The Dark Skald
In the black corners of the world, where light dies and the wind carries whispers of things long buried, the Dark Skald walks.
No one knows where he came from. Some say he was once a man who dared listen too closely to the voices of the dead — others whisper he was never truly human at all. It is rumored that beneath his tattered cloak, he hides a skull where his head once was, the hollow sockets glowing with a dim, unnatural orange light. His eyes burn like dying embers, twin beacons in the endless dark.
Some believe The Dark Skald is cursed to carry the weight of every unspeakable story never told. Others fear he is the harbinger of something far worse — that through his tales, he feeds the slumbering things beneath the earth, awakening them one by one.
To hear him speak is to risk never sleeping soundly again.
For the Dark Skald does not merely tell ghost stories.
He collects souls.