Vyrmar

Vyrmar is a Dragonborn Aasimar sorcerer with black scales and a gaze split between one red eye and one dark purple eye. Dark grey wings emerge from his back, while a corrupted angelic black halo hangs above his horns. He worships Cthulhu, following forbidden whispers toward the deep.

Vyrmar remembers his parents in fragments: his mother’s hand closing around his, his father shouting a name he cannot recall, and the cold blue light that filled the room when four masked figures entered. Their faces were hidden behind smooth, expressionless masks. One carried a narrow blade. Another spoke in a language that made Vyrmar’s teeth ache. By the time he understood that his parents were dead, the figures had bound him and carried him into the night.

They loaded him into the back of a black carriage and drove beneath a moonless sky. Vyrmar remembers the smell of wet leather, the rattle of iron-rimmed wheels, and one masked figure whispering that “the blood must reach the water.” When the carriage slowed along a forest road, he tore free, threw himself from the rear, and struck the ground hard enough to lose his breath. He ran until his feet bled, keeping to the trees while torchlight moved between the trunks behind him. At dawn, he stumbled into a small lakeside town and collapsed beside its reeking fish market.

A young woman found him there and carried him to the local orphanage, where he has remained ever since. No one came searching. No message followed. As the years passed, Vyrmar’s memories grew less reliable, replaced by dreams of black water, distant bells, and something vast turning beneath the lake. Whispers sometimes rise from the depths when he sleeps, speaking of the masked figures and the blood they carried away. Vyrmar does not know whether they are memories, prophecies, or the voice of the power he now worships in the dark: Cthulhu.