Ebon

A hulking mass of taut, cadaver‑grey flesh stretched over gaunt musculature; standing nearly seven feet tall, weight unknown beneath tattered obsidian raiments. Runes of searing crimson scar and infernal ink spiral across his arms and chest, pulsating as if alive. Veins bulge in knotted cords like blackened vines under paper‑thin skin. Jagged iron tusks pierce his cracked lips; a jagging fracture runs from ear to throat, mouth sealed by twisted iron staples. His left arm ends in a bracket of bone and sinew; the right bears deep gouges where flesh was threaded through cursed rings. One eye is a sunken obsidian orb that reflects nightmares; the other, a raw maw of jagged teeth. He oozes a sour, metallic reek—blood‑salt and rot. Every inch is a study in decay and unholy craftsmanship—sharpened shoulder blades protrude like blades, ribs ridged like a saw’s edge, and his back ripples with the faint outline of demonic wings long since torn away.

A chorus of torment and purpose drives Vegralis: he laughs in the face of pain, yet trembles at sudden silence. Flawed by obsession, he must catalog every victim’s scream, storing each memory in his fractured mind. He craves the shock of terror, hungers for fresh atrocities, but dreads the moment his own name is uttered in fear. His desires vault between sickening pride in his cruelty and a perverse yearning for redemption—an echo of the herald he once was. Quirks surface in fascination with broken things: he collects shards of victims’ weapons, lining them on his belt as trophies. He can’t bear children’s laughter; it reminds him of voices lost to Hell’s pit. His sexuality is warped by power—he bonds only through domination and fear. In moments of calm, he whispers to the iron staples in his throat as if they hold secrets, rocking on his heels as though listening for voices that only he can hear.

before the Cellss,Vegralis was Gralis Var’Husk, Imperial Herald to Emperor Kharvul the Unyielding. On Season of Ash, Day 11, Year 4026, he betrayed the Crown—he leaked the Emperor’s battle plans to the rebel elven enclave of Nyr’Mora in return for a promise to end the war’s bloodflow. The conspiracy unraveled under the Eclipse of Terrors five days later; Gralis watched as his elven contact, Lady Elyndra, was burned alive, her screams echoing through the palace chambers. The Emperor—betrayed by his voice—cursed him to die a hundred deaths in the Fourth Layer. Six millennia he wandered the mortal realm under that curse, aging yet never dying, until on Season of Storms, Day 3, Year 10020, he was finally dragged to Hell’s maw. There, amid sulfurous pits, he slew the demon lord Kar’shul and fashioned his crown into iron tusks—earning the name Carrion Shrieker. On Season of Frost, Day 2, Year 10026, he returned as a broken herald of doom, forever bound to the Emperor’s service in the Cellss.