Kk’trassh is no ordinary intellect devourer—it is a rogue. Severed from its mind flayer masters, it seeks a purpose of its own. Kk’trassh manipulates entire communities through stolen bodies, cultivating a network of "hosts" who speak with one mind—its own.
In the fetid sinkholes of the Blightgrove, there slithers a gibbering mouther unlike any other—one whose babbling mouths echo names, secrets, and forgotten truths. Glurrash’ttha is no mindless horror, but a cursed amalgam with fractured memory and maddening intent.
In the brackish stillness beneath the flooded ruin of Caer-Thalax, a being lingers whose memory stretches to the world’s first breaths. Ul’Xorith the Remnant Deep is a glistening, coiling aboleth whose voice pulses directly into the mind, laden with truths too old for sanity.
Born in molten sanctums; exiled for forging destruction itself.
He eats coal to roar louder, fights so the sparks rise — and the crowd burns with him.
She sees weakness in ash and sanctifies through flame — the world isn't clean until it's burned.
He forges in flame so intense it makes the midsummer sun look like a candle—then adds fireworks for good measure.
She cannot see the world — but she sees what waits in its embers.
He’s the night’s wild anthem—a moody song turned flesh, swinging a cane with as much swagger as a stage dive.
He lost his crown to become the world’s spark — and now every rebel lights their torch at his name.
She dances in the sun’s embrace — and drains your will before she ever tastes your blood.
He smiles as the forest claims your bones — and calls it mercy.