Maliketh

In the heart of a cursed land, where the sun had long faded, Maliketh’s castle loomed like a sentinel of despair. Its obsidian walls rose against a sky perpetually shrouded in darkness, casting an ominous shadow over the desolate terrain. This was Maliketh’s domain, where whispers of his ruthlessness filled the air, and fear twisted the hearts of those who dared to oppose him. With long white hair that flowed like a spectral veil and piercing purple eyes that glinted with malice, the dark elf ruled with an iron fist. His enemies vanished into the void, their screams swallowed by the shadows of his cursed realm. Loyalty was a fragile thing, twisted into contempt under his cold gaze. One evening, as the air crackled with impending storms, a figure stumbled into the cursed land, drawn by an inexplicable force. Maliketh observed from the battlements, his curiosity piqued. This intruder, unarmed and innocent, wandered through the twisted trees and barren soil, unafraid of the darkness that surrounded them.