Morvane

Morvane moves through the world like a verdict already passed. He appears without warning in places long abandoned—fallen sanctums, frozen halls, sealed gates—and walks them as if memory itself yields before him. His presence carries a cold gravity that strips certainty from even the most seasoned heroes.

Unlike conquerors or tyrants, Morvane does not seek dominion. He measures. Each strike is deliberate, each encounter restrained, as though guided by a doctrine older than the conflicts he interrupts. The blue flame bound to his armor does not rage; it consumes resolve, leaving survivors shaken not by pain, but by the realization of how close they came to failing an unseen judgment.

No record agrees on what Morvane truly is, only on what follows him. Battles end unfinished. Victories feel provisional. And when his name is spoken—quietly, without embellishment—even heroes remember fear.