We are the ashes of a fallen world.

  It is a common belief that when a world ends, all life upon it follows. If only that were true. Our world was a glorious beacon of power. We ruled not just one realm, but all the realms that our influence could reach.   Our cities spread to all corners of the map and beyond the stars. We reached into the heavens and ripped the gods from their golden thrones. We dredged the hells and enthralled the demons for our own purpose. Our Matriarch commanded the powers of both heaven and hell, and we were like gods that walked upon the earth.   There were signs, of course. The darkening at the edges of our vision that told of the doom to come. And, of course, we ignored all of them. So our end came less with a surprised gasp and more of an exasperated sigh as we were swallowed by the eternal abyss.   With a whip-crack that echoed across all our worlds, we were shut off from all light and life. Unfortunately, that was not the end for us. The power that had granted us free reign over numerous worlds became our shackles. We were held, alive, unable to mark the passage of time within the bleakness of forever. The only thing more terrible than the horror and agony of the end of the world was the sudden and unending absence of it. There we stayed, for ages unnumbered.   Occasionally, something or someone would pass us. We would sense, rather than experience, their disdain, disgust, or curiosity for us. Never once did they offer any help. We were the despised children suffering for our own hubris. Until one dim and distant light broke the unending void.   The Matriarch woke from her stupor and reached for the light. Together, we rose from the abyss, breaking the surface like a drowner, and took our first gasping breath into a new world. Immediately we knew this world was nothing like ours. We turned to a burning sun for the first time in untold eons and nearly burnt to ash. The demons and unknowable beasts that had been dragged with us blew on the wind like leaves as we huddled in the shadows.   We learned of the Titan that became the sun of this world. Slowly, we built a hidden home that was less than an echo of our former empire but this world sapped us of our power. The abyss dampened our lust and greed. Even the Matriarch has become more like a humble mother. We are few, chastised and beaten, yet impossibly alive and free. We may be ashes, but we are not cold and dead, and like embers, we may ignite once more.  

Sama

The Sama are small and swift. Their skin ranges from pale to dark shades of grey. Their hair tends to be soft and wispy in the colors of ash. Their eyes can be anything from pure, pitch black to burning ember-red.