Centuries have passed since the first telling of his story, which is one of myth and legend passed down through the generations by song and tale. Even though this is an ancient proverb, it is still told among small  tribes of humans who live far from civilization, deep in the wilderness. This is a tale told to young children, teaching them about arrogance, humility and how to properly worship their divine creators. This tale of morality also illustrates the consequences of their actions. This tale is known as the legend of Xavour, the Plague Bringer. 

Long ago, a young half-orc boy was born to unfortunate circumstances—his human mother found herself at the mercy of an orc raider. Though she was battered and beaten, she remained proud, showing her people that she could overcome extreme adversity. A trait of her people. 

Several months later, she realized she was carrying a child. She was determined to keep it, even though it was the result of her unfortunate encounter. Ta'kambi was driven to raise her child into something wonderful, beautiful and strong. She would turn her tragedy into a blessing. Unfortunately, during the birth of her son, she suffered greatly, succumbing to the trauma, but not before naming her boy Zakambi. 

Now the orphan and outcast was to be cared for by his people, who would not dishonor their beliefs and abandon this child to the world. 

As Zakambi grew older, many of his people accepted him for who he was: a dedicated and caring individual. Others saw him as "a half breed," "a plague" or "a black blood." 

During his youth, the elders noticed his gift for healing and medicine, so they cultivated his talents, guiding him in the proper direction. Zakambi would continue his tutelage as apprentice to the tribe's shaman. For many years, he followed the teachings of his elders, learning the ways of their healing rituals. Soon, his apprenticeship ended and he ascended to become the tribe's shaman. A leader among his people. 

As the tribe's shaman, he was responsible for their rituals regarding the gods, healing and sacrifice and their season rituals and celebrations. 

Zakambi grew to prominence, garnering a level of worship among his people. Using the gifts bestowed upon him by their deities, he saved many lives and brought the tribe years of prosperity and good fortune. 

During one of their harvest festivals, his tribe began to pay homage to him rather than their deity. Their admiration of him instead of their gods caused Zakambi to become arrogant, lazy and wicked. His cruelty grew along with his arrogance, sacrificing those who "misspoke"' or questioned him—shrouding his anger and cruelty as "divine guidance" and the "will of the gods." 

One day, while performing a routine healing ritual upon one of the tribal elders, Zakambi's powers vanished and the elder died. this brought great shame upon him and caused his people to doubt his ability. His failed ritual was seen as a sign. He was no longer fit to lead his people. He was shunned, and later banished from his village. 

Orphaned yet again. 

Cast out, Zakambi made his way into the world beyond, forced to wander the dangerous lands surrounding his home. While wandering, Zakambi pleaded, prayed and begged for his powers to return. Yet there was no answer—no divine response. Only silence. 

Powerless, broken and disgraced, Zakambi blamed his people for turning him away. He also blamed his deity for abandoning him at such a crucial moment. Months would pass. His sorrow and despair turned into anger and rage, followed by madness and delusion. 

Zakambi whispered into the night, talking to himself—and something else. 

One night, while resting near a campfire on the open plains, he cried out in anguish, begging for someone to answer. Several hours passed. The quiet night and whispering discordant voices answered his cry for help. 

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. The cacophony of indecipherable words diminished, forming a singular voice. they spoke in a deep, raspy, malicious tone: 

"My son, now you can become what I meant you to be." 

The figure stepped into the dim light of the campfire, shrouded in a long cloak of shadow that clung to its form like waves of roiling  smoke. He sat beside Zakambi, and whispered into his ear, offering him a chance at redemption—revenge—and the means to reclaim what was stolen from him. The figure said, "I am Batara Kala. I am the one who made you." 

Starving, dehydrated and delusional, Zakambi was oblivious to who this figure actually was, thinking it was a figment of his broken mind. Regardless, Zakambi accepted the gifts, giving in to his hatred and anger. 

He rose the next morning with renewed physical and mental strength. His mind was clear. The fog of madness that plagued him had vanished. Yet something was gnawing at him. He decided to travel home to confront those who had cast him out so long ago. There was a hunger within him. However, he had no desire to eat.

His travels became a blur of emotional rage, fueled by his desire for retribution. The dark powers growing within became a driving force for destruction. Power and savageness drove him every passing day. With each act of violence, he only wanted to commit more atrocities.

The continued cycle of violence propelled a greater use of his new powers. It began to twist his spirit even further into an emotional abyss. As he grew dark and more aberrant, his physical form began to morph as well. Zakambi’s quest of vengeance caused his limbs to elongate, stretching both flesh and bone and his tolerance for pain. Razor sharp claws grew from his hands and feet. His skin became gray and scaled. His torso tore away from his body, and formed into wings of thick leathery f lesh—exposing his ribcage to the elements as a swarm of deadly insects exploded from within. The endless hunger for revenge enlarged his jaw and filled his mouth with large razor-sharp teeth.

Over time, this new power and his madness became all he knew. Eventually, he learned the ability to change into whatever form he desired.

Zakambi returned to his village, causing a great deal of panic among everyone. As they gathered around, questioning the purpose of his return, he unleashed the full fury of his new form upon them. He slaughtered everyone in a fit of rage, leaving a path of gore in his wake. In this act of violence, Zakambi became enthralled with the scent of blood and flesh, devouring both as he went from one soul to the next—drenching himself in the destruction of innocence. Those he did not consume were flayed, staked and left as sacrifices to his real father.

This display of horrific violence corrupted the ground for miles around. All life began to wither and fade. Trees rotted and petrified. Animals died or became abominations of their former selves. What did not flee changed with the land.

His old home was reclaimed. Revenge was his and his reign began. Zakambi threw off the shackles of his former life, calling himself Xavour. He may be an abomination, but he is no longer alone. The voice still speaks

Xavour's Lair

A wretched swamp teeming with undead and biting flies, Xavour's lair is centered near his ancestral home, not far from where his birth mother was buried. 

The region containing Xavour’s lair is steeped in evil and corrupts the life around it, creating the following effects:

Dead Land. No trees or other plants are alive within 10 miles of the lair, and any beast that can be found within this range is Undead. 

Muddy Terrain. The area within 5 miles of the lair is dense, thick mud and is Difficult Terrain. 

Plague of Nightmares. Any creature that takes a long Rest within 10 miles of the lair must succeed on a DC 18 Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the creature does not benefit from a long Rest, as their sleep is disrupted by horrific nightmares. 

If the dragon dies or moves its lair elsewhere, these effects the Muddy Terrain and Plague of Nightmares end. Only a Wish spell or similar magic can undo the Dead Land.