Malachar the Devourer

Malachar was once the most powerful chromatic dragon of his age, a red wyrm whose magical prowess was unmatched. But power was never enough for him. Obsessed with immortality and ultimate magical dominion, he delved into the darkest necromantic arts forbidden even among dragons. When his clan discovered his experiments with undeath, they sought to stop him. In response, Malachar slaughtered them all, using their souls to fuel the ritual that would transform him into something beyond dragon, beyond death itself—a draconic lich of incomprehensible power.

For three millennia, Malachar has terrorized the mortal realm from his fortress in the Shadowfell. He discovered that by consuming magical artifacts and the essence of powerful spellcasters, he could grow stronger still. Entire civilizations have fallen to his undead legions, their greatest magical treasures absorbed into his being, their most powerful mages reduced to phylacteries or worse—enslaved as death knights in his service. He has destroyed seventeen kingdoms, consumed the souls of over ten thousand mages, and corrupted three ancient artifacts of divine power.

What drives Malachar is not mere conquest or domination—it is hunger. An endless, gnawing hunger for magical energy that can never be satisfied. Each artifact he devours, each soul he consumes, only makes the hunger grow. His ultimate goal is to unravel the Weave itself, the fundamental fabric of magic, and consume it entirely. Such an act would plunge the world into eternal magical darkness, but it would finally, finally satisfy his craving. Or so he believes.

Yet beneath the malevolence and ancient evil, there exists a terrible loneliness. Malachar has lived so long that he remembers nothing of warmth, nothing of companionship. He destroyed everything he once valued in his pursuit of power. Heroes rise against him generation after generation, and each time he crushes them, adds their weapons to his hoard, their souls to his collection. He tells himself he feels nothing, but in the deepest recesses of his phylactery, something that was once a dragon sometimes wonders if eternal existence without purpose beyond consumption is truly immortality, or merely an elaborate prison of his own making.