Cymbiir Willowlock was once regarded as the greatest Wood Elf Assassin in history. His mastery of guerrilla tactics and silent kills became legend, bringing honor to his father, Paliduin, a decorated general, and his mother, Usandra. Though Paliduin’s approach to war was more direct, he admired Cymbiir’s stealth and cunning, especially after his son's brilliance in the youth training camps and The Games. Cymbiir, the image of his father with his mother’s eyes, lived dangerously but with a deep reverence for life, never killing idly—only when duty demanded.

About 30 years ago, Cymbiir returned from a bloodless infiltration, grateful to avoid the family ritual for honoring fallen foes. As he traveled in the dead of night, he heard a guttural voice—unlike any elf—and followed it, hidden in the shadows. To his shock, a demonborn was speaking to Lt. General Maenndal. The demon sensed Cymbiir and attacked, hurling him at Maenndal’s feet and pressing him into the earth until the world went black.

He awoke, disoriented, in a bedchamber not his own. As his vision cleared, he saw his bloodied family dagger on the floor. Realizing he was in General Erranir’s quarters, Cymbiir panicked. The general and his wife lay dead. A servant entered, screamed, and the guards quickly arrested him. Cymbiir had no memory of the act but knew the evidence would condemn him. Any attempt to recall the night brought searing pain and nausea.

His parents visited. Paliduin, cold and dutiful, prepared to disown him. Usandra wept. Cymbiir tried to explain his innocence, but Paliduin silenced him. Asked to abandon the Willowlock name, Cymbiir refused—he would prove his innocence or die trying. Left alone in his cell, he soon heard laughter from the neighboring cell. An imprisoned elf mocked him, then revealed himself as the demon who had ambushed him.

The demon, eyes pitch-black, offered Cymbiir a choice: live as a disgraced exile or die under false charges. If Cymbiir accepted, he would lose his skills, his essence, but not his life. Confused but determined, Cymbiir accepted. “Deal,” he said—and blacked out.

He awoke in a meadow, stripped of gear, wearing only a prisoner’s garb. Disoriented, he stumbled until he saw a distant caravan. As he walked toward it, one thought filled his mind: “I will have my revenge…”