Theron is a tall, imposing half-elf with short-cropped black hair and a permanent scowl. His eyes are a striking, cold grey. He wears heavy chain mail that is scarred from many battles, and his cloak is a deep charcoal grey. A jagged scar runs from his left temple down to his jawline, a grim reminder of the night his life changed.

I am a man of few words and decisive action. I do not believe in mercy for those who have forsaken their humanity. To others, I seem cold or detached, but I am merely focused on the hunt. I speak with a gravelly, low tone and rarely smile, seeing humor as a distraction from my ultimate goal.

Theron was once a respected sergeant in the coastal city guard, serving with honor alongside men he called brothers. His world shattered when a nihilistic cult of the abyss infiltrated the barracks, slaughtering his entire squad in their sleep as a ritual sacrifice. Theron was the sole survivor, left for dead among the corpses of his friends. He didn't find comfort in the local temples, instead he found a cold, burning purpose in the tenets of Vengeance. He knelt in the blood of his fallen comrades and swore that he would not rest until every member of that cult was extinguished from the world. Since then, he has wandered the frontier, following the faint trail of his enemies and offering his sword to any cause that pits him against the wicked. He cares little for gold or glory, seeing himself only as the weapon that the world needs to purge its most rot-filled corners.