Darakhul
In the forgotten corners of Aigusyl, where The Shadowfell's influence seeps into the earth and death is more a transformation than an end, there rise the Darakhul—undead beings not created by necromantic ritual, but born from death itself in places where the light of life cannot reach. To die in the Shadowfell is to risk rising again, not as oneself, but as something hungering, clever, and damned.
The Darakhul are cursed with unrelenting sapience. They remember who they were, but that identity lies beneath a gnawing hunger for flesh and vitality. Unlike mindless undead, Darakhul retain their intelligence, skills, and personality—twisted by the all-consuming need to devour the living. They are neither zombies nor ghouls, but something in between—a perfect balance of awareness and predation.
The species most susceptible to this transformation are those whose blood already dances with shadow—Shadow Goblins, Shadowborn Bearfolk, and other denizens touched by the gloom. When such a creature dies in the Shadowfell or its borderlands, the soul often fails to move on. Instead, it clings to the flesh and reforms the body into something new: pale-skinned or ashen, with sunken eyes that gleam with hunger, and long, clawed fingers better suited to tearing than grasping.
Darakhul form grim communities beneath the surface of the world, often within the Shadowfell or deep within necrotic-tinged ruins. These “feast-courts” operate like twisted mockeries of mortal civilizations, where hierarchy is determined by strength, cunning, and how long one has resisted the call to feast on their own kin. Some Darakhul reject their monstrous cravings, seeking forbidden magic, pacts, or relics to keep their hunger at bay. Others embrace their state as a superior form—immortal, unyielding, and feared.
Despite their monstrous nature, not all Darakhul are evil. A rare few walk among the living, concealing their nature behind veils, magic, or layers of clothing, feeding on the flesh of the dead or finding substitutes to stave off madness. Such individuals often become scholars of undeath, secret agents of necromantic powers, or silent guardians of the grave—bound by guilt, hunger, and a desire for redemption they may never achieve.
To meet a Darakhul is to feel a chill in the bones, a pull in the soul. For in them, one sees the shadow of what any mortal could become—a being caught between death and life, craving what it can no longer truly possess.