#arcane codex

The harsh winds of the volcanic wastelands of Xirr Nagesh whispered secrets to Yatoth Dex Selkasha from the moment she first opened her eyes to the smoldering world around her. Beneath a sky choked with ash and sulfur, she grew up among a society of matriarchal dark elves, the Morai. Their lands, carved out by the ceaseless fury of the volcanoes, were a crucible for those who would rise to power—or burn to ash in the process.

Her caste, one of power and purpose, was defined not by the bloodlines of her parents, but by the iron hand of tradition. Her parents? A distant concept—names spoken in reverence or disdain, depending on the caste one belonged to. Yatoth’s existence, from birth, was never to be nurtured by the care of a mother, nor the love of a father. Instead, she was raised under the strict, unwavering gaze of the Matriarchs and their retinues of servile priests and acolytes. To her, the world was simple: the strong ruled, the weak served or perished, and the power of the goddess Anaranth was the only law.

From the moment Yatoth could walk, she understood that cruelty wasn’t just a facet of life—it was its essence. The air around her crackled with the harsh energy of the land, the ground littered with the remains of creatures who failed to endure the heat, the rage, the beauty of Xirr Nagesh. But in that violence, she found meaning, and in that meaning, she found her passion for the one who embodied it all: Anaranth, the Spider Goddess.

The Matriarchs, astute in their calculations, saw the fire in Yatoth’s heart long before she even fully understood it herself. It wasn’t just her sharp eyes or her disdain for weakness that drew their attention. It was the way she observed the world—the way she saw cruelty not as something to fear or avoid, but something to be embraced and manipulated like a spider’s web. The goddess Anaranth was the mother of all venom, all deceit, all dominion over life and death. Her teachings were the threads that bound the community, and Yatoth’s soul seemed to align with them in a way that few could.

At the age of twelve, the elders of the Matriarchs saw enough potential to guide her toward the sacred path of a cleric—the high priestess of Anaranth. A calling many sought, but few attained. The role of a cleric was one of power, one with the potential to shape the very fabric of society. Unlike others who might have craved the hollow comfort of friendship, Yatoth found herself indifferent to such notions. Her mind was filled with one thought: dominance. To be seen, not as an ally, but as a force—a voice that could sway the course of the gods themselves.

Her rise within the hierarchy of the Morai was swift. It was no surprise to anyone when the High Matriarch herself decreed that Yatoth was to leave the smoldering lands of Xirr Nagesh to prove her worth. The final test for the cleric-to-be was a sacred rite: to spill the blood of foreigners, of those who were unworthy of the power and dominion granted by Anaranth.

With her blade, forged in the fires of Xirr Nagesh, Yatoth embarked on her journey. Her mind was set on the singular goal—to collect the blood of the weak, the uninitiated, and the undeserving. In her mind, every drop was a sacrifice to her goddess, a testament to her growing strength. Yet, fate, as cruel as any spider’s trap, had other plans.

While crossing the verdant lands of a distant kingdom, a land unfamiliar to her ways, Yatoth was captured. The forces that laid siege to her were unlike any she had encountered before. They weren’t frightened by her venomous words or the power of her goddess; they were resilient, unyielding. They subdued her with an unfamiliar blend of magic and steel—something she hadn’t accounted for.

Bound and imprisoned in a cell far from her homeland, Yatoth found herself in a strange place, surrounded by those she once deemed beneath her. For the first time in her life, she felt a flicker of vulnerability. Yet, even in this weakness, she saw opportunity. Her mind was never at rest, constantly plotting, constantly weaving the threads of her escape.

Domination’s the name of the game In bed or in life They’re both just the same Except in one you’re fulfilled At the end of the day - Master and Servant, Depeche Mode

Yatoth dex Selkasha (236). Cunning cult leader with who recently developed a taste for blood. Her taste for taste for dominance was always very distinct.

Die Gründung Eines Neuen Kultes

Das Meer rauschte leise und malte Spuren in den Sand, während der angenehme Wind mit den langen Haaren spielte und ihm Strähnen ins Gesicht wehte. Deikith machte sich nicht die Mühe, sie wegzustreichen, sie waren dazu einfach viel zu stur. Auf dem Rücken liegend sahen die hellen Augen in den Himmel, der hier, fernab von allem Lärm des Alltags, so klar und voller Sterne über ihm war, wie ein riesiges Meer glitzernder Lichter. Ein wohliges Seufzen entwich seiner Kehle und er schloss einen kurzen Augenblick die Augen, ließ einfach nur die Laute der Natur auf sich wirken. Hinter ihm war eine kleine Strandvilla, die bereits seit einer Woche ihre Herberge war, ihr kleines temporäres Exil. “Du siehst unglaublich zufrieden aus”, hörte er da auch schon die Stimme seines Begleiters, die ihn dazu brachte, die Augen wieder zu öffnen und den Kopf leicht zu drehen. Athacar hatte sich neben ihn in den Sand gesetzt und sah sanft auf ihn herab. “Mhm”, machte der Jüngere daher bestätigend. “Sehr. Ich kann nicht glauben, dass wir hier sind, ich kann nicht glauben, dass wir.... frei sind. Dass du frei bist....” Ein leichtes Nicken war die Antwort. “Ich glaube es auch noch nicht, aber es ist die Wahrheit. Wir sind hier und es gibt nichts, was uns zwingt, schnell wieder in den Alltag zurückzukehren.”