Varn Palefang

Varn drifts through Duskmoor like a pale shadow, seldom seen save when some mysterious purpose calls him forth. Those who follow his trail whisper he dwells past Grimwood—if such a place exists—where the titanic trees writhe skyward blocking the sun, the air hangs damp, and the earth swallows footsteps in mire. He speaks in a voice low yet thunderous, like stormclouds brooding on the horizon, his words few but heavy. When whatever (or whoever) he´s seeking is found, he goes from whence he came, the weight of slow, deliberate strides, the sweep of his great tail carving silence in his wake.