Morroghast

Cloaked in a miasma of dread, Morroghast is a formidable figure with scales like obsidian and eyes that shimmer with the essence of pure fear. Her wings eclipse light, and her breath sows panic. She embodies the terror that lurks in the hearts of all beings.

As the firstborn of Ignivomous, Morroghast was conceived in the heart of the planet's earliest and most fearsome volcano. Her birth cry was said to be so fearsome that it instilled the first primal fear into the hearts of creatures across the realm. Raised in the molten depths, she learned to harness not just the flame, but the darkness that came with the smoke and ash, manipulating it to become the essence of fear itself.

The Night of Whispers has since been etched into the annals of history as a harrowing testament to the insidious reach of Morroghast, the Shroud Matron. It began as an evening like any other, with the people of the Ebon Empire laying their heads to rest after another day of prosperity. Yet, as the twin moons crested the horizon and bathed the land in a ghostly hue, a change was wrought upon the realm.

Morroghast, seeking to expand her domain and demonstrate her dreadful power, whispered into the ear of reality itself. The fabric between consciousness and the subconscious thinned, allowing the tendrils of terror to seep into the dreams of every slumbering soul. Nobles and commoners alike were plunged into a personal abyss, their deepest fears rising like specters from the depths of their own minds. Warriors stood frozen as phantoms of their defeated foes rose to accuse them; rulers watched their empires crumble to dust over and over; parents were haunted by the phantom cries of lost children.

The psychological assault was so profound that by dawn, the once mighty Ebon Empire was broken. The ruling monarch, driven mad by visions of his dynasty's ruin, commanded the city gates opened to the waiting rival armies, his mind shattered by the relentless horror. The armies, themselves shaken by their own night of torment, marched into the city unopposed, expecting a trap that never came.

As the sun rose on the conquered empire, it illuminated a populace undone not by force, but by the spectral grip of fear. Morroghast's influence had not only caused an empire to fall but had seeded a legend that would spread across continents. No longer would her name be whispered in reverence by the dark denizens of the world alone; it would be spoken in hushed tones by all who knew fear—and all would know fear.

To this day, the Night of Whispers is commemorated in the Ebon Empire, now a mere shadow of its former glory, as a night of vigil and mourning. On this night, candles are lit not to ward off physical intruders, but to hold at bay the darkness that lingers in their own hearts, a silent prayer that the Shroud Matron’s gaze is turned elsewhere.