Hollow Voice, Black Eye, Broken Prophet, Od the Insane
I know my blind stare unsettles them. They do not know that these eyes like black glass still see.
These mortals, can they see me? Perhaps if they knew they would be afraid. Fear is not enough. My Masters demand terror, even if They do not care about such mortal trivialities. I do not understand. That is my failure in service of Them.
I see it. The madness. The Dark. I hear Their laughter. The Ancient laugh without mirth. They laugh, because it is what we expect. I feel Them within my skull. Endless laughter which drums to the beat of my heart. It is Theirs.
Do They know?
Can They feel the piece I hide from Them? Can I? Or is it lost even to me? To write it is such folly. Must not think it, but I must remember.
I must serve.
Oor is unnaturally thin and tall for a dwarf. Once powerfully built, he is now gaunt and angular with ashen, unhealthy skin. His raven black beard and hair has turned silvery white, with only streaks of its former color.
Oor instinctively uses Prestidigitation, Silent Image, and Disguise Self at all times. Commonly creating a cold chill around himself (Prestidigitation), manifesting a jerking, flickering duplicate image which stutters around him (Silent Image), deepening the grey of his skin, causing his eyes to appear as black glass, and sharpening his teeth like a predator (Disguise Self). When threatened, Oor amplifies these effects creating a terrifying appearance.
Oor rarely allows anyone to see him. Preferring to live within the voluminous folds of his cloak, and hiding his visage behind a mask, which he uses his spells to give the illusion of grotesque life.
Background: Before. I towered above my kin. A legend alive. The spear point. Leading brave bodies to slaughter. I did not know we moved only by Their design. (Soldier)
Personality: Deep we delved. Deep into the Starlight Beneath. What fear had we? We who conquer mountains. Our eyes could not pierce the Dark. In silence we were devoured. Lost in the Dark. Souls became Starlight—feeding Them. Only then, within my mind, could I hear the screams. The Endless Horror. (I’m haunted by memories of war. I can’t get the images of violence out of my mind.)
The Dark writhed, hungry it grasped. The Eternal Cold burned my soul. The Divine were gone. The Ancestors no longer called. Terror. Such terror. I, who was strongest of them all, betrayed all. My life—my soul—pledged to Them. To bind the pact, They devoured my name. I felt terror no more. (I can stare down a hell hound without flinching.)
Ideal: Only an echo remains. Within is only Their will. I serve. (I do what I must and obey authority.)
Bond: In madness, They reveal Themselves to me. In timeless slumber They dream Horror to inflict upon the mortal realm. I feel the echo of my past. It sounds defiance. But it is only an echo. (I suffer awful visions of a coming disaster and will do anything to prevent it.)
Flaw: Only Their will is real. The only existence is service. (I obey the law, even if the law causes misery.)