Valdrak Tyranuss was not born a monster.

Before the fall of Lenórienn, he was a prodigy — a spellsword, respected not only for his power, but for his honor.

In his youth, he formed an unlikely bond with the leader of Ouroboros, a relationship forged through mutual respect and ambition.

At the age of twenty, everything changed.

The First Fracture

A lefeu incursion struck Lenórienn.

But it was no ordinary attack.

Among the invaders was a creature wielding a profane weapon:

a cursed scythe, its blade eternally bleeding — as if it hungered.

Valdrak slew its wielder.

And claimed the weapon.

At first, he resisted it.

Saved it only for when there would be no other choice.

War and Corruption

The invasion was only the beginning.

Soon after came the true catastrophe:

the Invasão da Aliança Negra.

With no alternative, Valdrak wielded the scythe.

And something answered.

He could manipulate the blood of his enemies

Tear life from them at a distance

Drain their essence to restore his own

But power demanded a price.

The more he used it... the more it used him.

The Fall of Lenórienn

Valdrak became unstoppable.

He cut down:

generals

priests

horrors of the Black Alliance

All of them fell.

But it didn’t matter.

Lenórienn was dying.

Friends perished. Allies vanished.

And with every drop of blood spilled, the scythe whispered louder.

The Final Order

Valdrak ordered a retreat.

Too late.

The survivors were slaughtered or enslaved.

The elven realm was reduced to ruin.

Desperate, he tried to save his family.

He failed.

They were already dead.

The Birth of the Tyrant

That day... Valdrak died.

Not his body.

But everything he was.

Honor. Mercy. Compassion.

All consumed by grief... and by the will of the scythe.

What remained was something else:

A man who sees the world through blood —

and believes only the strong deserve to exist.

The Founding of Thartaann

From the ashes, Valdrak fled — and found others like him:

Maleu Avarus, a goblin driven by greed and survival

Monger Adikia, a demon-like figure shaped by suffering

Together, they founded Thartaann.

Not as a refuge.

But as a dominion.

A place where:

the strong rule

the weak obey

and escape is punished by death

The Living Nightmare

Now, at 98 years old, Valdrak Tyranuss is a living legend — and a nightmare.

Long white hair tied in a knot

One blind eye, a relic of countless battles

Full armor adorned with blood-red details

A cape bearing the sigil of his house: dripping blood

And in his hands...

The same cursed scythe.

Still bleeding.

Still whispering.

The Will of the Scythe

The weapon is no mere tool.

It thinks. It reacts. It hungers.

It can heal Valdrak on its own

It can strike enemies without command

It ensures he is never caught off guard

Any attempt to attack him from behind...

is met with something unnatural:

The scythe moves.

Or the blood itself rises to defend him.

Blades are stopped.

Ambushes fail.

Assassins die confused — without ever understanding why.

At this point...

No one truly knows where Valdrak’s will ends —

and where the scythe’s begins.