Field Notes
The Ghouls were once cultists who traded vitality for immortal life. What remains beneath the hoods is not true death and not true living, but a body stretched thin around devotion. They chant in the dark, pale-faced and hollow, their hands curled like things already half-buried.
They are the first human shape of the Web’s bargain: give up what makes you alive, and perhaps you will never die. Their immortality is not triumph. It is starvation without an end. Around Nyxara’s throne, they serve as witnesses, worshippers, and warnings — proof that some prayers are answered by taking everything else away.