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[Arakad]

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The hall of the Sepulcher was quiet, even the heavy breath sigh of the man upon the throne echoed off the cold enchanted stone. Death filled the air, old blood and caked souls that mere mortals feigned to detect. The Patriarch took this moment of peace to slouch within the throne of bone, looking out from behind the mask to the blood smeared aisle and the ritual circle at the far end of the chamber. Sliding from the Throne, the crimson robes whipped around him with a life of their own. With padded cu Sidhe boots he made his way quietly down the trail of blood standing in the center of the pentagram. His arms concealed within the crossed sleeves of the shroud.

Standing within the confines of the circle, one would almost say that the figure within the crimson shroud stood there starring down its own shadow, a soft blue glow emitting from within the hood of the blood red robe while the Kings eyes pierced the murk of the shadow abyss. The eternals' markings renewed vigor have been given even more strength as the feeling of the Skull returning came over him days before.

Slowly removing his hands from the confines of the sleeves, he withdrew his kryss knife sliding the tip of the blade against his palm forming a small pool of the enchanted vitae. Making a fist over the small pool of blood in the center of his hand, he allowed it to drip to the circles center - each drop seemed to form a ripple outwards towards the bloody pentagrams edge - each drop sounding as a war-time drum beat to the heightened ear.

As the vitae fell from his grasp, the shadows slowly darkened before him - with an open hand he raised the pool and splashed it upon the shadowed visage causing the blood to seep into the abysmal substance until a bloodied portal the shape of a full body mirror appeared before the man. Whispering soft arcane words that came muffled through the metal plated mask over his face, the surface of the blood began to shimmer until images played upon its surface.

The homes of Umbra came within his Murked Mirror, giving sight into the buildings of Umbra. He could see the alchemists forming a new concoction within their lab, the warriors of Umbra training heavily to perfect their arts, the pryo and cyro mages debating over philosophies of their wizardry. The shifters sought their gatherings. And deeper still, the Patriarch dove until he saw within the heart of Umbra. For even within the shadow city, Families lived in peace, children slept in the confines of their rooms. The Inn Keeper earned his living, the butcher fed his wife and child, the Herder tended the animals within her stable. Life, even here, grew abundant. Grew stronger, and never over the decades of embracing the darkness of the land, has this city shown weakness.

A soft grin formed over the kings hidden face. "All that has come upon this land; one thing that has never changed. Umbra Prevails." Clenching his fist, the skin quickly knitting itself shut - the shadow body seems to fade out, into the darkness of the chamber, causing the blood to quickly drip and add with the pentagram below. Arakad stood upright - a posture only one of pure noble blood could give, as he turned from the Sepulcher to embrace the Night sky which now over cast the city. For this is when the true spirit of Umbra grew strongest.

[Ceinwyn ab'Arawn]

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Behind him, the walls of the Sepulcher began to stir and moan, awakening from some deep self-imposed slumber. The Patriarch's blood mingled and merged with old offerings from times ago on the dark stone floor, offering new sustenance to the living structure.

She had watched, from within the very wall, as her mate had given of himself freely to the building. How very fitting that Umbra's first true chosen Patriarch had spilled his blood upon the cold stone. She could feel the building itself growing in strength from his ruby gift. Now, as he stepped outside to view the land, she had no doubt that he had recognized her presence.

Her incorporeal form began to emerge from the chiseled stone wall, tugging free from her personal doorway to the world of spirits. As ghostly foot hit floor, her being solidified into her true form. A glance back at the wall, gazing upon runes only those with the gift could see, told her the portal was fully closed. No spirits would emerge after her to wreak mischief. She strode with sure footsteps to the steel double doors of the Sepulcher, and they swung open of their own compulsion to ease her exit.

There, Arakad, Patriarch Eternal, stood gazing at the darkened sky. A perfect mirror to the void that their land floated upon. Shriveled trees twisted and clawed at the night air for the nurturing shadows that pervaded there. She looked forward to a future where all lands resembled theirs. With a smile to herself, she tugged her own light-swallowing robes about her and stepped to his side. Together they stood, basking in the darkness that was Umbra.