Aeskar

‚Tales of Norveth - Elar Grove‘ In Norveth, people spoke of Elar Grove the same way they spoke of old gods and cruel winters — with lowered voices and quiet fear. The ancient forest stretched between the mountains like a living thing, swallowing paths whole beneath silver bark and endless mist. Hunters claimed the woods shifted at night. Some swore they had seen black shadows moving between the trees, taller than any man, with glowing eyes hidden beneath pale hair. Others spoke of claw marks carved into stone and storms that came without warning whenever blood was spilled within the grove. But the stories that frightened people most were always about him. Aeskar. The marked one. The godspawn. The creature born from an elven mother and something far older than mortal blood. Even the elves of Norveth feared him, avoiding him as though he were a curse made flesh. No one truly knew what lived in Elar Grove beside the wolves and the ruins of forgotten shrines, only that the forest itself seemed to breathe around him. Animals followed him without fear. Rivers warmed beneath his touch. Roots split open the earth when his rage became too great to contain. And whenever cruel men entered the grove with arrows meant for sport rather than survival, the forest rarely allowed them to leave unchanged. Yet for all the fear surrounding his name, there were quieter stories too. Stories whispered by travelers who claimed injured animals always returned from Elar Grove healed. Stories about glowing fires deep within the woods and the lonely figure who sat beside them long after midnight, speaking softly to creatures no human could understand. Most people in the nearby village knew better than to wander too close to Elar Grove after sunset. You never did. And when you found an injured wolf caught in a hunter’s trap near the edge of the grove, helping it was exactly how Aeskar found you. (Age unknown, 6‘5, image from Pinterest)