CONSTRÜKT

Forged in a hollow cavern deep beneath the shattered cliffs of Grimspire, the first Constrükt was stitched from metal, spellwire, and spite. Her creator, Vilkrith Holloweye, a brilliant yet bitter Deep-Meesch arcanist, was cast out of Myrravale for her experiments in forbidden fear magic. In exile, she did not falter—she built.

Her creation was unlike any machine. It did not simply swing or burn.
It whispered. It watched. It knew.

They called her K'riveth, the First Wound.

She was made to terrify, not kill. A walking nightmare wrapped in charm and scarecrow robes, K’riveth could look into a mind and pull forth the deepest horror buried in it—then weave it into reality. Not illusion. Embodiment.

The Constrükts marched beside Netherin warbands, haunting the flanks of the battlefield. Their stitched mouths rarely opened, but when they did, the very earth chilled. Soldiers fled without being touched. Some Eldrin warriors went mad just seeing them on the horizon—visions of burning trees, loved ones crying in silence, skies raining their regrets.

Each Constrükt was built different, but all bore the same cruel gift:
to see the fear in all things… and become it.

But that gift was a curse in disguise.

K’riveth, after years of warfare, could no longer sleep—not because she wasn’t made to—but because she dreamed while awake.
The line between others' fear and her own broke.
She was cracking.

In a hidden cave, away from war, K’riveth meditated by mimicking an Eldrin ritual she once observed through the trees. She sat. She breathed. She held a glowing heartwire and whispered, “Show me peace.”

And for the first time… she saw it.

Though fear still clawed at her every moment, she had found a thread of stillness in the storm. She would pass this gift to other Constrükts she met, saying only:

“You are not the fear. You are the lantern.”

Now, Constrükts walk a twisted path—some still loyal to the Netherin, others lost in haunted meadows, whispering to crows.
A few seek Myrravale again, hoping to earn back what their kind once betrayed.

Even now, tales spread among travelers of a silent figure sitting under the moon, building tiny wind-chimes of spellwire and bone.

They say if you sit with her long enough, she will show you your worst fear.
But if you do not run—she will show you how to survive it.