The Rakiten tower above other elven lineages, and they were made that way in a single act of crafting. The druids who shaped the elven peoples worked from three substances, wood and stone and the mud of riverbeds, and a measure of their own life. Most elves they made slight. The Rakiten they packed from river-clay over a frame of stone, the heaviest of their materials, and shaped tall to stand above the grass-seas the people were meant for. The making fixed all of it at once and it has held in every generation since: seven to eight feet of height, heavy bone, and skin the burnished bronze of the clay they were raised from. Their faces are flat and angular, almost square, and their teeth run sharp for a diet that turns to meat when the dry season strips the plains of anything else.
What truly sets the Rakiten apart is their complete abandonment of spoken language. Whether due to the way sound carries unpredictably across the windswept plains or some ancient cultural trauma, the Rakiten communicate exclusively through an intricate sign language that incorporates hand movements, body positioning, and facial expressions. This visual language is so sophisticated it can convey complex philosophical concepts and poetry with greater nuance than spoken words. Even their names are signs rather than sounds, a flowing gesture rather than a collection of syllables.
The Rakiten organize their society around "sight-bonds," groups of individuals who maintain visual contact while traveling the plains. These bonds become so attuned to each other that they can communicate through subtle shifts in posture visible at great distances. Their encampments are arranged in careful patterns that allow for maximum visual communication between all members, creating communities where a single gesture can ripple through the entire population in moments.
Aspects
- Silence speaks volumes
- Height grants perspective in all things