Il a maudit sa mort. Damné la bête qui l'a brisé, irrité qu'il ait échoué après toutes les années d'attente et de recherche du monstre misérable pour être tué par elle. En fin de compte, il ne pouvait pas changer ce qui s'était passé et cela ne l'a pas frustré à aucune fin incapable d'échapper au champ des roses. Les derniers instants avaient été rapides, la bête était rapide, et malgré tout son entraînement, il ne pouvait pas suivre le mouvement erratique de la bête. Il se souvenait avoir senti son corps soudainement écrasé par une pression énorme, puis il y avait eu une fissure et un engourdissement. Combien de temps il avait été coincé dans le champ de fleurs qu'il ne pouvait pas dire, rien n'a changé dans ce royaume et le temps semblait inexistant. Il a erré sans l'arrêter jusqu'à ce qu'il rencontre quelqu'un qui pleure. Le son l'a brisé de ses pensées et de ses malédictions. Il n'avait vu personne d'autre ici à son arrivée. Au début, il ne pouvait pas voir qui pleurait, et croyait que tout était dans sa tête, succombant finalement à une forme de folie jusqu'à ce qu'il puisse enfin faire une forme d'une femme qui ses vêtements correspondaient à la même couleur des roses dans le royaume. Il s'est approché de la femme qui lui semble inconsciente d'être là. Elle continua à pleurer et, à mesure qu'il s'approchait, il remarqua que le sang cramoisi la tache, la seule couleur de la mer de blanc tout autour. Plus il s'approchait, plus il se sentait engourdi, plus ses membres se sentaient engourdis.
"Peut-être que le repos m'éclaircira l'esprit", murmura-t-il avant de basculer, en dérivant et en sortant de la conscience, seul le son des pleurs de la femme vint à ses oreilles jusqu'à ce qu'il perde conscience.
Il se sentait froid, froid qui était suffisant pour engourdir un homme à son os. Son esprit s'est lentement réveillé, ne sachant pas où il était. Il ne se souvenait pas se sentir froid dans le royaume des roses blanches encore quelque chose lui a dit qu'il était loin de cet endroit maintenant. Où il n'était pas sûr jusqu'à ce qu'il s'asseyât enfin. Il a vu autour de lui de la neige mais son esprit ne comprenait pas pourquoi? Il était mort, il savait qu'il était encore là, il y avait de la neige. Le paysage n'était pas très différent de la mer des roses blanches, mais c'était le froid qui le rendait sûr qu'il était vivant, la chaleur du sang qui courait dans ses veines le gardant seulement légèrement chaud avec son équipement, équipement qui semblait être intact. C'était son lieu de mort ce dernier jour? C'était la seule chose qu'il pouvait penser à la raison pour laquelle il était seul au milieu du désert. Personne ne savait où il était, il avait toujours travaillé seul dans ses chasses et vivait surtout dans le désert. Le retour à la vie lui a apporté un sentiment de vigueur et de force nouvelle alors qu'il se levait. Il était vivant et pouvait continuer sa tâche, mais il devait d'abord trouver la ville la plus proche. Quelque chose a dit à l'intérieur de se déplacer vers le sud et ainsi il l'a fait, commençant son long voyage vers le sud vers la ville la plus proche, en se baladant à travers la neige un pied à la fois.
Zaccar Drogoth
Hunter of the North/Knight of Winter
Age: 36
Sex: Male
Date of Birth:  November 14th
Legends Slain:
-The Great Gray Wolf of the North
-Sealameet the Everlasting Dragon
-Yharnis, the Weaver of the Nightmare
-Maneating Boar
-Darkbeast Guyral
-Scorth, Queen of Shadows
-The Abhorrent One
Slain By: A beast that appears under a blood red moon beckoned by it's calling. Oedon the Old One.



Appearance:




Personality:

He is a rather impassive person, with only one goal in mind, to kill Odeon the Old One. He will kill any beast, demon, or monster that stands in his way however. Despite this cold shoulder nature he can be caring once you get to know him and even might laugh at a joke or two if one is lucky to catch him in a good mood or if you are extremely lucky maybe a smile. Internally he battles over who he is, if this is all he wants out of life? A life of killing beasts or do something beyond that.

Lore:

Born in the northern lands, he grew up in an environment that was survival of the fittest. His village was deep in the mountains where the sun hardly brought enough light to melt the snow. Yet despite the cruelty of the environment, they survived. He began life as a simple son of a farmer, hearing tales of what lived in the forests and caves around the village, it was off limits to enter them, especially at night when supposedly the beasts came out to hunt any poor wretched soul that did not find cover within their home or at least a tavern. Of course peace does not always last and eventually a beast did attack the village out right. Perhaps it was agitated about something, or it just finally had enough of the village. It struck out tearing the little village apart. The few men who could wield a weapon tried to fight it but were nothing more then a mere agitation to the beast as it killed it's fill of men, women, and children. Not many survived that night and those who did, left the village without hesitation. Zaccar and his family managed to live, though they suffered loses. His uncle had been torn in two, a sister who he would never see again, and his father's arm so mangled it had to be amputated. From that day forth Zaccar knew he would return for vengeance for his people. He grew distant from all he knew and decided to learn the trade of sword fighting. It took many years, longer so to find someone willing to train him but he eventually became the man he needed to be and upon feeling ready, returned to the burned down village of the north to hunt down the beast that destroyed it. He had learned the creatures name, a name spoken under whispers: Odeon the Old One, a beast that lurked under the guide of the moon, only coming out of it's hiding place when a red moon rose. The night it attacked there had indeed been a blood moon.
So Zaccar searched and in the mean time, killed many other beasts, the few other people that lived in the north or traded there shared tales of a man who seemed to slaughter the beasts in the harsh realm with ease. His cloak coming from the Great Gray Wolf that had terrorized a village or that the armor he wore came from the dragon Sealameet an ancient resident of the norther mountains. He slayed many beasts but it wasn't for years until he found his pray, Odeon. It spoke to him but what he said Zaccar could not remember even if he wished to. The battle was long and tedious the beast was the hardest thing he had ever fought and in the end the beast won out snapping Zaccar in two and leaving him in a realm of darkness until he would be called again to the hunt.

Combat Information
Equipment:
His longsword which is quite unique because it functions as two weapons really. For you see he can wield the weapon in hand while carrying a shield or he can lock it in place with the large piece on his back and it becomes a greatsword with devastating power. He also carries a shield which is made from the skull of Sealameet the Everlasting Dragon. Another prize he has is his cape which was made from the pelt of the Great Gray Wolf of the North and the horns atop his helm belong to the Elusive Stag, perhaps not a beast that was harmful to men but it was said to be unkillable and he proved otherwise.
Shield:

Sword:


Techniques/Spells:

Beast's Claw: It is said that when you hunt beasts for to long, you yourself start becoming one. As flesh is flayed and blood is sprayed, the beast within awakens, and in time, the wielder of this technique surges with both strength and feverish reverie. What once was mortal flesh becomes bestial and clawed to tear prey apart in a fit of frenzy.
Beast Roar: This technique borrows the strength of the terrible undead darkbeasts, if only for a moment, to blast surrounding foes back with the force of a roaring beast. Able to deflect projectiles for the short span it is used as well.
The indescribable sound is broadcast with the caster's own vocal cords, which begs the question, what terrible things lurk deep within the frames of men?
The Mark: Left side of chest