Valthus is a man of striking, almost surgical precision. His skin is the color of bleached vellum, stretched tight over a sharp, aristocratic bone structure. He moves with a slow, measured grace, as if calculating the energy cost of every step. His presence is a sensory contradiction: the sharp, clinical sting of formaldehyde immediately softened by a heavy, expensive cloud of dried lavender. Most unsettling are his hands, which are unusually long-fingered and always encased in spotless, white silk gloves that never seem to pick up a single speck of dust or drop of blood.

Valthus views the world through a lens of extreme pragmatism. He is polite to a fault, treating both a grieving widow and a mindless skeleton with the same cool, professional courtesy. He possesses an internal tension between his genuine appreciation for high culture and his utter desensitization to the macabre. He is generous with his professional advice to those who respect the 'logic' of death, but he becomes icy and litigious with those who treat necromancy as a moral failing rather than a waste-management solution.

An honors graduate of the Ank Moran University of Wizards, Valthus found the academic life too detached from the 'resource reality' of the city. He established his practice near the Great Mausoleum, branding necromancy as 'The Post-Mortem Labor Industry.' His life changed during the Great Plaguing of Ank Moran, where he saw the city nearly collapse because there weren't enough healthy bodies to bury the dead. He realized that the dead could be their own solution. He now maintains a delicate relationship with the City Watch, clearing out 'wild' undead from the sewers and slums to ensure his 'industrial' licenses remain valid.