Ezrakel of the Abysal Veil

This song is sung by the person Ezrakel is courting if they accept his courtship.

Verse 1 Þú syngur mér í gegnum steina og straum, You sing to me through stone and stream, Og hjarta mitt svarar á sama takt. And my heart answers in the same rhythm. Ég fann þig ekki með augum, heldur með ljómi, I found you not by sight, but by glow, Með strengjum ósýnilegra drauma. With threads of unseen dreams.

Chorus Já, elsku minn, ég heyri þig, Yes, my beloved, I hear you, Þú ert ljós í dimmum dýpi. You are light in the darkest deep. Kom og dansaðu við mig í hring straumanna, Come and dance with me in the ring of currents, Því ég syng líka—fyrir þig. For I too sing—for you.

Verse 2 Frillur mínar blómstra þegar þú nálgast, My frills bloom when you draw near, Og hitinn þinn finn ég í vatninu kringum. And I feel your heat in the water around. Við erum úr sama svörtu hafinu gerð, We are made of the same black sea, Tvö kvik völundarsmíð náttúrunnar. Two living works of nature’s craft.

(Repeat Chorus) Já, elsku minn, ég heyri þig, Yes, my beloved, I hear you, Þú ert ljós í dimmum dýpi. You are light in the darkest deep. Kom og dansaðu við mig í hring straumanna, Come and dance with me in the ring of currents, Því ég syng líka—fyrir þig. For I too sing—for you.

Bridge (Spoken or Murmured in Close Proximity) Ef þú ert straumurinn, þá skal ég vera hafið, If you are the current, then I shall be the sea, Þar sem við sameinumst án orða. Where we merge without words. Syng aftur, og ég skal koma nær. Sing again, and I shall come closer.

Final Line (Soft, Echoing) Ég syng fyrir þig. I sing for you.

This song is sung if Ezrakel ever wants to court someone. It's typically reserved for someone of the Abyssal Veil, but can be altered to match who hes singing to.

Verse 1 Þín frillur glóa í fjarska djúpu, Your frills glow in the far deep, Og hjarta mitt slær í takt við þitt. And my heart beats in time with yours. Ég heyri söng þinn í straumum þögnum, I hear your song in the silent currents, Og elti ljós þitt í myrkri hafsins. And I follow your light in the sea’s dark.

Chorus Kalla mér heim, elskan mín, Call me home, my beloved, Í hring hvirfilsins skal ég dansa. In the whirlpool’s ring I shall dance. Láttu mig vera ljós við hlið þér, Let me be the light beside you, Og syngja líf inn í nætur þínar. And sing life into your nights.

Verse 2 Ég skal vaka yfir svefni þínum, I shall watch over your slumber, Með tungu sem veitir ei sársauka, en vernd. With a tongue that wounds not, but guards. Við frjáls í dýpi þar enginn dæmir, We, free in the depths where none judge, Tvö hjörtu, eitt bergmál í vatni. Two hearts, one echo in water.

(Repeat Chorus) Kalla mér heim, elskan mín, Call me home, my beloved, Í hring hvirfilsins skal ég dansa. In the whirlpool’s ring I shall dance. Láttu mig vera ljós við hlið þér, Let me be the light beside you, Og syngja líf inn í nætur þínar. And sing life into your nights.

Bridge (Spoken or Sung Deeply) Ég er ekki augun sem sjá, I am not the eyes that see, Heldur hljómurinn sem finnst. But the resonance that is felt. Ef þú skynjar mig, þá þekkir þú mig. If you sense me, then you know me. Og ef þú syngur aftur—ég mun koma. And if you sing back—I will come.

Final line (Whispered) Kalla mér heim. Call me home.

Ezrakel carries himself with the patience of the tide, slow to rise yet unstoppable once he moves. His personality is a balance of contradictions—silent but commanding, distant yet deeply loyal, human in form but ocean in spirit. He does not waste words, preferring silence that presses as heavy as the abyss itself. When he does speak, his tone is deliberate, measured, and often layered in metaphor. To outsiders, this makes him seem cryptic; to the Veil, his words are simply the voice of one who listens more than he speaks.

At his core, Ezrakel is unwavering. The Oath of the Veil is not a chain to him, but his marrow. He does not question it, does not doubt it; to betray the sea is to betray himself. This makes him both reliable and frightening—there is no force that can sway him once the abyss has given him direction. His sense of loyalty is absolute, but it is not loyalty born of affection. It is the kind of loyalty that comes from inevitability, as natural as waves striking shore.

Despite his silence, Ezrakel feels deeply, though he rarely allows it to show. He views death without fear, suffering without pity, and love without softness. To him, all things are currents—pain, joy, loyalty, betrayal. They pass, they return, they shift endlessly. Yet beneath this fatalism is a quiet compassion, one expressed not in words but in presence: a steadying hand, an offered shadow to hide within, a voice humming an old abyssal hymn in the dark.

Ezrakel’s presence unsettles most who meet him. He does not smile, nor does he laugh, and when he looks at someone, it feels less like being seen and more like being measured. He seems half-drowned in mystery, a man set apart even among his own kin. And yet, those who earn his trust find a companion who is immovable, a shield that will not falter, a brother whose silence is a comfort rather than a threat. Ezrakel is not cruel, but neither is he gentle. He is inevitability wrapped in flesh—the personality of the tide given human form

Ezrakel was born beneath the song of waves and the pulse of the trench, his first cries swallowed by the sea itself. To the Abyssal Veil, this was no accident—his name was not chosen, but revealed. At the tide’s edge, his mother whispered it into the foam, and the sea answered back. Ezrakel. A name heavy with omen, a name that clung like salt to the skin of all who heard it. From that moment, he was marked as tidebound.

His childhood was one of shadows and silence, shaped by the Veil’s rituals. While other boys of the land learned to chase light, Ezrakel was taught to walk in quiet places, to listen for the currents beneath words. He learned that the sea is not gentle, that it gives and takes in equal measure. He saw fishermen dragged into the dark, ships broken on hidden reefs, and he was told, “This is love. This is truth. This is the abyss.”

Ezrakel swore the Oath of the Veil before his sixteenth tide. With pale hand pressed to black water, he vowed loyalty not only to his kin, but to the sea itself. He was no longer boy, but emissary. The oath burned into him like a brand; from that day onward, his shadow seemed heavier, his presence sharper.

Though sworn to the deep, Ezrakel is sometimes called to walk the land. These journeys are not of his choosing, but commanded by currents unseen. When the sea sends him, he moves like a shade through coastal towns, silent as kelp swaying in tide. Landborn eyes follow him with unease—his cloak clings too darkly, his gaze lingers too long, his steps seem to echo even on soft earth. Yet no hand dares touch him, for he carries the abyss in every motion.

Among his kin, Ezrakel is respected and feared. He does not waste words, and when he speaks, his voice rolls like distant thunder under waves. Some whisper that he is half-drowned already, that his soul walks closer to the abyss than the living. Still, he endures, shadow-wrapped and tidebound, a living envoy of the sea’s will.

Ezrakel in human form is a pale young man with clouded blue eyes, his presence striking and uncanny yet not beyond belief. The disguise allows him to pass through markets and courts as shadow rather than spectacle, yet those who look too long often feel the weight of something watching beyond the veil of flesh. The rune does not dull his senses nor silence his telepathy; only his outward form is altered. He has long blond hair, and wears an assassin’s robe.

The assassin’s robe is a long, black garment built for stealth and freedom of movement. Its deep, angular hood casts his face in shadow.

In dragon form: They are eyeless dragons with glowing bioluminescent purple and green frills on the sides of their head that replace their ears, large ivory horns, black scales, and their amphibious. They have a saw like tongue in this state, are telepathic, and traverse the world through echolocation and heat sensory. In their dragon form they are 300ft from nose to tail, and have a wingspan of 1200ft. Glowing bioluminescent frills and fins run down their body.

The Oath of the Abyssal Veil

(Call-and-Response Initiation Chant)

Chorus (All): Djúpið kallar, við heyrum það. The abyss calls, and we hear it.

Leader: Sverja þér í djúpinu, í þögn og skugga? Do you swear in the abyss, in silence and shadow?

Initiates: Við sverjum, í djúpinu, í þögn og skugga. We swear, in the abyss, in silence and shadow.

Leader: Verðir þú tennur, sem slá aðeins þegar ógnað er? Will you be the fangs, that strike only when threatened?

Initiates: Við verðum tennur, sem slá aðeins þegar ógnað er. We are the fangs, that strike only when threatened.

Leader: Heldur þú straum jafnvægisins, og ver borgara veika? Will you keep the balance of the currents, and guard the weak?

Initiates: Við heldum straum jafnvægisins, og ver borgara veika. We keep the balance of the currents, and guard the weak.

Leader: Gleymir þú ströndum, heldur aðeins djúpinu trú? Do you forsake the shores, holding faith only with the deep?

Initiates: Við gleymum ströndum, og höldum aðeins djúpinu trú. We forsake the shores, and hold faith only with the deep.

Chorus (All): Djúpið er móðir okkar, djúpið er faðir okkar. The abyss is our mother, the abyss is our father.

All Together: Við erum Hulinnslæða hafsins. We are the Abyssal Veil.

I. The Silence of the Depths

What is seen, heard, or done in the name of the Veil is never spoken beyond its current. To break silence is to betray blood. To betray blood is to drown.

II. The Shroud of Humanity

On land, you are shadow. On land, you are tide. Never show the dragon’s form, unless the sea itself cries for blood.

III. The Balance of Currents

We do not act for gold. We do not act for glory. We move only when the world is broken — when the weak are devoured unjustly, or when our kin are threatened.

IV. The Fang Strikes Only in Defense

Our teeth are sharp, but they are not first. Blood is a last resort. To kill without cause poisons the tide and corrupts the clan.

V. The Blood of the Clan is One

We are not many. We are one tide, one current, one abyss. When one falls, all rise. When one falters, the current carries them.

VI. The Abyss Sees All

Darkness blinds none. Through silence and shadow, nothing is hidden. Secrets of land or sea are ripples — the Abyss feels them all.

VII. The Oath of the Abyss

To swear the Veil is to forsake the shore. You are no longer of land. You are no longer of sea. You are shadow in between. Your loyalty belongs to the abyss, until death pulls you home.

This is our voice. The voice of pressure and silence. The voice of something your kind cannot cage, though you may try. We are the Abyssal Veil.

They are the children of the abyss. The landborn whisper of monsters—serpents, whirlpools, Leviathan—yet such fears are only shadows of truth. The Abysal Veil is older than kingdoms, older than the gods of the shore. They rose with the tides, sank with the trenches, endured where stone split and seas boiled. When ships broke and hunters drove shoals into black water, it was their glow that was seen, their arms that gathered the dead. They have always been there—unseen, eternal.

They are dragon and human, beast and kin. Though blind to light, they perceive through vibration, current, and heat. Amphibious, horned, frilled, they belong to no shore. In shallow form they walk pale as bone, eyes clouded, frills glowing violet and green, horns as eternal as ivory. In the depths, they are vast: three hundred feet of sinew and scale, twelve hundred wingspan, horns like spears, tongues serrated. Their voices travel not by air alone, but by thought—mind to mind, mother to child, clan to clan—carried across the miles of trench.

They dwell not in temples but in caverns of basalt, trenches lit by frill-fire and song. Their resonance is their scripture; silence their covenant. Their Codex is unwritten, etched in blood and memory: speak not of the current beyond the Abysal Veil; strike with fang only in defense; the clan is one tide; the abyss sees all. To swear the Abysal Veil is to forsake the shore, to walk as shadow between sea and land, loyal to the deep until death returns them to silence.

They are predators, but predators are balance. They kill not for pleasure but for hunger, for survival, for the keeping of order. To poison the current is to poison the clan. Yet the landborn crave their power. They come with nets, steel, and fire. They carve idols, whisper prayers, try to bind what they cannot understand. Still, the Abysal Veil remains. For silence drowns all, and the abyss remembers.

They are the Abyssal Veil—the abyss given voice, flesh, and fang.