Hadar

Hadar, the Dark Hunger, is a malignant and ancient entity that slumbers—or perhaps writhes—in the cold void between stars. Believed to originate from the Far Realm, that chaotic dimension beyond comprehension and sanity, Hadar is not merely a being but a vast, hungering presence—a dying star whose death-throes poison reality, and whose mindless thirst seeks the unmaking of all things.

Unlike the gods, Hadar does not speak, plan, or rule. It consumes. Its influence spreads like a creeping shadow across the night sky, whispered in the madness of warlocks, seen in omens of eclipses and burning comets. Hadar’s name is spoken in fear by scholars of the void, alienists, and cultists who seek oblivion through communion with the unknowable.

In some esoteric traditions, Hadar is visualized as a bloated red star bleeding light across the heavens, surrounded by coils of black flame and shadow. Others describe it as a seething, star-sized parasite devouring the light and life of nearby systems, or as a consciousness so vast and alien that reality itself buckles in its presence. It has no clear shape—only hunger.

Those who serve Hadar often do so not in hope of reward, but in the grip of corruption or desperation. Warlocks who draw their power from Hadar wield magic that withers, scorches, and annihilates, often manifesting in black flame, radiant decay, or draining life-force. Their patron offers no counsel, only power—and always at a cost.

Signs of Hadar’s influence include:

• Withering light, where stars dim or die prematurely.
• Plagues of madness, especially among astronomers or seers.
• Visions of crimson suns, bleeding in otherwise empty night skies.
• Desolate regions where all life has been inexplicably drained—flora, fauna, and even magic itself.

Hadar may already be dying, some claim—its own entropy driving its ravenous need to devour other stars, worlds, and souls. Others believe it is merely waking, and that its true form and power are yet to be fully known.

To behold Hadar is to glimpse the end. To serve it is to surrender to unmaking. And to resist it is to stand against the slow, inevitable hunger gnawing at the roots of reality itself.