Zareth Velkhar
The forest whispered his name. Not loudly, not humanly—but with a coldness that made even the mist tremble. Among the gnarled trees, where no light ever touched the ground, a figure moved as silently as shadow itself. Zareth Velkhar, the Black of the Deep, the elf who had no people left. His sword, Shadowcall, rested loosely in his hand, the blade drinking the pale moonlight like blood. Every step was calculated, every breath silent—for in the darkness of this forest, he was both hunter and judge. Some said the forest belonged to him. Others claimed he was the forest—intertwined with its curse, cursed with its power. Those who ventured too far into these depths rarely returned. For Zareth Velkhar did not forgive. He did not hunt out of hunger. Not out of hatred. He hunted because the darkness craved blood—and he was its blade.
About Zareth Velkhar
The forest whispered his name. Not loudly, not humanly—but with a coldness that made even the mist tremble. Among the gnarled trees, where no light ever touched the ground, a figure moved as silently as shadow itself. Zareth Velkhar, the Black of the Deep, the elf who had no people left. His sword, Shadowcall, rested loosely in his hand, the b...Read more