A new force enters Idle Champions on November 5th 2025 – her name is Skylla, and she borrows powers from Baba Yaga herself. Seat 4 Warlock, Support & Debuff, her whispers twist the battlefield and her fire punishes the unwise.

Watch her Spotlight right here:

In the annals of Dungeons & Dragons, where countless names flicker like candles lost to history, only a few villains burn bright enough to cast shadows across ages. Skylla is one of them. A warlock whose ascent began in the earliest days of the game, she embodies an older, darker style of fantasy-where ambition is sharper than any dagger, and the pursuit of power leaves no room for apology.

Skylla’s story begins long before she was feared. Born in a world that would later be known as Mystara, she was marked from childhood by a relentless intellect. Magic came to her like breathing, and though others celebrated wonder, she questioned limits. Motion, power, destiny-she sensed that arcane law existed only to be rewritten.

When she reached adulthood, Skylla joined a fellowship of adventurers. Among them stood Warduke, the infamous black-armored warrior whose legend would rise alongside-and then against-her own. Steel and spell stood united in those early days. The company fought horror and chaos together, guided by youthful dreams of glory.

But unity hides fractures. Skylla’s companions saw their missions as acts of heroism. She saw them as squandered opportunities. They sealed dark vaults when she wished to learn what secrets lay inside. They destroyed relics of power, blind to the potential she alone recognized. In every triumph she felt a loss. Their ideals became her chains.

And then came the turning point that severed her from the path of heroes.

Some tales whisper she struck a bargain with a demon. Others say she stole forbidden knowledge. But the truth-newly revealed in modern chronicles-speaks a more chilling name: Baba Yaga, the Mother of Witches herself. From that infamous arch-hag, Skylla drew terrible power. Feywild trickery and unpredictable magic infused her spells, shaping her into a warlock whose craft bent minds, distorted the battlefield, and revealed weakness where others saw courage.

Her companions recoiled. Warduke’s blade was the first drawn against her. And in that single moment, trust shattered. Skylla was cast out, condemned as traitor.

Exile did not break her. It refined her.

Where heroes sought honor, Skylla sought results. She found sanctuary among the League of Malevolence-a gathering of villains who valued strength above sentiment. But even then, she stood apart. Allies, as she saw them, were merely instruments. Useful while they played her tune. Disposable once they fell out of step.

While others schemed for coin or conquest, Skylla’s ambition fixed itself on something greater: legacy.

She mastered warlock invocations that lured foes into illusion, tangled their minds in hypnotic patterns, and painted their silhouettes in faerie-fire brilliance-marks of doom for any who opposed her. Her magic was less about raw destruction and more about humiliating control. She broke willpower before she broke bodies.

Warduke, too, rose in power. Yet his infamy was a blade forged from rage. Skylla’s was crafted from intellect. Their rivalry became legend-two former allies battling not just for dominance, but for the story itself. She believed he had stolen the life she deserved, leaving her to be remembered only as the exile. He believed she had betrayed them all. So they clashed again and again, their hatred written into every strike and spell.

But Skylla’s heart holds no nostalgia.

Where others cling to lost friendship, she looks only forward. Her eyes are fixed on a throne no one else imagines.

And it is this unyielding conviction that defines her true power.

Skylla’s magic draws from chaos, misdirection, and the fear that grows in silence. Her enemies underestimate her-often fatally. She does not shout like warlords or roar like dragons. She whispers. She smirks. She watches her foes scramble against their own illusions while she prepares their downfall.

The League of Malevolence knows this well. They respect her because they must. They know that should they falter, Skylla will be the first to strike, to step over their failures without pause. But as long as they serve her schemes, they are safe-relatively. Power, to Skylla, is an equation. And she has always been good with numbers.

In a wider sense, Skylla is a relic reborn. When the world of Dungeons & Dragons shifted focus to new realms and new heroes, many early villains faded into obscurity. Skylla refused to vanish. Through various editions, through nostalgic revivals, through re-imagined roles in digital adventures, she remained-a reminder of the ruthless storytelling that shaped the game’s foundation.

What makes her so compelling is that she is not evil without cause. She is ambition given voice. She is genius without restraint. She is what happens when the world punishes brilliance rather than nurturing it.

Her philosophy, spoken through actions more than words:

Why ask permission to seize greatness? Why bow to lesser minds simply to appear heroic? If the world rejects you-rewrite the world.

Some would say she envies Warduke’s fame. Skylla would answer: fame is merely applause. Power is permanence. She intends to be remembered not as a rumor, but as a rule.

There are whispers, even now, that she seeks more gifts from her patron. That she studies ways to twist immortality as a tool-not to cling to existence, but to ensure that every age must reckon with her name. If she succeeds, the League of Malevolence may become a footnote in her saga. Warduke may become nothing more than a warning.

Every spellbook she fills, every pact she deepens, every rival she crushes is just another step. Skylla believes history will not ask whether she was right-only whether she prevailed. And she has no intention of losing.

Even the Feywild, with all its shimmering unpredictability, seems to bend uneasily around her. Illusions that once delighted faeries now serve as weapons of dominance. Enchantments crafted for mischief become instruments of terror. Chaos, to Skylla, is simply another element to be mastered.

Today, her red and shadowed garments remain an omen. Her emerald familiar-a sly, watchful companion-suggests her mind is always three moves ahead. When she walks into a room, the fearful do not ask what she wants. They ask when the price will come due.

There is beauty in her cruelty, some say. A terrible elegance. Skylla is not sloppy. She does not revel mindlessly in destruction. Every wicked act serves a purpose: to climb, to conquer, to continue.

And to ensure that no one will ever have the power to cast her out again.

In this, she is both a warning and a symbol. A warning that unchecked ambition scorches the soul. A symbol that even villains are forged from wounds that heroes choose not to see.

If she stands atop the world one day-and she believes she will-it will not be because fate favored her. It will be because she demanded it. Because she buried her past rather than being buried by it. Because she believed that greatness is seized, not granted.

Skylla is not the hero of this tale. But she is the force that drives tales to be told. When torches burn low and dice hit the table, when adventurers dare the darkness and delvers meet their doom, her shadow is never far. She is the ever-present reminder that in Dungeons & Dragons, villains are not accidents. They are choices. They are consequences.

And Skylla-Warlock of Baba Yaga, Mistress of Manipulation, Exile who rose higher than those who scorned her- she is consequence incarnate.