Thrakul is a quiet storm in the heart of Silver Moon Glade. Born in Starfall Ridge to a lineage of warriors, he turned away from the hunt to meditate. His philosophy teaches that forging one's strength is not merely the increase of physical prowess, but for a greater transformation.
He wears robes of moss-dyed linen, adorned with bone beads and fragments of starlit ore. His humble home, nestled near the mother tree, is filled with scrolls, carved stones, and wind-chimes that ring in strange harmonics.
• Orcs are born of fire, yes—but the truest strength is found in cooling, in shaping, in restraint.
• Thrakul believes the elves’ reverence for trees complements orcish forging. He teaches that the Pact is not a compromise, but alloy to the forge.
• He claims the beasts of the Field of Colossal Beasts are not threats, but echoes—living memories of the land’s grief and glory.
Many young Pact members seek him out—especially those torn between tradition and transformation. He has quietly mentored several druids and war-chiefs.