Ebon

Veylan unleashes a wave of corrupting energy that seizes control of the minds of his foes, twisting their perceptions and forcing them to serve his will. Targets within 120 feet must make a Charisma saving throw. On a failure, they are charmed and dominated by Veylan for 1 minute, forced to attack their allies and obey his commands. At the end of each of their turns, they may make another Charisma saving throw to break free. Their minds are filled with visions of the Obsidian Prince's dark realm, and their bodies are wracked with agonizing pleasure as their wills are broken.

Veylan’s fingers twitch upward, and the air screams. Two jagged portals, rimmed with teeth-like obsidian shards, rip open on either side of the victim. Through them spills the 6th layer’s cacophony—wails of eternally flayed souls, the wet crunch of infernal machinery grinding bone into mortar. Hundreds of clawed, molten hands surge forth. Some are skeletal, dripping magma. Others are bloated and rotted, oozing pus that sizzles on contact with air. They seize the victim’s limbs, hair, jaw—twisting. Fingers pry into eye sockets, peel ribs from sternums like opening a grotesque gift. The victim’s screams fragment as their jaw is wrenched sideways, tendons snapping like lute strings. Blood sprays in arcs, but the hands keep pulling, until the body is reduced to meat ribbons suspended in a web of demonic fingers. The portals snap shut, leaving a crater of gore and the stench of sulfur-soaked viscera. Veylan’s left eye burns a liquid, volcanic red—pupil slit like a serpent’s.

He flicks his wrist, and a bead of nothing streaks forward. It hits, and the world bends. Black flame erupts—no crackle, no roar. Just a silent, ravenous void-fire that consumes light, sound, hope. It burns at 100,000°C, hotter than a star’s heart. Flesh doesn’t char; it disappears in a nanosecond, leaving limbs sheared off in perfect cross-sections, bones vaporized mid-scream. What remains isn’t ash, but a hollow silhouette of soot, disintegrating at a touch. Stone melts into glass puddles. Metal becomes smoke. The air itself ignites, leaving a vacuum that collapses lungs. When the flame fades, the aftermath is surreal: a frozen tableau of half-melted faces, hands clutching weapons now fused to molten gauntlets, the ground glazed into a obsidian mirror reflecting the horror above. Veylan’s right eye smolders crimson, the iris swirling like a dying galaxy—a silent promise that this was mercy compared to what he withholds.

You unleash a deafening sound wave that resonates within a 30-foot radius, causing intense pain and paralysis to those who fail to cover their ears. Creatures within the area must make a saving throw or suffer from debilitating paralysis, with their ears bleeding from the sonic assault. Those who cover their ears are immune to the effects, but the sound can still be heard faintly, creating a disorienting experience.

A dissonant hum resonates from the Echoist’s throat, summoning the memories of the dead buried beneath Ebon’s streets. Rotting hands claw from the ground to grip enemies’ ankles, their fingers singing in unison with the Echoist’s phantom, causing victims to hear the final pleas of the dead, freezing them in place as their veins pulse with phantom rot.

Lullaby is a subtle enchantment that gently lulls a target into a deep sleep, making it ideal for calming distracted or relaxed individuals. The spell's effectiveness diminishes against those who are highly alert or focused, requiring a greater effort to succeed.

With a flick of his fingers, Veylan ensnares a target in an invisible grip, lifting them off the ground as they struggle against a force constricting their throat. The target experiences a horrifying moment of panic, choking and gasping as they are held aloft, blood trickling from their mouth until Veylan releases them, leaving them gasping for breath.

You raise the corpses of slain enemies as horrific, twisted versions of their former selves. These unstoppable horrors retain all combat abilities they had in life, serving you without question. They cannot be banished, turned, or controlled by any force other than you. If destroyed, they detonate violently, dealing 6d10 necrotic damage to everything within 10 feet.

When Veylan invokes Crown of Dread, his right eye ignites into a deep, hellish red as reality fractures like glass under a titan’s step. The right half of his body erupts into demonic form—obsidian flesh split by molten veins, a spiraled horn blasting from his skull in a spray of bone and gore. His voice becomes a psychic scream, fifty thousand damned souls funneled through torn vocal cords. The air thickens into rot and iron, lungs sear into blood-slick sacs. Victims collapse into madness—eyes bursting, fingers clawing through their own skulls, mouths frothing with laughter and blood. Some mutilate themselves with ritualistic glee; others shatter bone against stone or gorge on their own flesh. It doesn’t kill. It breaks. Survivors are husks—mindless, whimpering creatures twitching in pools of bile, whispering nursery rhymes in voices that don’t belong to them. This isn’t fear. It’s contamination. The Black Crown speaks—and the mind splits.

A Hellblood Sorcerer clenches their fist, and nearby flames writhe and contort unnaturally, shifting to an unhealthy black or sickly green, or flaring with sudden, destructive intensity. Their veins might darken, and a low, possessive growl may rumble in their chest as the corrupting influence of their demonic blood asserts control. If the flames respond too aggressively, the sorcerer might feel a surge of alien rage, or a fleeting, phantom burn on their own flesh, a reminder of the volatile power they attempt to master. You choose nonmagical flame that you can see within 60 feet and can do one of the following: instantly expand a flame 5 feet in one direction; extinguish a flame that fits within a 5-foot cube; or cause changes to a flame's color, brightness, or movement for 1 hour. These effects are instantaneous or last 1 hour.

A Druu of the Seed extends their hand, and the flames flicker and dim, as if choked by unseen roots or damp earth, or perhaps surge briefly with the consuming hunger of a controlled, slow decay. The air fills with the scent of damp soil, burning leaves, and inevitable decomposition. As the Druu manipulates the flame, a profound melancholy might settle over them, a quiet despair reflecting the dying echoes of the old world's nature. You choose nonmagical flame that you can see within 60 feet and can do one of the following: instantly expand a flame 5 feet in one direction; extinguish a flame that fits within a 5-foot cube; or cause changes to a flame's color, brightness, or movement for 1 hour. These effects are instantaneous or last 1 hour.

Arcane Scholar gestures with precise, almost robotic movements, and a skeletal hand, formed from pure, cold shadow, coalesces with chilling exactitude. The air around them becomes perfectly still and frigid, a testament to the sterile application of forbidden necromantic formulae. The scholar's expression remains detached, focused only on the efficient transfer of life force. If the spell fails to hit, the scholar might experience a momentary disassociation devoid of warmth or meaning, a common side effect of delving too deeply into The Other Place's cold logic. You create a ghostly, skeletal hand in the space of a creature within 120 feet. Make a ranged spell attack. On a hit, the target takes 1d8 necrotic damage, and it can't regain hit points until the start of your next turn. If you hit an undead target, it also has disadvantage on attack rolls against you until the end of your next turn. The damage increases to 2d8 at 5th level, 3d8 at 11th, and 4d8 at 17th.

A Hellblood Sorcerer thrusts their hand forward, black veins momentarily bulging as a chilling, spectral claw of pure void energy erupts. The air around them grows noticeably colder, and a faint, guttural snarl escapes their lips as a demonic chill invades their own bones, momentarily overwhelming their senses with alien malice. If the spell misses, a phantom, searing pain might shoot through their dominant arm, as if a shard of their own blood-magic has been ripped away, leaving a lingering, unpleasant emptiness. You create a ghostly, skeletal hand in the space of a creature within 120 feet. Make a ranged spell attack. On a hit, the target takes 1d8 necrotic damage, and it can't regain hit points until the start of your next turn. If you hit an undead target, it also has disadvantage on attack rolls against you until the end of your next turn. The damage increases to 2d8 at 5th level, 3d8 at 11th, and 4d8 at 17th.

The Cursed Pactbearer extends a trembling hand, and a spectral, withered hand of grave-cold energy forms, dripping with unseen miasma. The pactbearer's arm might momentarily feel unnaturally heavy or go numb, and a faint, desperate whisper can be heard by those nearby, an echo of the bound spirit's misery. If the spell misses, a jarring, intrusive thought of grotesque devotion might briefly cloud the pactbearer's mind, a twisted "gift" from their patron that leaves them feeling deeply unsettled. You create a ghostly, skeletal hand in the space of a creature within 120 feet. Make a ranged spell attack. On a hit, the target takes 1d8 necrotic damage, and it can't regain hit points until the start of your next turn. If you hit an undead target, it also has disadvantage on attack rolls against you until the end of your next turn. The damage increases to 2d8 at 5th level, 3d8 at 11th, and 4d8 at 17th.

An Arcane Scholar expels a glob of precisely calibrated acid, flung in a controlled arc from a rigid, unfeeling gesture. This acid burns with a sterile, almost chemical odor, as if synthesized from the most chillingly logical forbidden formulae. The expulsion is clean, efficient, and leaves a faint, antiseptic chill in the air. During the cast, the scholar's expression becomes unnaturally blank, their own emotions momentarily suppressed, and if the spell fails to hit, they might experience a jarring, fleeting sensation of existential insignificance, as if their consciousness briefly becomes a mere line of cold, dead code in a vast, uncaring system. Choose one or two creatures within 5 feet of each other; each must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw or take 1d6 acid damage. Damage increases to 2d6 at 5th level, 3d6 at 11th, and 4d6 at 17th.

The Hellblood Sorcerer expels a burning glob of corrosive bile, targeting one or two creatures within 5 feet of each other. Each target must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw or take acid damage, with the damage increasing as the sorcerer gains levels. If the spell misses, the sorcerer experiences a wave of internal heat and a feeling of profound uncleanliness, accompanied by a guttural snarl.