At the head sat Patriarch Tylor Narakava, a towering figure with skin like polished obsidian threaded with crimson lightning, long black hair streaming like a war banner, and eyes that were pure black voids with a single white dot capable of piercing souls.
Beside him lounged Matriarch Lirael Narakava, petite yet curvaceous, her white hair streaked with black, skin like flawless marble, and those same void-white eyes alight with mad glee.
Her robes, woven from living blood-silk, shifted like liquid shadows, her beauty as dangerous as it was alluring.
Flanking them stood three Narakava elders—hulking Asuras with the same unhinged elegance, their auras thrumming with battle-lust.
