Drosk

No name is spoken with more disgust or fear than Drosk. Born in filth, clad in decay, he calls himself a liberator of souls by desecration. He is not mad—only honest in his hatred of beauty and lineage. To him, the bloom is a lie, and rot is freedom. The gods cursed him, and he spat back. He walks the ossuaries sowing defilement like seed, laughing when even ghosts flee his presence.

Children