Lean, tall elf with lightly browned skin. Long hair bleached nearly silver by sun and silt frames a set of grey eyes.


Lukotta wears a toughened leather skirt, split in the front, that protects his lower body and a leather vest covers his torso. A rust-colored sleevless coat hangs about him, tattered and flapping often in an unseen breeze.

Lukotta carries a longspear, from which hang the skulls and bones of small animals, as well as what could be the finger bones of some humanoid race. Small bags filled with silt are also tied to the spear, 3 in number.

Lukotta always has a layer of dust or silt about himself, and if he settles in one spot too long a layer of fine grit can be found in his absence. Sometimes a faint trail of silt is left in the wake of his passing.

Lukotta’s tribe of origin is the Silt Stalker tribe.

Wood elf


Sand storms on the Silt Arcipelago weren’t uncommon. Far from it. This one was different though, and Lukotta knew it. He knew it because for days it had spoken to him.

Lukotta thought it was just a touch of sun sickness. Gathering mud for bricks at the mudflats near the edge of the village one day, the first voice came. “I cooooommeeee…”

Lukotta ran to see the clamor in the center of the village near dusk one day. The Elf Chief, his father, was screaming at a group of younger elves. He demanded to know who had done the reckless prank of replacing the community’s gourds of water with silt. As the chief struck the gourds with the rod he intended to punish the guilty with, they broke and silt ran out of the bottoms with a hissing sound that seemed to whisper to Lukotta I Thiiirrsstt…"

The day the sand storm came, the last day of his village, Lukotta’s mother was hard in labor, giving birth. As she writhed in agony, she clutched her swollen belly while her voice cracked with terrible screaming. The mid-wife worked to prepare for the child’s coming, crouching before the woman’s womb. Lukotta’s mother contorted madly, and had to be held down by four other women as her tortured wails reached their crescendo. The mid-wife screamed as she pulled away hands covered in blood, a quivering tentacled thing in her hands. The mother had given birth to a small silt-horror. Lukotta watched in horror as his father snatched a bone dagger from his belt and with his other hand slapped the abomination from the mid-wife’s hands. She recoiled even more, covered in blood, as silt began to pour from the womb of Lukotta’s mother. Watching from the tent flap, Lukotta cried out as his mother gave her last breath in a deep sigh, and her eyes rolled white as she went limp. With a cry of rage, The Chief stabbed his dagger down into the horror, transifxing it in the mire of blood and silt that pooled between the legs of his wife.

Raised voices came from outside the tent, and everyone except the horrified mid-wife went outside to see the commotion. From the east, a great wall of silt more massive than any the tribe had ever seen was bearing down on the village. Lukotta stood reeling in the path of the storm, watching as tents, storehouses, and tribemates were erradicated instantly by the boundary of the storm as it advanced. Lukotta closed his eyes, and the last tear he would ever shed rolled down his cheek as the silt hit him full on.

Lukotta heard nothing for an indeterminable time except the roaring of the winds, felt nothing but the lash of silt on his skin. He felt he would go mad from the pain and the noise till somehow the wind and the silt had passed. He stood alone and naked in the center of the small island in the archipelago. All traces of his village were gone, scoured clean by the storm. A pall of silt hung in the air, obscuring Lukotta’s sight. As he shook his head, and cast about trying to come to terms with the fact that he still lived, the voice came again…

“The Time of Cleansing has come, my son. You shall prepare the way for my coming. You shall herald the Age of Dust.”

This time the voice came not from within his mind, but from without. Looking above, Lukotta saw an immense shape looming in the dust-filled air. What little light from the two moons filtered through the silt cloud was eclipsed almost entirely by the shape. With a sloughing noise that Lukotta felt through to his bones, the shape withdrew from his vision till it and the sounds of its passing were gone.

A long moment passed in which Lukotta did not move. A wind picked up, and as swiftly as it had come, the silt haze was gone. Glancing about himself still bewildered, Lukotta looked down and saw the dead silt horror his mother had birthed at his feet. It was the only thing besides himself that remained on the island. Picking it up, he looked at it with imppassive eyes.

“You, my brother, will be my totem to further our true father’s will.”

Totem in hand, Lukotta walked naked across the island to its edge, and then across the silt. He did not sink, and the footsteps he left in its surface filled in moments after his passing.


Dark Sun: Freedom's Price BlackPaws