Scathari
The Scathari could scarcely be considered elves in the conventional sense. Yet to true elves, they seem to bear an uncanny and uncomfortable resemblance while differing in origin and culture; to them the Scathari are a superficial and distorted image of elvenkind. In fact, "Scathari" means "the shadow people" and reflects not only their origin, but also their nature as not having the true substance of elves within them.
Origins
The origins of the Scathari are not well understood and are up for debate. The mad wizard Adrius, while working with the Dragonguard, reported that the Helm of Seven Deaths was a Scathari artifact that has existed since the First Age of the Gods. Indeed the word "Scathari" has been used in elvish before albeit exceedingly rarely, and always in reference to a cloistered school of dark elvish illusionists who drew upon the power of the Shadowfell. The first verified appearance of a being matching the description of a Scathari would not be until the spring of 996 SA 5.Creation of the Scathari
The last pearl turned to dust in his hands and he felt the magic infuse his being as the realm around him began to take shape. Maker, this was horrific, he felt sick, he felt powerful, he felt anguish, he felt weak. Like a shorn loop of iron pulled in two different directions and with a billion other pushes and pulls, the force suddenly overwhelmed him and he doubled over, kneeling now in the ashes and dust of so many other pearls, up to his waist.
Blood, blood and panic. War? Images of death and atrocity flashed violently like lightning on a black sky through his psyche. Not war. Slaughter. He felt blood welling in his mouth, his throat, gagging him. He looked up and saw pitiless blue eyes there, staring down at him before the blade penetrated his breast, puncturing his heart and he spasmed. Ash, kicked up by his pained throes, stuck to his face where tears streamed, to his lips, where blood was beginning to spill out, and to his nostrils, gagging him. Where was his wife? His daughter? His son? Where were his friends? Valentius!!
He was crawling through the dust and blood, blind and suffocating, hearing cries, screaming. Shocks and spasms ran through him and he felt the thundering of feet and the heat of magic bolts searing the air just above him. He was cold, he was dying. He had lived through so much and now, he was dying. Gods, where was Kristian? Didn’t he know he needed him? A pair of feet stopped just in front of him and as he piteously looked up, he saw the disgusted grimace of a mahogany skinned elf with white hair and blue eyes. He would not go—would not die—not like this. But then he did. Just like that.
The Nameless One opened his sore, irritated eyes and coughed up smoke and dust. Sitting, he wretched a dark, ink-black fluid with the consistency and smell of blood. Where were They? What had happened? He was in ruins. Some kind of ruins. It was so very dark here, but he saw a source of light, a dried and desiccated small humanoid half burned through by fierce green flame. Nhezgal hadn’t left him after all. At least, he thought, recalling the human crone form They had worn before, not for very long. As if reading his mind or guessing his thoughts They spoke, “It has been 53 days. We were beginning to think you were not going to survive, but you appear to have been… sustained and kept whole.” Nhezgal looked out over the ruins, drawing the Nameless One’s gaze to them and to several figures which existed therein. “Though, in your experience and anguish, you let out several souls. A shame to lose any bit of power, but they are bound to you, it seems... so it wasn't a total failure.”
Comparisons with Elvenkind
While Scathari resemble elves in many ways, the differences are more numerous. In addition to their wholly distinct origin, the shadow elves do not place much reverence for physical perfection and seem to derive their identities from somewhere other than Ildathach for they cannot access the Waters of Memory in their trances. Among the Scathari, who were born fully formed and grown, the prevailing belief is that they were created whole with the Dark Three, whom they revere as a god, and that it is to the Dark Three that they return in death. Such worship is aberrant among elvenkind where no love of the gods is found.To the other elves, it can be easy to view the Scathari as not true elves, instead being mere shadows—insubstantial and distorted. Indeed, the Scathari struggle to maintain a sense of identity in their home realm of the Shadowfell and might be formed of shadowstuff as easily as flesh and blood.
The Dark Three
The Scathari revere a sort of three-headed androgynous "god" that they believe gave birth to itself and their entire race in a single moment. They call this god the "Dark Three" collectively, though each head is also referred to as an individual with titles and names separate from the others.The Nameless Father
Though the distant father of the Scathari is referred to as the Nameless One, they identify the powerful sorcerer Daero Aevalur with this aspect of the Dark Three, and see those of his sorcerous lineage as half-siblings. Though regarded as detached by many among the Scathari, the Nameless One is seen as compassionate and full of both love and regret for the world.The Dark Mother
"You breathe my will, or not at all."The Dark Mother, also called Khadara, is both ruthlessly cruel and intensely protective and covetous of the Scathari, as well as Daero's sorcerous heirs. She is political and scheming, and rules over the Scathari in a sense.
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