The Dark Queen – Maltheris
Long before men tamed fire or gave names to rivers, Maltheris ruled the world beneath a crown of shadow.
Her beauty is a cruel deception — a figure wrapped in flowing black veils that ripple like smoke, a face half-shrouded in sorrow and hunger. Her eyes are empty voids, not black, but the color of a night without stars. When she speaks, the air freezes; when she moves, the land withers.
Around her, life recoils — grass curls to ash, beasts fall silent, the sun dims.
Her power is not rage; it is inevitability.
She does not conquer by sword, but by making hope itself decay.
Where Maltheris walks, kingdoms crumble not from battle... but from despair.
"The Butcher of Blackstone Peaks" (Jason) – The Endless Pursuer
Jason was once a man — perhaps a warrior, perhaps a victim — but no trace of humanity remains.
He is a relentless figure of steel and shadow, a knight whose armor is cracked and rusted, yet whose movements are impossibly swift and sure. His weapon, a massive cleaver-axe, drips not with blood, but with the memories of those he has ended.
Jason does not speak. He does not bargain.
He hunts, inexorably, unstoppably, until all warmth and light have fled.
Children are told tales of the Treader in Chains — a name whispered to frighten them into obedience.
But the truth is worse: Jason needs no chain.
He is bound only by the endless hunger to chase and end all who defy the Queen.
Ashenblade – Warden of Fallen Hopes
Ashenblade was once Velin Esthra, a proud King of the First Tribe of Elves in Eldoria, whose heart burned too fiercely for his own salvation, falling prey to the Dark Queens tricks.
Now, he is a living weapon — his body clad in blackened armor fused with jagged bone and ancient metal, his blade a thing that leaks ash and whispers. His voice is a hollow sound, more felt in the bones than heard in the ear.
He does not kill for pleasure.
He kills to erase memory — to ensure that no one remembers a time before the Dark Queen ruled.
Those who face Ashenblade find not only their bodies shattered, but their dreams, their histories, their very names turned to ash on the wind, for he takes great pleasure in not killing but shattering souls of those that challenge his power.
Where he walks, no grass grows, no birds sing, and even the stones crack from the weight of his passing.