Name: "Hollow" aka Belegast
True name: Undisclosed
Race: Eladrin (Currently attuned to winter)
Class: Warlock (Hexblade patron)
Build: Lithe, toned
Eyes: Matte grey, devoid of reflected light
Hair: Deep brown bordering on black, kept short, cut "high and tight" on the back and sides
Skin: White with a blue/purple tinge, as if he's hypothermic
Outfit: Light leather armor, a chain shirt beneath a plain tunic, various belts slung across his chest and hips holding pouches, equipment, and a small bag of holding
Notable equipment: Bag of holding, pole of collapsing, an utter lack of weapons beyond a pair of utility knives, leather gloves he is never without
Once, he had a humble life of farming. It was simple, but it provided for him and his fiancee, and it was for her love that he could work his hands to the bone. Such a shame his wife to be was not as he perceived. The day came when monsters razed his humble village, and as he stood with a crossbow in hand to defend his love, he felt a claw pierce his heart from behind. Her claw. Realization glimmered sadly in his eyes as he fell and witnessed his fiancee marshaling her unholy troops. Darkness closed in.
The darkness whispered. It bargained. It promised. As the life ebbed from him, he rasped acceptance. As the demons celebrated, he rose. As they turned, a blade was drawn from darkness.
Blood spilt. There were no screams. He shuffled down the packed dirt road, dragging the sword behind him until it finally dissipated, returned to the shades that birthed it. Everything he built his life around was gone. The shadows whispered, offering direction. Having nothing else, he heeded their instruction.
A symbiotic relationship developed; the shadows gave him purpose, and he achieved their goals. He was led to join an adventuring group that proved moderately successful, giving him new companions and a decent lifestyle. As a joke, one of his teammates gave him the moniker 'Hollow', saying it went with the empty look in his eyes. To their surprise, he kept it and took it a step forward, taking the Sylvan equivalent as his name: Belegast.
There were times the shadows would command him to slip away for unsavory tasks, but he proved vital enough to the troupe that his comrades allowed his sudden disappearances to go unquestioned. Belegast learned not to question his mysterious benefactors. More accurately, he didn't care to; he had been given his vengeance and now he would be their tool. That was his bargain, and his word was all he had left.
Only once did he have doubts about his instructions; the day he was told to find a door. A simple enough task. He didn't question when he opened the door. When he stepped into this new world and witnessed its friendly, monstrous inhabitants, THEN he began to question.
For now, Belegast is bewildered and trying to adjust. The door that brought him here is gone and he has no hints on how to return home, so he is doing his best to overcome culture shock and settle in. He's a touch too quick to draw his weapons, but in time he will learn.