Lord Kroak

Kroak was among the first slann the Old Ones ever spawned, and he may be the only mind left in existence that received the Great Plan from its authors directly. He was already ancient when he died: long before the Mortal Realms were born, in a doomed world, holding back a tide of daemons so that others could carry the Plan to safety. The death was heroic, final, and, as far as Kroak was concerned, an administrative inconvenience.

What drifts above the Seraphon hosts today is a relic: a desiccated, gold-masked husk folded upon a floating palanquin, tended by generations of skink priests who speak to it as though it merely sleeps. It does not sleep. The will inside that shell proved too vast and too stubborn for death to digest, and when it turns its attention to a battlefield, constellations shift. Kroak's wrath is the wrath of a patient star: he unmakes whole armies with the same annihilating light that once defended the first of all cities, and feels nothing in doing so that could honestly be called anger.

Among the slann he is dread and scripture in one. His memory of the Great Plan is the most complete that exists, and even his is fraying, re-dreamed across so many ages that not even Kroak can say where recollection ends and longing begins. That is the quiet terror the Seraphon never speak aloud: that the surest map of creation's purpose lives in the dream of a dead mage, and that he keeps working because the alternative (that the Plan died with its makers) is the one defeat he refuses to acknowledge.