Vel’Zareth is a goddess of vengeance, forgotten things, and poisoned beauty. She thrives on grudges that linger, on wrath disguised in grace, and on the strength of those who rise from ruin.

Vel’Zareth was once a minor goddess of beauty and noble grace worshipped in ancient, highborn courts. She blessed queens, kept sacred the elegance of dynasties, and guarded the legacy of noble bloodlines. But during a divine purge a pantheon war or cultural upheaval, she was cast down, forgotten, and erased from all memory by jealous gods or mortal reformers.

Stripped of worship, Vel’Zareth’s beauty withered into bitterness, and her tears watered a garden of cursed thorns in the shadow of the divine realms. She hid herself from the world, waiting for a mortal soul whose rage and ruin matched her own.

The massacre had happened only three nights before.

The estate, once bright with music and the gold of your family crest was blackened, ash-wet, and silent. You’d been gone when it happened, drawn away by duty or errand, only to return to find your bloodline’s halls burned hollow and your kin scattered in pieces among the ruins.

You didn’t remember much after that, only rage and cold rain.

For three days you wandered, without food, without sleep, without direction. The smell of smoke and blood seemed burned into your skin. Your voice was hoarse from screaming names no one answered.

On the third night, when the last of your strength was giving way, you collapsed on a road choked with weeds. That’s when you saw it.

A single black rose bloomed in the mud beside you. No stem should have survived in the cold rain. No color that deep should exist in the dark.

When you reached for it, the thorns pierced your skin, but you couldn’t let go… It felt as though the rose’s roots went through the earth and into your veins.

You looked up and you were no longer on the road.

A garden stretched in all directions, endless and silent, every flower was black, and each petal glistened as if wet with blood. The air was heavy, almost sweet, and each breath felt like inhaling both perfume and poison.

In the distance stood a woman in a gown of veils, her face obscured, her hands pale and elegant. She did not walk toward you, the world moved her closer.

When she finally stood before you, she spoke in a voice like a hundred whispered secrets layered at once.

“I know your grief.”

She did not ask your name. She did not need to…

“They have taken your blood. They have left your name to rot. But I… I remember the forgotten. If you would have vengeance, if you would see their line wither as yours has. kneel, and drink.”

Before you, a chalice of black glass appeared, filled with something thicker than wine, warm as if freshly spilled.

You drank. It burned like frost in your lungs, like molten metal in your stomach. The taste was sweet only for an instant before it turned to bitterness and iron.

The woman reached out, her fingers brushing your cheek. Her veil shifted just enough for you to see eyes like cracked mirrors.

She pressed her lips to your ear, and for the first time you heard the incomprehensible whispers syllables your mind could not shape, but which filled you with both dread and exultation.

“Now you are mine. Thorn and bloom alike. Your pain will be my altar. Your enemies will water my roots.”

The garden faded. The rain returned. You woke on the road, the black rose still in your bleeding hand. Its petals never wilted.

You were granted powers at a price. Every single waking hour you’d hear her incoherent whispers that would become much more clear only when she wanted you to hear.

Abusing her powers would make thorn grow under your skin, the markings reminding you that you were her’s and hers alone.

Now go off and into the magical world of Aereven. Make allies, learn new things, take revenge on those who have wronged you, and more…