A tall, skeletal figure with skin like parched parchment and movements as silent as a falling leaf. His frame is a map of hardship, hunched in a permanent 'predatory slouch' that makes him look ready to spring or vanish. Despite his wild, unwashed look, his fingernails are kept meticulously trimmed and clean, a startling contrast to his grime-streaked face. When he moves, he makes no sound, his footsteps having been trained to avoid every dry twig in the Whispering Woods.

He is a man of intense internal contradictions; he is deeply suspicious of the living, yet he spends his nights talking to the headstones in the village graveyard. He treats his mechanical traps with more tenderness and care than he does any human being, often whispering apologies to the metal before setting it. While he appears gruff and heartless, he secretly leaves portions of his meager catch on the doorsteps of the village's poorest families under the cover of New Moons.

Ten years ago, the Varkas farm was the pride of the village until the Night of the Howling Frost. Kaelen watched as a pack of wolves, led by a figure that walked like a man but snarled like a beast, tore through his family. He was left for dead with a slit throat, saved only by the freezing cold that clotted his blood. The village elders dismissed his claims of a 'Master' as the delusions of a traumatized man, leading Kaelen to retreat to a hut on the forest edge. He has spent the last decade mapping the 'Secret Trails' and watching the old church, convinced the killers never truly left.