[Huge Sized Model - 50mm Base]
[Presupported with LYS files in 32mm Scale]
The Sentinel of Steinved Forest, Faenror has seen empires rise and crumble, all from the groves of his woods and the shadows of the Fey. During the time of the Liturium War, his trees were rent from the soil, fuels to the fires of war. What was spared was contaminated in the war’s aftermath as the fall of Nirloom and the cataclysms of Prendael River spilled all the way to Steinved. Now his woods are left a shell of their former selves, and it seems madness begins to grip Faenror, who now cannot discern friend from foe.
An ancient spirit of the forest, a distant, much younger sibling to Gwynevel. Faenror has ruled the Spotless Wood and Formen’s northwestern forests for years, living in both the Fey World and the woods of Tharador above, one and the same. As the sentinel of his woods, he kept the axes of men at bay for centuries, who in turn learned to take only as needed, and give offerings in return for anything that was taken. For each tree that was felled, two were planted to take its place, as was the way for aeons. Steinved Forest thus lived in harmony with those around it, untouched by wars and the passage of time.
Until the Liturium War. In this bloody and destructive conflict, Steinved Forest became a battleground. Formeni rangers and berserkers used the thickets and covers of the wood to ambush the Leacianan invaders, coating themselves with mud and leaves, lying in wait until their foes were right atop them. Then they were too close to cast their destructive spells and magics. Faenror watched this unfold, time after time, sworn to uphold neutrality in such a conflict. Yet he found that task increasingly difficult as the Leacianan’s began to respond in kind to the ambushes, bathing the forests in arcane fire to weed out their ambushers lying in wait. Though Faenror would tear apart the High Elven invaders when we could, he quickly learned it only added fuel to the fire, with them responding with a swathe of destruction so wide there was little he could do to stem its tide. Instead, he could only watch helplessly as his home was turned to ash. Though some pockets survived, his friends, subjects, those he was born to protect; thousands perished.
It was in this weakened state that Userios was able to so easily dominate his mind, bending him to her will. Now he acts as her sentinel solely, tearing apart any enemies who would try to defy her, including the Druids that had lived in his woods for decades, and were now trying to heal them. He could only watch from the depths of his own consciousness as he tore apart those who were bound to him. Swearing he would get his revenge if he had the chance, any who would free Faenror from his stupor would find a powerful ally, hellbent on revenge.
