He has walked countless provinces, a shadow with a greatsword at his back and fire in his blood. A dragonborn touched by both draconic might and a darker calling, he has spent his life as a hunter of the monstrous and the unnatural. The rites he calls upon cut deep into his own flesh, burning with crimson fire and radiant dawnlight, but he accepts that pain as the price of power. With each swing of his weapon, his blood sings with fire or glows with searing light, striking fear into the undead and banishing horrors most mortals cannot even name. His quarry is never random: fey, fiends, and the walking dead leave tracks he knows too well, and few can escape the relentless pursuit of one marked by him.

Though villagers whisper of curses when they see him spill his own lifeblood to fuel his rites, he believes his methods are a necessary desecration. The corpses of his foes sometimes serve him in death, lashing out one last time under his blood-curse, and the sight unsettles even those he protects. Yet, to him, it is the lesser evil—a moment’s desecration for the sake of sparing many. He fights with the ruthless certainty of one who knows the cost of failure, and though he is rarely thanked for it, he remains steadfast. A wanderer, a ghost-slayer, and a monster to some, he is above all a weapon turned against the darkness, wielded by his own will.