Their patron Spirit is Betharuz and the current Blue Father is Maladem Uuthlini.

Isilioleth

Wayward and Spiritual. The ‘Ker of the Isilioleth clan keep elder ways alive and well. Steeped in centuries of honored clan traditions used to pay homage to both the Spirits and their Ancestors through every aspect of their lives. Through the colors they wear and the makings they place upon themselves the Isilioeth ever display their faith. Swaying between their kin to the uruks over the years, they have amassed much knowledge of the Spirits as a whole and work to diligently to spread these beliefs and ideals to their Onyx kin. Their patron Spirits are Kor and Jevex and their current clan head is Tedyn Isilioeth.

Jusima

Few traces of the pure Mali'ker blood of Jusmia linger onward. With the biggest of the gatherings coming forth. Daichia Jusmia takes the mantle of Clan Leader. Determined to place the name Jusmia down within the eternal halls of the ancestral cities. This clan places great value on familial ties as well as the bonds of the forge. It’s clan Patriarch leading the way for reviving elder dark elven smithing techniques. Their patron Spirits are Gentharuz and Trokorl and their current clan head is Daichia Jusima.

The small outpost of Onyx had sat still over the warm summer months. The tall, sturdy cabins and warm dens in the earth covered in moss housed the few humble ‘Ker of clans Des’Nox, Uuthlini, Isilioleth, and Jusima. They had gathered here under Aztran’s warmth, taking in Freygoth’s bounty. Though as always the cold winds of the harvest season had slowly begun to creep into their wayward encampment. The heavy fog that rolled around their ankles each morning soon made way for the brisk frost. Their tufts of wheat that clung to their creek now tall and golden fell beneath crescent scythes polished to a bright sheen akin to the silver of the Moon Mother’s glow. Only to be tarnished red by the throats of their fattened livestock, soaking the earth in a crimson blessing that would bring the Spirits favor for a harvest just a bountiful next year.

Dak’ir as well as Daichia and the bulk of his clan Jusima had gone ahead of the rest of their spiritual kin to build what would be an everlasting sanctum of worship and safety to those who’d tread their Ancestors’ path. At the foothills of the northern end of the great mountain range the Primarch had led the fledgling clan to the abyss of their new home. Within this hollow they would cut their teeth as their Ancestors of old. Stone spires soon rose, warm and welcoming, and their dedication to the Spirits did as well. Shines to those they favored and to those they were thankful for. To the great Moon Mother they would they would make up their lost worship to. To the Gatekeeper they would pay their thanks for everlasting peace. And to their Ancestors they would always honor and remember. Soon other clans would follow and here on their Onyx Pilgrimage they would make a land most holy to tread upon.

I miss the black scourge 

“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.” 

Dak’ir Des’Nox signed, of course.