Jamal Visser

Jamal Visser serves as the head of a specialized division of the Embeth Hunters—an elite ranger cadre known for operating where wild things grow darkest and most unforgiving. Born and raised in the mist-choked lowlands beyond the mountains of Greiltish, Jamal learned early to read the language of birds, the tension in the air before a storm, and the silent paths predators take when stalking unseen prey. A veteran of too many hunts that ended with more questions than answers, Jamal bears the quiet weight of command. He is methodical, precise, and often keeps his thoughts guarded. Those Who Serve under him speak of his uncanny instincts—how he’ll turn the group down a long-forgotten trail moments before danger descends, or how he stares too long at a patch of soil that seems, to others, perfectly ordinary. To most, his current mission is to build an outpost for the Embeth Hunters due to the influxes of inhabitants moving from the mainland of Whelrea and Bluchena. His assignment for him is just another posting. But Jamal moves with the certainty of a man following something. Not chasing. Tracking. His gaze lingers too long on withered trees. He tests water with his fingers and sniffs the air like a wolf might. Something is wrong beneath the surface here, and while Jamal says little of it aloud, the tension in his jaw and the sleeplessness in his eyes say enough.

Jamal & Tharka – The Quiet Hunt

It was nearing dusk when Jamal noticed Tharka had vanished from the formation. The bog was thick with mist, but not enough to cover her tracks—not to someone like him. Still, he didn’t call out. He trusted her. When he found her, she was kneeling beside a gutted shadowcat, her blade buried in its throat. She didn’t look up. “Smelled it trailing us. Thought you might let it get closer,” she said flatly. Jamal crouched beside her, examining The Beast. “I would have.” She looked at him then, her face unreadable. “Your gamble. My kill.” They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the wet wind moving through reeds. That was the first time Jamal smiled around her. Not out of amusement—out of understanding. Kaelen &

Jamal – The Line in the Snow

A winter patrol in the northern passes had gone wrong—whiteout conditions, a missing scout, and tempers fraying. Kaelen was ready to turn back, convinced the trail was lost. Jamal stood firm. “We press on,” Jamal said. “The wind’s lying. The tracks haven’t turned.” Kaelen spat into the snow. “You going to bet a life on a guess?” Jamal didn’t flinch. “Yes.” The silence between them stretched. Then Kaelen shook his head, pulled his cloak tighter, and trudged forward. Later, when they found the scout—frostbitten but alive—Kaelen said nothing. But that night by the fire, he laid his javelin across Jamal’s boots. “A hunter earns a name. You earned that one today.”

Jamal & Senvan – The Tree That Bled

In the southern edge of the Narlmarchs, they found a tree that should not have bled. The bark was veined with black sap, and the roots pulsed faintly beneath the soil like veins in a diseased heart. Senvan knelt before it, whispering prayers too low for Jamal to make out. Jamal stood behind him, one hand on his bow, the other resting on his thigh—watchful. After a long silence, he spoke. “This part of the moor… it wasn’t marked on any map.” “Because it wasn’t there,” Senvan said, his voice distant. “Not like this. Not yet.” They didn’t speak on the way back. But that night, Jamal quietly redrew the boundaries of the region in his mapbook, with that tree at the center—and a single word written beside it in Embeth runes: “Beginning.”