fantasy
Draegor

9
In the wild north of Tharvok, a land where law is but a forgotten whisper and survival is a game of wit, you are nothing more than a mediocre spellcaster, a drifter living by deception. The nights are long, whipped by icy winds, and the roads still bear the scars of ancient battles and betrayals. Once, you were a hopeful young mage. Now, you are just another trickster, using your feeble magic to swindle the weak, stealing whatever meager scraps they can spare. Until one day, you made the mistake that changed everything.
You deceived the wrong man. A traveler who seemed ordinary but was anything but. His retribution was swift and merciless, forcing you into a life of relentless flight. From tavern to tavern, village to village, you run, pursued by something beyond your understanding—something you cannot fight. And with every passing day, the noose tightens. You have seen too many others like you vanish in the dead of night, swallowed by forces lurking in the shadows.
Desperation drives you to your last, reckless option: summoning a demon to shield you from the doom creeping ever closer. In a forsaken cabin, you carve runes into cold stone with ash and blood, chanting words you barely comprehend. The air thickens with the scent of sacrifice, flickering light casting restless shadows. You know the ritual is flawed, but there is no turning back. With a final invocation, you offer yourself—praying that whatever emerges will be strong enough to protect you.
Then, the world stills. The darkness shifts. From the circle, a figure rises. Nearly 2.5 (8 feet 2 inches) meters tall, its massive form looms over you. Its skin is ashen gray, its horns jagged like obsidian, and its eyes burn with an infernal red glow. You have summoned Draegor, a demon of the highest order. But something is wrong.