#Default Verse[Naafiri]

[shimmerbeasts]

The only reason she was willing to wear anything red was because it was a gift from Naafiri. In the name of their partnership, LeBlanc was willing to make such a small sacrifice. Tying cloak around her neck and pulling the hood on, she swirled around to present herself to the Darkin to judge if either she looked good in it or not. "I must admit red is not my go-to color; I leave it to my partner since it suits him much better." Talking about Vladimir reminded her that there were other matters she wished to discuss with the desert terror. "Would you be free to chat? There is something I need your assistance with." Her voice switched from a lighter tone to a serious one, as if something were weighing on her mind. "There is information I believe you possess that would be of great importance to a friend of mine." Or for herself, to keep Vladimir safe from his previous master.

The cloak had been given to LeBlanc by a tribesman, dressed in blood red. The fabric was quite common around Shurima, worn to protect you from the hot winds and the unforgiving gaze of the sun. However, its red colour was certainly not. The traveller was standing on a lithe, wooden sledge, pulled by two of Naafiri's packmates. The man did not look like he was the musher of the hounds, but more like he was made to follow them.

The main body's yellow eyes remained transfixed on LeBlank as she did a little twirl to show off the traveller's cloak. Naafiri wagged their tail in approval and the two pack mates hoarsely barked, excited and curious as they inspected the Black Rose's Matriarch. The Darkin said: "Well, we for one think, red suits you quite a bit."

As soon as LeBlank's tone changed, Naafiri flicked the main body's ear. The pendant jingled a bit. The Darkin stared at the musher and under an itching and stitching sound, the poor man's mouth became covered in bloodied tendrils as his lips were sewn shut. His ears popped, and he let out a startled whine. The Darkin wagged their tail at the sledge.

"Hop on", Naafiri insisted, "It is going to make keeping up with our pace faster. Plus we won't be tempted to eat your mule again." Their long, crimson tongue licked across jagged fangs, causing the mule to snort and throw its head up in alarm. Once LeBlanc had made herself comfortable on the sledge, the dune hounds took off. They were not sprinting just yet, though they were trotting at quite a rapid pace.

Naafiri spoke: "We believe, it would depend greatly on the information, you wish to acquire from us. There may be certain things, we may not be willing to disclose. Even so, speak, LeBlank."

@blackrosesmatron cont. from here.

[blackrosesmatron]

👚 + a red shawl/cloak, similar to what people might wear when travelling in a desert, from Naafiri (No, I have no idea where this would be going either)

Send 👚 + an Item of clothing that my muse has no choice but to wear to see their reaction

The only reason she was willing to wear anything red was because it was a gift from Naafiri. In the name of their partnership, LeBlanc was willing to make such a small sacrifice.

Tying cloak around her neck and pulling the hood on, she swirled around to present herself to the Darkin to judge if either she looked good in it or not. "I must admit red is not my go-to color; I leave it to my partner since it suits him much better." Talking about Vladimir reminded her that there were other matters she wished to discuss with the desert terror.

"Would you be free to chat? There is something I need your assistance with." Her voice switched from a lighter tone to a serious one, as if something were weighing on her mind. "There is information I believe you possess that would be of great importance to a friend of mine." Or for herself, to keep Vladimir safe from his previous master.

[shimmerbeasts]

The sudden quaking of the ground caused Naafiri to back away from Rek'Sai. The pack began to grow restless, individual pack mates leaping back and forth, howling and barking. "Something approaches! Something is near! Something approaches! Something is near! Death, death, death!" Naafiri's ears swivelled around as they scented the air, desperately trying to locate the approaching threat.

The ground split open in a violent eruption. The main body leapt backwards, blades rustling as a cloud of rock and dust rose. Small stones hit the Darkin's back and shoulders. Naafiri flinched and coiled in on themselves, trying to shield their main body from the sudden hailstorm.

A huge, blind mole-like beast dug itself out of the soil. Its beak-like maw opened in a roar, revealing rows upon rows of serrated teeth. Its front legs ended in paws with huge claws. the remaining pairs of legs framed a centipede-like body, each ending in a hook of its own. Naafiri barely registered Rek'Sai escaping, too busy staring at the roaring titan. It was not nearly as large as its mother, but it still was nothing to sneeze at.

Naafiri ground their fangs and whispered under their breath the Shuriman equivalence of 'Are you kidding me?'. They could not believe what they were seeing. Every fibre of their body burned. The pack had been diminished greatly in its fight against the Queen of the Xer'Sai. Naafiri did not have enough blood in them or bodies to reforge themselves into the same size, which they had used to battle Rek'Sai.

Xerxa'Reth seemed to sense Naafiri's weakness. The titan turned around and began to crawl towards them. Naafiri gasped and forced themselves back on all fours. The pack swiftly rushed to their aid, forming a protective barrier of forth protruding horns. The Darkin slowly backed away, growling, as they wrecked their mind on how to get out of this situation.

The battle raging below was, perhaps, the most intense that Shurima had witnessed in centuries. Ascended and Darkin fought furiously against the forces of the Void, and neither side would be content until the other was totally eradicated. Naafiri's numbers may be dwindling, but the queen of the Xer'Sai looked to be nearing her limits.

With the Dunebreakers gone, Xerath could return all of his attention back toward Rek'Sai herself. The Magus's magic cracked and eroded thick scales, and Naafiri's steel and teeth buried into unnatural flesh. It seemed as if Rek'Sai's end was nigh...

But then, the Voidborn let out another piercing screech, loud enough to be heard for miles. The ground erupted, and another massive beast made itself known. This Titan had come to the defense of its progenitor: her eldest child, and a beast who had been mockingly named after Xerath himself.

Using the brief distraction of the Titan's emergence, Rek'Sai hastily burrowed once more, fleeing the scene while she entrusted her children to finish the fight.

[shimmerbeasts]

So Far From Home

Some cubs were born practically fearless.

It was hard to say whether that lack of fear came from the slumbering string of Darkin conscience inside of them, which while not yet being able to control them the same way it strongarmed the adults, still influenced the little rascals as they discovered the world around them. Usually a cub would be under the watchful eyes of one of the packmates. However, once every while one of them managed to break loose and explore the world on its own.

As did this cub. Naafiri and the pack had tracked a robber and its mule towards one of the old ruins, scattered across all of Shurima. It still felt alien to look upon monuments built in honour of dead warriors and emperors and know exactly who they used to be when alive. The crumbling ruins and the mountains of sand, covering the stone, convinced the Darkin even further how Shurima oughta be owned by the wildlife and not by humans. Maybe it had been these ponderings, which made the pack lose sight of one of the cubs. Maybe it had smelled something promising and fell into a sprint of its own.

The cub after a fast, slightly wobbly sprint stopped in a bush and gasped for breath. The hot sun was baking its thin red fur with muscles so dense, it seemed as if it was carrying around more blood than it needed. That same blood was whispering and churning in its veins, telling of powers the little whelp was far too young to grasp yet. Even so, it strutted through that bush, pointy, slim tail raised, head held high, ears swivelling and the small shard of a Darkin dagger reflecting the light from above.

There. The puppy caught the smell of a lone traveller, wandering through the desert, perhaps looking for some shelter or shade. It poked its head through the blades of long grass as it inspected the traveller. They were on their own, urging a half-blind mule forward. The animal's ears swivelled around and its walk was unsteady. The rider was dressed in heavy, dark brown clothes, draped over a slender frame. Too many layers if the smell of sweat was anything to go by. The little cub put its ears back and revealed a small maw full of sharp, pointy teeth.

The whelp released a loud bark, trying to sound as threatening as it could, however, it sounded more like a hoarse squeak. It then came running at the mule and tried to jump the animal. Yipping and snapping at its hooves, it caused the half-blind animal to rear up a touch, whining in displeasure. Its swinging front hooves missed the puppy by mere inches. The little fellow remained undeterred, barking loudly as it kept growling at the mule, paws pressed into the soil ears pushed back. It was behaving like it was thinking of itself as a much bigger and more powerful animal.

Perhaps not even an animal at all.

@veiled-lady

[shimmerbeasts]

@heredis-sanguinis cont. from here. That feeling of ancient and monstrous dread returned. Stronger, closer, right there with him. His eyes beheld the form it took. For a moment Vladimir considered that his senses were playing tricks on him. This… canine, or whatever it was, could never possibly be the source of it. Or could it. Apprehensively he watched the creature until it finally clicked in his mind. The blood he took all those centuries ago, that flowed within him, mixed with his own. It called out, furiously and almost longingly. As if it was akin to each other. “Darkin…” he slowly said. A name he had not uttered for many lifetimes. A name he would never had hope to encounter once again. But it was not the same as his former master. No, this was different. But at the same time, oh so similar. Just being in the same area was enough to make every muscle of his body tense. It hadn’t attacked him, yet. Perhaps it was not seeking retribution. Would it even know of his actions? Of his master? “What is it that brings you to me?”

Ah, delicious fear!

Naafiri's nostrils twitched a touch as the main body inhaled the air, taking in the smell of the creature before it. Vladimir smelled of an ancient fear, stronger and sweatier almost as if his body had not felt fright in a long time. At the same time, there was a thrumming hum and pounding in Naafiri's innards like someone was striking the strings of an invisible instrument. Darkin blood. Right in front of her. In the body of a charlatan, who had stretched his pesky skin so thin, his face had turned waxen and his flesh yellow. Vladimir looked less like a lord and more like the corpses, he was dealing in.

This development would certainly be interesting. Naafiri's main body cocked its head aside as the other one called them a Darkin. The pendant jingled against a silver grey and dark red cheek. Out of the yellow eyes of the other packmates, Vladimir was surrounded and looked both pompous and outdated at the same time. His frail-looking body was concealed by a large, billowing, wine-red rope with an ostentatious collar like the frills on the neck of a lizard.

Yet as human as he tried to look, as gallant as he wanted to appear - predictable, petty human arrogance -, right now, his body was as much controlled by an animal as Naafiri's was. It made them wonder how adept he was at reading her. Far too many people had failed. Even the other Darkin seemed to struggle to see beyond their host's body and failed in reading the language, Naafiri employed these days.

"We have a name, you know", Naafiri said as they stalked closer towards Vladimir, "It's Naafiri. Saying Darkin is about as insulting as calling a wolf a wolf. You are stating the obvious. As for what brings us to you, Vladimir? Merely curiosity. A lot of intriguing details travel across the sandy roads. One of such details spoke of a creature, drenched in blood, in Noxus. We thought it may have been one of our brethren, but instead, we find you. Tell us, whose life-bearer were you?"

[shimmerbeasts]

Mel brushed her fingers through the large wolves that stood next to her, link to her through the magic of her parents. She could just remember as if it was yesterday, eighteen years old, meeting with Kindred in the forest behind Piltover. How they had a gift but she had to earn it and it was one simple thing: earn the pack's loyalty. Befriend them. It took days, the first challenge was for them not to eat her; presenting her strength in a fashion they did not question. It did not come with blood and wounds, and yet after a week, she returned to Kindred with four massive dire wolves at her side. She had become their alpha, and in turn, they became one unit, one pack.

The magic allowed her to commune with the wolves, see what they see, hear what they hear. That's why she had left the walls of her home, her heels clicking down the street with two of her pack members side by side. There had been something she had seen that had appeared like a regular hound yet she sensed something within it; something... primal. Like magic in the air that sparked with a unique color.

Unknown to Mel, it was the magic within her that had yet to fully emerge, but she could still sense when magic was nearby and perceive the truth behind people's eyes. this magic she senses held a familiarity of home; but not Noxus. Something older, from the deep golden sands of Shurima. She twisted down an alley, following the tug of the arcane until she stopped.

In front of her looked like an old abandoned house, deep within the slums of Piltover. A place Mel continued to seek to improve but struggled due to most of the councilor's arrogant selfish desires. The building in particular had rusted metal beams, shimmered between red and dark slate gray. The door swung on a barely managing hinge that a simple breeze from Janna might break. Broken glass dotted the windowsill where gold metal retained its strength. However, it was the gourging hole in the wall that caused her to lean over.

Inside was dark, a makeshift cave for any creature to dwell. Mel's intuition told her not to enter, a den no matter the location, often belonged to animals and the territory would be fought for the death. But the arcane pulled to this singular point. "I do not know who or what you are, but I can tell, you are not from this land. I have seen you, or... those among you. My wolves perceived your presence. Perhaps I could summon a moment of your time," The two massive dire wolves by Mel's side stood at the ready, golden orbs staring down the entrance. They did not growl or yowl, but their ears flared back just enough and bristled fur on their shoulders showed defensive protection of their alpha; ready to attack at a moment's notice. Mel, too, was not as defenseless as she appeared. Despite her flowing white gown, legs bared and visible with heels upon her feet; Mel carried a spear that she could activate at any given moment. A small staff upon her back, with a single touch of a button with release a metal steel point at the top and bottom of the staff.

Under normal circumstances, Naafiri would not have gone near Piltover. Their host bodies thrived best in their chosen territory: The hot sands of Shurima, disrupted by the flat planes and the occasional water source. Their bodies were build to run for hours on end and chase prey into exhaustion. The wider the plane was, the better.

Piltover was a city. Everything about it made their host bodies' skin crawl. Naafiri yearned for the hot sand under their paws. Yet the pull of the magic had been unmistakable. A pull to something so ancient, Naafiri had first thought that the sweltering heat of Shurima's sun had cooked their brain, for there was no way this was true! She must be long dead by now. Yet Naafiri would always recognise the mage's signature, who had pledged fealty to her when she had still been part of the glorious Ascended host.

It was this sensation, which had made Naafiri use one of their hounds, which lived in a smaller pack in Piltover and Zaun. They had to be certain that their mind was not playing tricks on them. If her former friend had indeed bore children, then Naafiri had a right to those descendants just as she had had a right to her mage. Shurima had built its power on many types of backs, from the slaves and lower class workers, who had erected the tall buildings and mighty temples, to the soldiers, defending and expanding its borders, to the Ascended themselves. They may have been called God-Warriors, but at the end of the day, they still stood in service to the Emperor. Just as Shurima kept its mages a secret and close to its chest like hidden treasures.

Naafiri had found shelter in an abandoned house in the slums. The window's shards littered the floor like rare jewels. The door shuddered in its hinges as if a mere whisper of Jan'ahrem could cause it to fall out of its frame. The beams, holding the place up, were red and dark grey, allowing Naafiri a form of camouflage for their Darkin body. Still, sleeping on damp, torn mattresses was less than ideal. Even the dune hound's den in Shurima had been better than this. Not to mention the luxurious comfort she used to have access to as an Ascended. This place was an insult, yet Naafiri endured it if it meant they got answers.

The magic was getting closer! Naafiri's body jolted upward. Its nostril twitched. The magic was like following a melody, they had memorised by heart. Where was it coming from? Why did it suddenly come closer? There! In the entrance of this makeshift den stood a newcomer. No bark. No brethren. Yet no prey either. The woman had the bronze shades of Shurima's home and donned white and gold. The colours of this fledgeling town, Piltover. She was framed by two massive dire wolves, their golden eyes glued towards Naafiri's den. The woman was the pack leader, even if she wore no fur or claws.

All the while the melody was louder than ever before. Could it really be?

"We were looking for you."

Naafiri slowly crept out of the shadows of the den. The main body and its pack mates were of a deep, red shade, accentuated with silver-grey metal. The sharp blades on their heads and necks gleamed dully in the dim light. Naafiri's yellow eyes looked the woman up and down. The Darkin whispered: "We followed the sound of the magic and it led us to you. Tell us your name, pretty bird."

[shimmerbeasts]

The hot, unrelenting desert wind carried low, hollow, raspy laughter. Even though the main body was larger than any common dune hound should be, Naafiri could be deceptively stealthy. Thus no matter how hard Kayn looked, he would be hard-pressed to make out the large, grey and red body slinking around him in a low arch. Outside of the main body's dull paw steps, there was a quieter and faster pitter-patter as a good dozen of Naafiri's packmates followed the main body with great leaps.

"You are assuming that we gave you an order", Naafiri said, "Hate to say this, but you are sadly mistaken. We merely wanted to warn and encourage you. There is something on its way here. You might want to get ready for a fight."

Rhaast's vessel kept walking and Naafiri matched its pace. The rest of the pack had fanned out behind the main body, covering ground quickly. Descending a slope, the hot, unrelenting sand burning their paws, Naafiri gave a sigh of relief as they reached floodplanes. The ground here was moist with water and the long grasses rustled in the wind. Trees offered shade. However, the danger was also closer. The pack mates grew more alarmed. They barked in unrest, leaping back and forth.

The main body rose its head and sniffed the air. The water made pinpointing any threat harder, yet Naafiri could sense something move under the water. It was heading straight for Rhaast's vessel. A large, powerful, armoured body. Yellow eyes followed the figure. Naafiri growled and their daggers rattled against their back.

Under loud splashes, a large crocodile came bursting out of the water. Massive jaws opened, revealing a row of teeth, as it twisted itself around and tried to snap for Rhaast's vessel. Naafiri leapt up and twisted their body sideways. A dagger dislodged itself from the mane around their neck. It flew through the air and pierced the crocodile's shoulder. The beast roared, however, it seemed undeterred. Instead, it raised its massive tail and prepared to strike Rhaast's vessel.

@shimmerbeasts said ; x

"Tear them apart!"

// the voice echoes like it's inside of his head and his first instinct is to assume it's rhaast. it certainly doesn't sound like him, though. so, he cringes, then stares off into the distance. the scythe in his hand radiates it's own warmth. kayn feels the source of the voice should be familiar at least. somehow he can't tell if that's a feeling that comes from himself or the darkin that nestles at the back of his head.

" you know I don't take orders, right? " , he eventually speaks into the space around him. if anyone saw him they probably might think he's a little crazy, standing in the middle of nowhere, talking to himself out of nowhere.

his fingers tap on the scythe. now it's quiet and it drives him insane. rhaast should say something at least. his grip tightens. kayn is a man who doesn't take orders. being ordered into violence only makes him not want to do it.

one darkin telling him what to do is enough. two is too many. one already is too many, drives him insane enough. at least, he's assuming it's another one. sounds, feels familiar enough to when rhaast was calling for him.

he takes the advice, at least. he stays on guard. there should be something around that the voice should be referring to. his gaze wanders around. shurima seems to have a lot of area that's just straight up nothing but sand, it's absolutely not his favourite place to be.

finally, he hears rhaast humming in the back of his head. " you've got something to say about the newcomer in my head? " , he speaks up, taking steps forwards, leaving footsteps in the sand behind him. standing still only makes him feel more vulnerable and exposed.

the hum is interrupted, but nothing feels any clearer. rhaast communicates there's familiarity in the voice. " well, no shit. " , his eyes roll in return.

[shimmerbeasts]

Nasus stood before the place of one of his greatest failures, sighing deeply at the place he had hidden her away. His shoulders sagged again as he stared at the desecrated temple, people had gotten in who knows how long ago, and even without ever having the courage to go back in he knew the blade had been taken. "Why does it take time, for knowledge to gained... for one to see just how they failed. Even the divine are not free from such failures, all of Runterra proves such." He looked from the ancient temple to the sands, the hand gripping his war staff gripping it tighter, causing the wood to creak. "At least she was not trapped with a betrayer like my brother was. Perhaps she will have had taken to self-reflection like I did when Shurima fell." He sighed before starting to walk away from the ruins, deciding to walk for a while instead of just teleporting away, keeping an eye out for anything else amiss.

Most of the time, Naafiri stayed as far away from the desecrated temple as they could. Too deep were the memories of having been sealed in her throwing dagger and hidden away by the one person, whom she was supposed to trust the most. The only times, they sought it out, was to protect themselves in the ruins from the sand storms, which regularly plagued Shurima's deserts. Better than sitting it all out in the open.

A recent sand storm had forced Naafiri and the pack back into that desecrated temple, though it had settled long ago and the breeze had taken their paw prints away. The pack had successfully stalked and killed a Skallashi, easily separating the large, long-legged, bison-like creature from its herd, before they had run it into exhaustion.

Fifty or so of the reddish dune hounds surrounded the carcass, burrowing their blade-protruding heads deep into the soft underbelly and scraping away at the meat and organs. The main body had already claimed the liver and heart for itself. Naafiri's ears rotated around, restlessly, constantly harking for any approaching predators or scavengers.

Vultures and hyenas, they could easily take care of themselves, however, outerbeasts or Baccai were a different story. They could easily challenge them for the carcass, though Naafiri had made quick work of most, establishing their threat. By now thinking like the dune hounds had become such a thing of ease for the Darkin that they sometimes had to actively remember that they had not always been a plural entity.

The hot desert wind carried the smell of a jackal over some of the hills close by. At first, Naafiri assumed it was just that - a mere jackal. However, there was something about the smell. Something, which nagged and troubled her. Growling, the main body flicked one of its ears, feeling the pendant jingle against its cheek. The pack grew restless, fuelled by Naafiri's dread and sneaking suspicion.

It could not be him, could it?

The main body started to jog up the hill, swiftly followed by five other dogs for protection and aid. A lone hunter starved. The pack was strength. Naafiri knew better now. The stronger the smell of jackal grew, the more the Darkin crouched down into the hot sand. Dune hounds could not crawl like cats, but they still knew how to use brush and overgrowth for cover.

There he was, wandering around the edges of their territory with this godawful calmness and stoicism, which had infuriated Naafiri even back when she had tried to beg him to stop studying the influences of the Void through her. Everything for the Empire. His drawl about it all made her sick. The fact that he had the audacity to be here! Had he found out that the crypt had been broken into? Why would he bother to check?

A low guttural growl tore from the main body's throat. Normally, Naafiri was laser-focused, even though they inhabited various bodies at once. However, something about Nasus' presence distorted that focus, making them feel more disjointed and overwhelmed. It was a similar experience to when the dune hounds had first consumed her dagger.

Naafiri shook the main body's head, blades rattling, in a desperate bit to regain some focus. It did not work. It only infuriated them more. Need to watch you bleed! Need to bring you down, you bastard! Their body acted before Naafiri had time to process the motion. Leaping into the air, one of the daggers around their neck detached themselves and flew in a sharp arch right for Nasus' back.

@ask-nautilus-titanofthedeep cont. from here.

[shimmerbeasts]

It wasn’t unusual for the Matron to challenge herself in extreme weather conditions, using the blistering heat of Shurima's deserts to practice with the region’s traditional weapons. While she still favored her magic, channeling it through her staff as a conduit, she was acutely aware of how often mages could be rendered powerless through restraint or suppression. For that reason, she refused to rely solely on arcane abilities for her survival. On this particular day, under a relentless sun blazing high in the sky, LeBlanc sparred with a local master of swordsmanship. He was, naturally, a trusted member of the Black Rose and fully aware of the formidable woman he was training. He dared not hold back, knowing that doing so would earn him her displeasure. What she didn’t foresee, however, was the reaction of her companion's cubs. Naafiri’s pups seemed to mistake the sparring session for some sort of playful scuffle. LeBlanc had just parried an overhead strike when she felt powerful jaws clamp down on her calf. A startled cry escaped her—not from pain but sheer surprise. Instinctively, she dodged an opportunistic follow-up strike from Khalid, refusing to call off the session despite the interruption. After all, distractions like this could just as easily occur in a real fight. Moments later, LeBlanc disarmed Khalid with a calculated strike, her blade pressing lightly against his throat in victory. Only then did she lower her weapon and turn her attention to Naafiri and her pack. "If you wanted to join us, you could’ve just asked!" she said, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and exasperation. Far from angry, she found it endearing that the pups were so eager to engage. "If I’d known they’d jump in, I would’ve been more careful to avoid them as well." Her voice was breathy as she still had to catch up with her breath. Lowering herself, the gave a closer look on the bite on her calf to assess how bad it was.

Naafiri's yellow, pupilless eyes followed LeBlanc's movements. The Darkin hound sat in the shade of one of the tents. The Shuriman members of the Black Rose had learned to understand that the dangerous, seven-foot-tall beast was a friend and ally of the Matron and thus treated Naafiri with reverence. They would lie if they pretended it did not feel good. It reminded Naafiri of the old days when she had been an Ascended. The common folk would bow their heads in the same reverence if they saw her walking by.

LeBlanc was practising the wielding of a khopesh, a traditional ancient Shuriman weapon, which turned out to be a very strangely curved sword. The sharp clanging of the khopesh hitting the bronze shield Khalid used for self-defence caused Naafiri's ears to tip upward. The main body rose its head, staying entirely focussed on how LeBlanc did her best to get a handle on the strange weapon.

The remaining pack mates did not pay that much attention to the sparring. While they could understand its importance, Naafiri's major conscience mind rested in the main body. Unless it bothered signalling to their pack that this was of importance, they barely spared it another glance.

However, it seemed the pups had other thoughts. Naafiri's cubs were not yet old enough to fully assimilate with the Darkin mind. Thus they observed this sparring session not with the notion of it being a practice, but a game. Before Naafiri could register what would happen, the cubs hurried over and snapped strong jaws around LeBlanc's calf. Even as such young things, the Darkin inside of them allowed their bites to carry quite a bit of power.

Once LeBlanc defeated Khalid, Naafiri gave a low sneeze to call the cubs back to them. The Darkin's pack mates rose a bit faster than the main body. Two walked over to pick up the squirming, excited puppies who were yapping and wagging their tails. The cubs were softly placed amid the pack. The main body looked back and gave another low snort as if to make it clear that they should not have done that.

Naafiri spoke: "We had not known they would jump in. Though now that you offer it." The main body shook itself, blades jiggling, before it came prowling towards LeBlanc. "We would not mind the additional training. Hunting prey so rarely has it fight back. Not that we are opposed to it. We love to see things run."

"Still, are you certain that you want to spar with us?", Naafiri warned, "We would not hold back and we have felled many enemies before. Large and small." The Darkin looked at their friend, their tail trembling with excitement. Three of their pack mates got up and joined them, creating a small formation behind the main body, making it a somewhat fairer fight.

"Ready when you are, LeBlanc."

@blackrosesmatron cont. from here.

[shimmerbeasts]

Things were progressing well—perhaps too well. What truly concerned her was the pace at which events were unfolding. It wasn’t ideal; in fact, it threatened to destabilize her carefully constructed plans. Mel Medarda had only just awakened to her powers and had already achieved incredible feats. Impressive, yes, but none of it had caught the Matron by surprise. "Ambessa was a minor issue, just the tip of the iceberg," LeBlanc mused, her tone dismissive yet tinged with irritation. "Of course, I wanted her gone—she was a headache and knew far more than she should." She sighed, turning to her companion with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her golden eyes. "But her daughter?" LeBlanc continued, her voice dropping slightly. "Mel is walking the same path. She’s a weapon—one evolving far too quickly, and if this pace continues, she may spiral out of control. She’s on her way to Noxus as we speak, and I can only assume she intends to rally allies among her mother’s old connections." Her lip curled slightly. If there were any left in the Capital still willing to openly admit allegiance to the late general, they were likely either bold or foolish. LeBlanc leaned back, her expression contemplative. "I trust she will do what she must when the time comes. My only concern is that her recklessness may accelerate matters that have no need to be rushed. Despite her potential, she is not ready—not yet." After a moment, her expression softened, the tension easing from her features. "So, how do you feel about your new body?" she asked, her tone almost casual but tinged with curiosity. "I must admit, I was surprised you were finally willing to leave Shurima to explore other lands." Though Zaun remained on the Shuriman continent, it was a world apart—a city divorced from the sands and traditions of its birthplace. Her gaze flicked briefly to Ambessa's lifeless form before returning to her companion. "As for her," she added with a dismissive wave of her hand, "I have no further use for her. If you and your pack desire..." Her hand gestured slightly, an unspoken invitation to take Ambessa's remains as a feast.

One of the Darkin's ears twitched and their pendant jingled softly. Some things never changed. Shurima and Noxus had one thing in common: The hunger for expansion, the dream of a glorious empire spanning half the globe. And with that, every general, every person in a position of higher power longed to be immortalised. Ambessa had hungered for that too. Immortality in Noxian stories. Immortality in statues and mosaics. Yet she had been inconsequential for LeBlanc and thus the larger scheme of things.

"You could always slow her down", Naafiri remarked, "Just because she is accelerating now, does not mean she won't be forced to a stop. Rip the behind of a fleeing gazelle open or savage its legs and the fleeing animal suddenly runs much slower. The catch is, you have to ensure Mel does not end up limping. After all, a limping gazelle is a dead gazelle. You just need a way to slow her down, which cannot be traced back to you."

Naafiri twisted their head sideways to brush over a few strands of hair, which stood out in the wrong place. Zaun was indeed different from the coarse sands of Shurima. The sweltering heat, which they were so intimately familiar with, had been replaced by a dampness and acidity in the air. It made their pelt itchy and more prone to be found by ticks and other vermin.

They said: "It takes some adjustment. Our main body is still the one we harboured in Shurima. We have just remoulded it into something, which felt more appropriate for this place. We are surprised that the Zaunites seem unimpressed by the presence of greenish dogs running around.

"As for why we finally bothered to explore other grounds: The void can apparently emerge anywhere like it did here with the arcane. Besides it is becoming more and more apparent that my sisters and brothers are not just in Shurima. I must search for them in unfamiliar places instead of trusting that they want to find me. It is unfortunately clear to me that still so many of my kin are obsessed with going it alone."

At the invitation to feast on the fallen general's body, the Darkin lost any pretence of being civilised. With a bestial shriek, the pack pounced upon the dead body. Dozens of salivating jaws snapped and groped for any slice of meat they could find. At first, the pack mates solely were the ones eating, scarfing down as much of the brown meat as they could find. Finally, the main body sauntered over and as if sensing its approach, the rest of the pack parted to give Naafiri access to the innards. The Darkin opened their jaw wider than before, their head shot down and sharp teeth yanked out the liver, ripping open Ambessa's belly with an explosion of blood.

@blackrosesmatron cont. from here.

[shimmerbeasts]

In her many centuries of life, Emilia never imagined she would grow so close to a Darkin, let alone earn their trust. Yet, Naafiri had become surprisingly comfortable in her company, even when the entire pack was drained and low on energy. For once, the Deceiver felt the same weariness.

Without asking for permission, Emilia lowered herself to the ground, letting the coarse sands of Shurima embrace her as she settled beside the primary body of the Darkin. She rested her head against Naafiri's back, hearing the sounds the dune hound's body was making. The many protection spells and the high walls of her main residence could not compare on how comfortable and safe the Matron felt at resting beside Naafiri.

Naafiri could easily end her life with a single command to the pack or with a snap of her own jaws. The thought crossed Emilia's mind, but she dismissed it. She trusted the Darkin not to take advantage of such an opportunity. After all, if she would meet her end, she'd prefer it to be by Naafiri's teeth than by the hands of the Iron Revenant.

Shurima was a hot country; especially around noon, the heat could become so oppressive that it sapped even the largest and strongest predators of their strength. They fled into burrows and shades, wherever they were available. The whole pack had found its sanctuary in the gorge with its intricate tunnel system, which Naafiri used to rear the pups their female pack mates gave birth to.

Without clouds to shield them, the sun burned down upon the sand and dry rocks. Long, lean, red bodies were hugging the available shades, which barely covered up the gorge. The main body had rested upon a smooth rock, which thanks to its positioning was almost completely shrouded in shadows. Naafiri lay upon it, head between their paws and unwilling to move.

Once every while their pointy ears swivelled backwards to hark for any noises. Outside of the heavy pants and snores of their pack and the occasional yelps of the puppies, who were annoyed by the heat and restless in the dens, the only other sound, Naafiri could make out, was the occasional shifting of the Matriarch of the Black Rose. Emilia LeBlank leaned against their flank, head rested on their back and stared up into the sky.

Without a doubt, had they not known each other as well as they did these days, Naafiri would have eaten the pale woman. The Darkin had given up their faith in humanity and society at large after Azir and Nasus had betrayed her for her services. As far as Naafiri was concerned, Shurima belonged to the animals and anyone traversing the sands, was food. Noxian or Shuriman... It did not matter. At the end of the day, they all bled red. The only reason, LeBlank had salvaged her hide, was by offering up cattle of her own.

"Arrggghhh!" A wretched growl escaped the dune hound's lips. Naafiri shook their head a bit, making the blades around their neck jiggle. "Can this sun move any slower?! We'd disappear into a den if we had the space." Naafiri peered up into the sky and squinted their yellow eyes at the offending, flaming ball over their head. The raining season could not come soon enough!

They craned their neck around to look at Emilia. Wetting their maw, Naafiri inquired: "You do not happen to have any transported water on you, old friend? Or some more morsels, you could sacrifice? We would not even be after the meat this time, but the blood."

[shimmerbeasts]

Temporary Alliance||closed

The thorn piece of tunic flapped in the hot, dry air, crammed between their fangs. The Noxian senator, who had worn the shiny, white silk, was stewing away in Naafiri's guts. The Darkin dune hound pack had devoured him after he had, under torture, revealed that the local city council had sent some lone mercenary to dig up Shuriman treasure not too far away from here.

Disgraceful! The mere preposterous assumption of these invaders that they could take items, which belonged rightfully to a long-gone Empire was disgusting. Normally, Naafiri could not care less, however, they had overheard what kind of treasure the Noxians had been after. Someone had uncovered another one of her brethren - a Darkin weapon without a host, buried underneath a desolate temple in a forsaken, sandy grave.

Naafiri remembered what it was like to be stuck in this immobilising hell with nothing but the thoughts in your mind for company. All your dreams, all your regrets, all your rage. No wonder so many of their brothers and sisters had gone mad from their isolation. Naafiri remembered the resentment they felt upon awakening in a pack of dune hounds. They had seemed so beneath the god warrior. Now, they considered the yapping and growling animals, who had made her into more, their salvation.

The sun had reached its peak in Shurima's pale blue sky when Naafiri finally spotted the temple. It was buried half in the sands, surrounded by hills of dunes. A colossal square of an arch with a gateway, yawning into the abyss, was the only thing, which seemed to peek out of the yellow mountains. From up where they stood, Naafiri could make out very little, though they thought they could spot hieroglyphs carved into the pale stone.

The Darkin could not tell whether or not the mercenary had headed already into the temple. Body shivering with excitement at the hunt possibly soon starting, Naafiri finally bolted down the sandy hills, several of their pack mates rushing ahead. It was a big mistake as suddenly out of the sand snapped various snares in a crescent shape with hard, iron teeth. They clamped down upon the pack mates' sensitive bellies and crushed their rib cages. Naafiri flinched and put their ears against their head, gasping for breath as they felt themselves die multiple times.

Traps! Somebody clearly did not want visitors!

Digging their paws into the hot sand, the main body growled in frustration. Something shimmering and flashing into the corner of their eye made them turn their head. Naafiri caught the smell before she saw the mercenary. It smells of the desert winds. It is Shuriman. The mercenary was a woman, skin brown and tanned from the unrelenting sun. She had long, sleek black hair, and was dressed in cyan and brown with some rough-looking leather pads on her thighs and shoulders. On her forehead flashed a diadem with a turquoise stone.

However, what worried Naafiri, was the weapon this woman carried. Even though it had been strapped to her back, the Darkin would recognise those curved blades and cross-shape anywhere. This strange golden disc was the chalikar, which had banished so many of her fellow brothers and sisters into their weapons. If that mercenary knew how to use that weapon, Naafiri was in danger of losing their so sought out freedom all over again.

The Darkin's jaws rattled as they growled at the thought. They were not going to roll over and beg. Naafiri pressed themselves down onto the ground and began to creep towards the mercenary, planning to flank her and attack. If they killed her before she entered the crypt, then they would not get the chance to use the chalikar against them. Alternatively, maybe whoever was buried down there, would appreciate the vessel, Naafiri had just found for them!

@nameaprice

[shimmerbeasts]

Xerath to Naafiri: "I receive an army of loyal beasts, you receive the right to exist in my empire."

I receive..., you receive...||Accepting.

The pendant jingled against the main body's ear as it twitched back and forth at Xerath's word. Even though they had entered into a shaky alliance, the Darkin was still a formidable creature in their own right. Towering over their pack mates, the lithe, muscular hound stared at Xerath, yellow eyes glowing darkly before their ears swivelled backwards even more.

This ultimatum was quite outrageous. Had Naafiri been as temperamental as they had been in their youth, they would have erupted in Xerath's face. However, that was a reaction, the Ascended no doubt expected and was maybe hoping for. Just so he could lord their miserable existence over them. Xerath would never grow tired of berating Naafiri. Not even just for their choice of host body, but the mere fact that they had fallen in the first place.

"That is quite a tall order, you have", Naafiri finally chose to speak, "Do you realise what giving us the right to exist in your empire would mean? Our pack would hunt cattle and men, erase entire villages to sathe our hunger. You are promising that not only shall we not go hungry, but that we shall thrive as well."

Naafiri's gaze held onto Xerath's with unwavering determination as they gauged just how serious the Ascended was with his demand. Their tail idly swayed from side to side and their lips pulled into a horrific grin as Naafiri elaborated: "We are no pet dogs. We are wild animals. However, if you can meet our needs, our might and power shall be yours."

[shimmerbeasts]

"Whatever you came here to say,  I don’t want to hear it."

"Careful. You might want to reconsider your stance, princess."

The voice came from everywhere, echoing as if spoken by far more than just one throat. The desert winds, scaldingly hot during the day, now freezing cold at night, shoved the strong stench of dune hound right up the nostrils of the pack mule. The animal reared its head up, whinnied in panic and tried to pull out the plug, keeping its leash secured to the uneven ground.

Yellow, pupilless eyes gleamed in the darkness all around Sivir, followed by excited panting and yapping. Slowly, piece by piece, a circle of gaunt, red-skinned dune hounds, bodies seemingly nothing but muscle and lean limbs, peeled themselves out of the dark. The sharp, jagged daggers, growing out of their skulls reflected the light of the campfire, which was swallowed up by eyes gleaming in malice.

"We took far too long to track you down." The voice returned. This time, even though it still spoke in plural, it now seemed to be a singular entity as opposed to coming from all the dune hounds at once. "So, the least you can do is hear us out. Unless you want us to eat your pack mule ... and then you."

The paw of the main body squashed a weed as Naafiri finally revealed themselves. Even though the pack had no alleged alpha, the main body was still undeniably the one, who called the shots. At seven feet tall, the crimson Darkin with their grey back and fairer belly and throat was an impressive sight to behold. Where the other dune hounds merely bore shared of daggers on their heads, Naafiri's main body wore a whole mane of sharp and elegantly curved daggers, blending in crimson and grey, growing out of its flesh like they belonged there.

The overwhelming sight of the pack was too much for the mule. Rearing up with a terrified whine, the mammal tore off its peg and bolted away towards the dunes. Several pack mates barked hoarsely and spun around, tails wagging, eagerly wanting to give chase. However, the accursed blood in their veins kept them rooted to the spot.

Naafiri ignored the base hunger, ravaging their belly. There were more important matters to settle than whether or not, they would fill their gut with mule meat. The main body stared at Sivir and stated: "We caught your stench near the Noxian settlements. It shouldn't surprise us that those spineless cowards finally hired some mercenary after we mauled their guards." Naafiri lowered their head so that they could properly lock eyes with Sivir.

"If you know what's good for you, princess, you back out of this little arrangement."

[shimmerbeasts]

"Shh, I know it feels overwhelming right now, but you're not alone. I'm right here beside you, and I'm not going anywhere." (From Varus to Naafiri. @abhorsenscollection)

Panic Attack||Accepting.

The blood rushed in their ears. It had always been hard to focus when the whispers of their collective conscience were as loud as they were right now. Normally, Naafiri's old self and Darkin nature rarely interfered with their new life as the collective mind of a pack of dune hounds.

However, seeing the stature peeking half out of the sand made it impossible for Naafiri to simply ignore it. The Shuriman heat had dried up the stone and cracked the paint, however, that slim muzzle and those pointy ears, that composition of black and gold was unmistakable.

Nasus...

Their muscles clenched. Images flashed before Naafiri's mind. Fractions of memories, which they had thought they had banished to the bottom of the ocean, which was their collective conscience now. Yet they drifted back to the surface as if the events had happened yesterday.

Nasus, rebuking her and telling her that as an Ascended her life belonged more to the Empire than it ever had belonged to her. Nasus, daring to condemn her for the choices, she had made, claiming he had nothing to do with her corruption. The light blinding her, followed by a claustrophobic feeling of being unable to move, even unable to draw breath...

The pack howled uncontrollably and the main body's jaws parted in a maddening roar, a yell, which shredded its vocal cords. A flood of red spit ran out of its muzzle. Naafiri twisted their body around and flung a dagger right at the stature. It burrowed itself into the eye of the jackal statue, cracking the ball and slicing off one of its ears.

Naafiri moaned in pain and hung the main body's head. They continued to bleed out of their muzzle, spit and gore mixing with each other. Their legs trembled and finally, Naafiri dropped to the ground. The Darkin wept and covered their eyes with their muzzle, shaking uncontrollably and unable to calm down.

[shimmerbeasts]

"I'm okay, really... Just need a moment to... to collect myself..." (to Naafiri)

Panic Attack||Accepting.

Naafiri's main body peered sideways. LeBlank was leaning against the coarse rock wall of the dune hounds' lair. She was holding her side and breathing rapidly. Her eyes darted around and her mouth was open a touch. Through Naafiri's nose travelled the clammy scent of sweat together with a sour odour. Over the many moons, the Darkin had learned that this odour meant either fear or anxiety.

"You don't seem alright."

The main body pushed itself on its four legs. Naafiri swiftly climbed down the small cliff, upon which the main body usually rested. The gorge, in which they had located the pack, had a shallow, concealed entrance, plenty of trees to offer shade and even a couple of dens, in which to find shelter.

Stopping before the matron of the Black Rose, the seven-foot-tall body lowered itself on the ground so that it and LeBlank were more eye to eye. Naafiri sniffed her sides and whispered: "You smell sour. The stench of anxiety or dread. Your heart's racing in your chest, and we can hear each laboured breath you take. If we were hunting you, those sensations might have filled us with delight, but not now. What caused such a reaction?"

Naafiri sat up, so they could wrap a front leg around LeBlank in a shallow imitation of a human embrace. The dune hound whispered: "We told you, you are as safe in our lair as any of our cubs are. What's on your mind? What weighs you down so much, Emilia?"