Lineage & Lore

Beneath the veil of waves, they move like myth—
Ancient and utterly unknown to the hooman world.
The two-leggas speak of sea monsters and shipwrecks,
but they’ll never grasp the full depth of the truth:
Not only do Mermaids exist — they thrive in Merjestic Magnificence.

Oshún Dynasea is not a place. It is a bloodline.
A living lineage of Mermaid Royalty —
Chosen by water. Crowned by Oshún. Raised by Yamaya.

They are the descendants, the chosen, the anointed —
Each one adopted or born, and loved into Royalty.
Radiant. Fierce. Divine.
Those who dare gaze upon their jewel-drenched tails
either fall hopelessly under their spell… or go mad.

When greed dares to cross sacred waters, when arrogance tempts fate —
Merfolk listen, and they answer.
Ships are claimed and dragged into the ocean’s vastness,
their gold and jewels stripped from the wreckage and reoffered to the ones who reign.
These treasures — once hoarded by the surface dwellers — become adornments, prized souvenirs, weapons, and inherited relics of the Oshún Dynasea.

At the heart of this fortress presides Yamaya, luminous in seafoam green, white, and silver.
She cradles the young Merkins—
guiding them through legacy, vision, and ancestral power
until they mature when their calling rises like the tide.

Because no MerKing or MerQueen swims still.
They each have a purposeful destiny — sacred but many.
The Guardian of scales. Commander of Sirens Wail. Keeper of those enslaved and FREED by the ocean’s Salty breeze.

Their titles permitted to be whispered only by the gills of those gracefully submerged.

They are the watchers.
They are the keepers.
They are the sea’s divine revenge.

Dark and Divine. Death is only the beginning.

Descending down the portal of the living world, beyond breath and bone, there lies a realm not ruled by time — but by memory, shadow, and power. This is the Umbra Kuingdom of Duat.

Born of the forgotten, shaped by the forsaken, it is the sacred dominion where death does not end, but awakens. Here, the exiled become exalted. The shapeshifters reclaim their names. The beasts walk proudly in grace, and the divine transform — growing fangs, wings, horns, and flame.

Guarded by ancestral watchers and crowned with secrets, the Kuingdom thrives in the space between — between form and formlessness, between rage and resurrection.

No one enters by accident.

And no one leaves unchanged.

This is not a resting place.

This is a rising.