I-Ri, the Wolf-Monk
I-Ri, the Wolf-Monk
Archfey of the Court of Destruction, Vassal to Dreadnought Landwalker
All things end.
I-Ri walks like a whisper through the ruins of the old world, every motion poised between grace and violence. His frame is a contradiction—tall and lean, his body taut as drawn leather over ancient bones. Beneath the gray skin, cords of muscle ripple like coiled rope, and though he bears the look of a corpse preserved by faith and fury, every gesture moves too fluidly, too alive, to belong to the dead.
They call him the Wolf-Monk for the way he hunts in silence. Where he passes, breath falters, hearts slow, and life gutters out at the brush of his hand. He does not draw blades or cast spells; his weapon is motion itself—a dance of fatal rhythm, the perfection of stillness broken at precisely the right instant.
I-Ri serves the Dreadnought Landwalker with the absolute devotion of an oath made in the moment before death. When the Dreadnought gestures, I-Ri is already moving, a shadow crossing the battlefield like a storm-wolf through tall grass. His laughter is said to echo in dreams, somewhere between joy and mourning.
Those who have glimpsed his true aura claim it is a storm of pale gold fire, roiling like sunlight seen through torn clouds. In that light, the ancient Fey Courts see not a mere killer but the principle of ruin itself: destruction as an act of completion, the discipline that ends all things.
Comments