THE EIDOLFANE
LEGIONNIARE SHADOWBLADE
Corvin Tzelemor
of the Veil
Corvin remembers little of the man he was before death—fragments of a name, fleeting images of a life fading fast to time. Perhaps he had cared once, but those memories have long eroded, scattered like ashes upon a cold wind.
What he remembers, what he can never forget, is the bone-deep chill of mortality: the wet earth beneath him, the sharp sting of warm pumping blood pooling across his mangled body. Amidst the chaos of battle, as life fled from him like ink spilled in water, the air thickened with a dreadful stillness. Death itself reached for him, not as a faceless abyss, but as something tangible and alive.
From the void came the Dusksire, a phantom of curling green smoke, twisting and coiling like the grasping limbs of an ancient tree. It emerged from nothingness, smoke peeling away to reveal a face almost human. The spirit knelt above Corvin, its gaze piercing, not with pity but with something colder.... curiosity and purpose.
"I can save you, for a price."
Its words seeped into his consciousness despite the the veil of death rippling around him that had only been ripped harder with war and death. Shadows clung to the mortal plane, restless souls writhing in the carnage, but amidst them, the Dusksire had chosen him. Perhaps it sensed the strength within this dying man—the rare gift to walk both worlds, to traverse life and death without succumbing to fear or madness.
Desperate, broken, and bathed in the bitter light of twilight, Corvin reached for salvation. His trembling hand met the phantom's touch, binding himself to a fate he could never undo.
In that moment, the battlefield faded. Life flickered and flared once more within him, but Corvin was no longer the man who had fought for king and country. He rose anew, half-formed and caught between realms, his mismatched eyes—one glowing with the spark of life, the other darkened by the depths of death—a testament to the pact he had made and would uphold until his truly last breath.
LEGION SERVICE
From that day on, he saw the world through a fractured lens. The pact he'd made forged somewhere between life, death, and eternity. Over the course of the next century, he honed his skills, rising from a lost soul to a warrior worthy of legend.
His growth in the Legion was marked by grueling training drills, unyielding discipline, and battles that scarred him in both body and mind. But he never dropped his weapons, never asked for a breather, because he needed to prove all that he was to them.
He was worthy of the Shadowblade title.
Under the guidance of his Dusksire, Corvin grew into a formidable enforcer of the Legion's oaths and tenants. His sworn duty to handle the most dangerous of threats between the veil. Corrupted souls tormented and twisted by rage, necromancers who sought enslavement of innocent souls, and supernatural creatures that crawled their way into the mortal realm all fell by his hand. His two swords the gleaming
Lux Animas and the chthonic
Umbra Ferrum able to strike down all who opposed him or got in his way. But returning the wayward entities to the underworld was now his purpose. It was the only thing he has left.
VISAGE
Corvin stands as a man untethered from time itself, his body frozen at the peak of youth. Despite the weight and hardship of centuries, he retains the strength and sharpness of a keen mind, a testment to both vitality and his spectral curse.
His ashen-black hair falls in unruly strands, framing his visage of sunken cheeks and high, pronounced cheekbones. His pale, near bloodless skin, drinks in the daylight and nearly glows in the shadows. As if he were the walking dead itself.
He could easily be mistaken for a risen corpse, perhaps a fate worse than death itself to some. Yet Corvin is anything but decay. Beneath his haunting façade lies a warrior of unmatched skill, bravery, and loyalty to his forsaken order. Broad of shoulder, sinewy, and honed throughout centuries of battle, he stands tall despite the chains that try to bind him down. The scars he carries from claws and teeth to steel, are not marks of failure but reminders of his victory.
Eyes, a mismatched heterochromia, reflect his duality. The blue of his
Oculus Vivens, his original human eye, shines with the essence of life. Its gaze can detect invisible threads binding the living to the dead. Through it, he can not only sense the living emotions tied to death but any interference or trace of spiritual activity left behind. The purple of his
Oculus Mortis, imbued with the power of the veil, sees into the world of the dead. With this spectral glowing eye, he can cross into shadowed realms few dare to tread, able to see clearly the tormented spirits that require recapture. Together these hard earned eyes give him dual sight, a great gift born from terrible hardship within the Legion's survivors.
For one so close to death itself and a man between worlds, Corvin is fiercely alive, ready to claim his next prize.
Unus Iuramentum, Multae Viae!
One oath, many paths.
