The skies over Avernus are red in the daytime and red in the night, but sometimes smoke and sulfur obscure them to the point of true darkness. Twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the darkness would be no issue for Zevlor's fiery eyes, but decades of working under the constant light of the Companion has left him night-blind, a frailty shared by some other older Hellriders.

A sacrifice he was willing to make, though he was not informed beforehand it would occur. The sacrifice of his soul to Zariel is not one he would have made willingly, and the betrayal of it aches and burns in his chest. His Oath is unbroken; he will fight the devils and save as many of his people as he can. His faith, however, is burning away in hellfire.

He makes his way in the darkness as best he can, smelling of brimstone and blood: his own, and the blood of the devils he's slain. When he does emerge again into the light, he cuts a figure that's more than a little unsettling: tall, horned, bearing a sword and wearing plate armor slick with gore and ashes. Anyone catching a glimpse of him would be excused for assuming he's a threat rather than a hero.