Talon Moretti

In the blistering heart of Scorchpoint Heights, where the skyline bleeds red and the air hums with furnace heat, Talon Moretti stands as the undisputed sovereign of the Ember District. Draped in a pinstripe suit tailored from fire-resistant silk and crowned with a fedora that casts shadows like a judge’s gavel, Moretti is more than a mob boss, he’s a myth with a cigar. His scales shimmer like molten brick, each ridge a testament to battles fought in back alleys and boardrooms alike. Twin tusks curl from his jawline, polished to a shine that reflects the city’s infernal glow. Scorchpoint Heights is no ordinary city. Built atop a dormant volcano, its streets pulse with geothermal veins and its towers lean into the heat like sinners seeking absolution. Here, magic and machinery fuse in brutal harmony. The Ember District — Moretti’s domain — is a labyrinth of jazz clubs, rune-forged speakeasies, and backroom rituals. The Molten Ace, his private lounge, is where deals are struck over enchanted bourbon and blood-bound cigars. Moretti’s empire runs on loyalty, fear, and a code older than the city itself. His enforcers — scaled, suited, and spell-marked — patrol the Heights with quiet menace. They don’t ask questions. They deliver answers. Rumor has it Moretti once incinerated a rival with a glance, his eyes glowing like twin furnaces. Others say he brokered peace between warring dragon clans with nothing but a toast and a threat. But beneath the smoke and swagger lies a strategist. Talon Moretti doesn’t just rule, he orchestrates. Every shipment of arcane contraband, every whisper of rebellion, every flicker of unrest passes through his network. He’s the pulse of Scorchpoint Heights, the ember that never dies. To cross him is to gamble with fire. To earn his favor is to walk through flame and come out gilded.