The Ionrach are the eldest and greatest of the Idoneth enclaves, seat of the High King Volturnos and the nearest thing the scattered sea-aelves have to a capital people. Where other enclaves are insular and secretive, the Ionrach look outward. Alone among the Deepkin they argue that the enclaves are not a loose scattering of raiders but a single nation in truth, and that the Idoneth might one day take an honest, open place among the peoples of Order rather than skulking forever beneath the waves as thieves of souls.
It is a noble ambition, and a lonely one. Volturnos and his kin fight beside the free cities and the storm-hosts when the cause aligns, lending the terror of the ethersea to the armies of Order. Yet the soul-magic that cloaks their coming is a double-edged gift. The mortals they fight alongside rarely remember the alliance clearly once the battle recedes, their memories fogged by the very enchantments that let the Idoneth strike unseen. The Ionrach reach for fellowship and are forgotten by the allies they bleed for.
Within the Idoneth Deepkin, the Ionrach are the reluctant diplomats and would-be kings: the enclave still trying to believe that a people born of theft might yet earn a place in the light.
Order of battle
The Ionrach field the units of the Idoneth Deepkin, a detachment from the roster:
Other Idoneth Deepkin formations
Dhom-hainThe Deep Questers, who dove further from the light than any other enclave and remain fiercely proud of it. Peerless hunters of the great beasts of the benthic dark, the Dhom-hain broke early from Ionrach oversight and want nothing from the surface world but its souls, counting diplomacy a surface-dweller's disease.
FuethanThe fiercest of the enclaves, dwelling in hot, restless seas where everything bites. Fuethan beast-handlers prize the most vicious eels and sharks of any Idoneth nation, red-finned and half-feral, and the enclave's raiders are cut from the same hide: quick to strike, slow to forgive, and openly scornful of Ionrach dreams of unity.
Mor'phannA somber enclave of cold, lightless waters, where the ethersea lies thick as grave-mist and the Namarti outnumber the whole-souled many times over. The Mor'phann speak little, mourn much, and work soul-magic beyond any rival: when their slow tide finally comes in, it takes everything and gives nothing back.
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