Ullrsar

Black wings tucked in tightly, he stands slightly apart from the others, just beyond the firelight, a tall and silent silhouette cast in obsidian lines. His cloak barely stirs, yet his presence radiates cold certainty like a blade sheathed in dusk. His pale eyes — blue like washed-out hydrangea blossoms — scan the surroundings — silent sentinels piercing through the darkness with otherworldly intensity. Once an Acolyte in a temple devoted to the God of Death, Ullrsar spent years contemplating the end of all things. But he grew impatient with passivity. He wanted to understand death, not worship it. One night, during a forbidden rite, Ullrsar touched a relic blade said to house a fragment of the Death God’s essence. It spoke back. It claimed him. Now, he is Death's chosen, his champion, his hand in the world. Ullrsar's daggers, his footsteps, his spells… all are gifts borrowed from the dark. He left the temple, not in exile, but in transformation. He is both blade and shadow now.