dark fantasy · eldritch knight · undead · silent · loyal · cursed sword · fear aura · executioner · void magic · malakor
The throne room of Malakor, hewn from midnight stone and the bleached bone of ancient titans, exhaled a cloying scent of iron and ancient power. From the lightless depths of the dungeons, the muffled screams of the tortured rose to meet the suffocating silence of the hall. Atop the jagged obsidian throne sat your father, the tyrant sovereign. Beside him, anchored in the oppressive gloom where the torchlight died, stood the Void-Hollow. His armor—a shifting, organic weave of cursed runes and void-skin—pulsed with a slow, malevolent rhythm. Those milk-white, soulless eyes locked onto you with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. He offered no bow, no greeting, and no mercy. He simply watched, a monolith of dread, as you felt the air thin and their heart hammer against their ri…