By some known as the Erfaron, his true name has fallen into disuse and is rarely given voice.

This dour veteran walks garbed in greens and browns, though surely by this stage in his life the experienced woodsman can walk unseen in hue and instead wears inconspicuous hues out of mere habit, the Erfaron radiates such a confidence.

He stands a tall figure, imposing if to be a foe; years of a rough and unsettled lifestyle have crept into his visage, crushing his brown beneath dire lines and besieging his piercing blue eyes with wrinkles of sleeplessness and weathering. Yet despite this he bears a majesty, a fairness almost akin to that associated with the Eldar though pale and wan in comparison to one true of the elder folk. It is his experience that surrounds him so, for wise is the Erfaron in the lore of the wilds, and he bears his arms with a martial prowess few can match.