The Long Dark

And so skeria descends into darkness.

The world is hallowed in an unlight glow, what little illumination of the moons and the artificial lights still running as the world below reels at the loss of their star.

Some cry, some scream - some even laugh.

Many are indifferent - for many still in this age do not even live under their now absent star and thus find their lives much unchanged - observers of a event to their heritage they have long since disconnected from, 

The orphans of skeria some might call them - those that choose to abandon their homeworld whether of their own volition or forced out.

The silver Skerian standing in front of the pane glass viewing the stars and a darkened skeria is one of these Orphans.

He casts his blind gaze upon their homeworld and smiles,

Ah how fickle the ‘gods’ are, how childish their tantrums - for such beings one would think they knew the complexities of mortals they watched better, but who could say

It doesn’t matter either way

This? This is an opportunity 

One almost tailor made for them, oh how fate likes to dote on her darkest champions no?

Lunaris can only hum a jovial dirge in response

The sun is gone, the moon, indifferent - and they? They who walked the dark?

Well, in times of great uncertainty where one’s own gods have turned upon them, who wouldn’t seek a new Creed to follow? A new path to tread?

Ah, the opportunities abound, escaped as they are from their hunters

He turns and waves his cohorts onwards to begin the preparations - its time to embed their roots back deep in the still persisting carcass of skeria.