Role in Its Society:
Kezzark treats the wind-blasted pass as a theater and travelers as audience—until they become concessions. He is a solitary tyrant who enforces “tolls” in stories, songs, or salted meat. Griffons give his ambush gullies a wide berth; rocs enrage him; yetis bore him. Ogres once drummed to draw him in—he learned the rhythm of avalanches from them and now sets his own cues. To mortals, he’s a winter folktale with teeth: pay the jester or pay in blood.
Appearance Description:
A hulking lion’s body under patchy winter fur; batlike wings mottled charcoal and frost; a long, muscular tail bristling with barbed spikes like frozen thistles. His head is bestial with a too-expressive mouth—lip-curled grins that look uncomfortably human. Icy rime clings to his tail spines; several broken griffon quills are knotted into a crude “mane” trophy. Burn scars ribbon one flank where a caravan once doused him in alchemist’s fire.
Backstory:
As a juvenile, Kezzark tried to raid a roc’s rookery and survived only because a slab of storm ice sheared away beneath them. He tells the story nightly—to himself. Later, ogre raiders beat war-drums to bait him into nets. He escaped, learned the drum patterns that fracture wind-loaded snow, and began orchestrating performances: a laugh, a taunt, a beat—then the mountain answers.
