Loris Raknian

“They cheered me once. They screamed my name. But when the crowd forgets the champion… only the worms remember.” — Loris Raknian, Graveknight of the Arena

 

Appearance

Raknian was once a burly man in his early fifties, with strong, sinewy muscles and a heavy lantern jaw. A long scar ran from his brow to chin across his left eye, earned in the arena and worn like a badge of honor. In undeath, his form has twisted into a horrific parody of the man he once was—his flesh pale and dry, eyes lit with necromantic fire, and the scar now glowing faint green with worm-light. His once-proud armor is now blackened, fused to his corpse, and inscribed with crawling sigils of Kyuss.  

Personality

In life, Raknian was brave, self-confident, and driven by an obsessive need to be admired. His ambitions were deeply selfish, and his cunning allowed him to keep his crimes buried beneath a veneer of legality and honor. He was a master manipulator, always two moves ahead—ensuring others took the fall when his schemes unraveled.   In undeath, that mask is gone. The ego remains, but it is fused now with divine wrath and the cold certainty of his purpose. He no longer fears death. He *is* death—embodied, armored, and mounted on nightmare.  

Relationships

Raknian’s most infamous relationship was with Lahana Smallcask, a beloved southern entertainer who became his consort for a time. When she spurned him for a younger champion named Vixus, calling him too old to satisfy her, Raknian murdered her in a jealous rage. Her disappearance was hushed up through bribes and threats, and Tymon quickly forgot her.   But Raknian did not.   Her death became the catalyst for his final descent—into darkness, into madness, and eventually into undeath.  

Background

  Twelve years ago, Loris Raknian stood at the pinnacle of fame. Once the greatest gladiator in Tymon’s history, he retired undefeated, parlaying his renown into power by seizing control of the Arena of Aroden. There, he forged the Champion’s Games into an annual spectacle of blood and glory that drew thousands. Behind closed doors, however, Raknian was withering. Age, irrelevance, and a gnawing fear of obscurity began to corrode his mind.   In his desperation, he turned to darker forces.   Through his alliance with Theldrick, a priest of the Ebon Triad, Raknian was introduced to a masked cultist known only as the Faceless One, a prophet of Kyuss, the Wormgod. The Faceless One offered him a path to immortality. Not in youth, but in undeath. Not as a savior, but as an instrument of divine decay.   All that was required was a sacrifice worthy of Kyuss.  

The Fall of Tymon (4725 AR)

During the tenth Champion’s Games, Raknian put the plan into motion. The arena's golden hero, Vixus, was ritually slain—his blood spilled before the roaring crowds. In that moment, prophecy stirred:  

"On the eve of the Age of Worms, A hero of the pit shall use his fame to gift a city to the dead."

  The prophecy was fulfilled.   Vixus rose as a Spawn of Kyuss. The Apostle of Kyuss emerged. Tymon erupted in chaos. The arena’s defenders fell. The adventuring group known as the Ruinlords was broken and scattered.   Raknian himself was reborn in the carnage, his soul bound to cursed gladiator armor. He became a Graveknight, mounted upon a nightmare conjured by Kyuss's will. He rode from the flaming wreckage of Tymon, crowned in prophecy.  

Rebirth of the Herald

Days later, Raknian returned to his shattered manor in Tymon. The city lay in ruin, its bones picked clean by wights. There, among the rubble of his former life, he stood waiting.   Reality folded, and the Faceless One arrived, stepping from a silent rift in space. What followed was not a reunion - it was an unraveling.   Raknian declared his independence. He was beyond the effects of the Faceless One's blood magic. The leash, he claimed, was broken. The power was his. He served death alone.   But the Faceless One reminded him of the truth: You no longer serve me. You serve Him. Kyuss Descimus. The Wormgod.   In an instant, Raknian was cast from his world—torn from reality and plunged into a realm of unraveling time and screaming stars. He stood before the god-worm Kyuss, whose voice shredded thought and memory:  

THERE IS NO CROWN AT THE END OF THIS PATH. YOU ARE NOT LORD. YOU ARE REMAINS.

Piece by piece, Raknian was unmade. His past, his pride, his identity, all devoured. Not by claws. By will. By hunger. By divine purpose. And when it was finished, he was no longer merely Loris Raknian.   He returned to his ruined manor, now hollowed out and silent. On his knees. Ash-draped. Eyes crawling with wormlike movement. Breath reeking of grave dust. When he spoke, it was with a voice not entirely his own.   From that moment forward, he became the Herald of Kyuss.  

Current Role

Now, Raknian rides once more—not as a gladiator or showman, but as the walking will of Kyuss. His armor smokes with undeath. His voice spreads prophecy. His blade spills blood not for sport, but for apotheosis.   Where he rides, cities fall silent.   He is not a servant.   He is not a master.   He is a vessel.   And soon, all will remember his name.