Witnesses (in legend) describe that you never see Maborak approach. One moment, the forest is still. The next, the space between two distant pines seems to fold inward, like a piece of cloth creasing. In that crease, there is a shape—tall, thin, and impossibly dark, as if it is a hole cut out of reality rather than a creature standing in it.
There are names that roll off the tongue with a sense of ancient power, and then there are names that feel like a held breath. Maborak belongs firmly in the latter category. maborak
Just whisper, “Maborak.”