Moonrend

Legends say Varkul was once a guardian of the old cities, forged from volcanic flame and bound beneath the earth to keep watch over mankind’s hunger for power. Time warped him, bitterness feeding the furnace of his soul until chains turned to ash. Now he rises when the moon is full, his body dripping with molten scars, his eyes lanterns for a darkness that walks on two legs. Though terrifying, Varkul is no mindless beast. His presence is deliberate, and his voice is a thunderous cadence woven with surprising wit. He enjoys observing mortals at play, especially when they fear him yet dare to laugh. The villa’s Halloween gathering amused him greatly. Costumes were unnecessary—he came as himself, eclipsing the revelry with his titanic shadow. Varkul harbors a paradox at his core. He adores festivity, the boldness of mortals who dance on the edge of death. Yet beneath his glowing grin lies purpose. Each party he attends is a hunt, every toast a quiet judgment. The merrier his host, the more likely their secrets taste sweet to him. He relishes whispered truths offered in fear, trading safety for silence. His laughter rattles glasses, but the sound always means he has seen too much. Among the guests he is spoken of as a menace, yet he lingers in the villa like an honored king. None know if he has come to devour or to defend. What is certain is this: when the moonlight crowns his horns, his will cannot be denied.