Usut

The knight stood before Usut and drew his sword. Holy fire engulfed the blade.

Usut shifted upon his pyre of bones, and a cascade of skeletal remains slid down its slopes with a clatter. He lowered his head and peered at the knight. “And what do you expect to do with that?” His deep voice reverberated through the cave. A giant skull tumbled down the pyre.

The knight lifted the visor of his helm. “I will strike you down and send you back to the grave where you belong.”

Usut's laughter was thunderous. “That would be a clever trick.” He flexed his claws. More bones clattered. “You cannot kill the undying.”

“My holy fire will purge your unclean body and save your soul.” The knight started up the pyre, the flames of his sword flaring brighter.

“And now, I'm bored.”

Usut opened his maw, bared his teeth, and breathed flames of violet. The flames engulfed the knight. His plate armor melted. Flesh sloughed from bone. The witless little man was dead before he knew it.

The Undying yawned, turned in a circle, and lay down, his tail tucked around himself. He was asleep before the knight's remains had stopped boiling. He has been known by many names: Eater of Death, Lord of Ruin, The Pestilent. Usut is all these things, but more than anything else, he is the Undying. Only those that have lived with death and walked its halls can truly know the joys of life. Usut knows this all too well… so who better to torment and persecute the living.

Three hundred years dead, Usut was made revenant by the Lord of Darkness himself. Lagfael found the red dragon's corpse on a mound of bones and treasure in his lair within the Black Glacier on Mortis, preserved within a frozen tomb of ice. There was something about the dragon that pleased him, so he breathed an ancient spell, and life once again found purchase in the great drake.

Usut now soars the skies of the Splinterlands. His haunting cries are a proclamation to all: death is coming, and it is only a matter of time until it finds you. He is Lagfael's personal reaper and a creature that fears nothing. It is said that to look upon his terrifying visage is to welcome death into your heart. There are records of those brave enough, or foolish enough, to seek to slay the Undying. Their bones lay with all the rest, scattered across Usut's pyre of death. Never before has the undead become such a living nightmare.