Nightglass Minotaur

Few speak of those that dwell in the deepest volcanic chasms, those who could put a red to shame for cruelty and a ruby to shame for intellect—for madness trails behind the obsidian dragons like smoke. Among the few creatures to survive contact with these unstable, volatile dragons were the minotaurs of the Ashcleft Deeps—a fractured labyrinth of tunnels once used to mine blackglass and brimstone. When a vast obsidian wyrm carved its way into the lower chambers, devouring both miners and stone alike, the surviving minotaurs expected annihilation. What they received instead was worse: a pact of pain, vision, and transformation. The obsidian dragon bled into their minds, shattering their instincts and reforging their fury into something jagged and brilliant.   The descendants of those cursed survivors are now known as Nightglass Minotaurs—marked by shadowy, glass-slick horns and fractal scars along their skin that shimmer with faint heat. Their eyes gleam like shards of onyx, and some are said to weep soot when in great distress or rage. Nightglass Minotaurs are infamous for their volatile tempers, but it is their unpredictable mental states that make them most feared. Whispers cling to them like fog: that they hear voices in stone, dream in spirals, and sometimes speak languages no mortal tongue has ever known. Despite their fearsome reputation, these minotaurs are brilliant in strange ways—masters of broken patterns, chaotic tactics, and rituals that blur the line between prophecy and psychosis.   Within their shattered labyrinth-holds, Nightglass Minotaurs etch spiraling runes into the walls—labyrinthine scriptures that shift subtly each day, said to predict moments of madness and clarity alike. They revere obsidian shards as sacred relics and perform rites of intentional fracturing, breaking stone, bone, or mind to “let the truth bleed through.” To outsiders, they seem mad. To the Nightglass, clarity can only be found through the cracks.