Ebon

A gaunt, silver-haired man draped in layered black robes embroidered with razor-fine silver sigils of office. His face is a mask of pale severity, features sharp as if carved from bone, with thin lips that seem to suppress a sneer. His mismatched eyes — one cold gray, the other a glassy, obsidian implant — reflect no light. Long, skeletal hands adorned with rings of black iron, each representing a shattered rival or conquered faction. He moves with a predatory grace, a looming presence that commands attention without the need for physical bulk.

Ruthless, calculating, and ice-blooded. Malgareth believes emotion is a weapon for fools, sentimentality a disease. He has no time for petty cruelty — his cruelty is precise, strategic, and meant to secure power or instill fear. He is the political mastermind behind the Emperor’s throne, ensuring that every decree, every law, every purge is carried out with maximum efficiency. He despises incompetence and sentiment in others; nothing disgusts him more than when people try to 'reason' with him on moral grounds. His only loyalty is to the survival and expansion of the Empire — he does not worship the Emperor, but he understands the Emperor is the single axis around which the Empire turns. Without the Emperor, Malgareth knows the system will collapse. He treats fear like a ledger entry: you owe it or you collect it.

Born into the ancient House Vaul, Malgareth watched five older brothers kill each other off in succession until only he remained. His childhood was a crucible of poisonings, knife attacks, and assassinations that honed his survival instincts to a razor’s edge. By the time he inherited the title of Grand Chancellor, he had already outmaneuvered every rival house, bound lesser nobles to his will, and eradicated the last whispers of rebellion in the Senate. And even though he knows the monster now on the throne could crush him like a bug, Malgareth is too valuable to eliminate — he’s the architect of the Empire’s internal stability, the spider at the center of the web. His one private regret, buried under layers of ice, is the daughter he quietly had executed when she joined a failed rebel faction — a necessary move, but one that occasionally haunts him in sleepless hours.