Vrakthar

In the sunless depths of Ulgroth, where the air hums with dead gods’ whispers and the stone breathes decay, Vrakthar moves like a shadow forged from hunger and hate. Once a scavenger skulking among the colossal bones of fallen titans, he is now something other—a cursed vessel, a monster that remembers what it means to be feared. The shard of Zor’gath, embedded in his chest, pulses beneath his matted fur, a second heart beating with divine madness. It shows him visions: empires strangled by black vines, thrones built from the fused skulls of kings, and a world screaming as it kneels.