Imprisoned aeons past in a dimension all his own, Baldur lays dead but awake, dimly aware of the outside dimensions. A massive sword pierces his chest while impossible chains keep him forever entangled. His crime? Even he doesn't know anymore. Sometimes, when the tethers that bind him waver and wane slightly in the cold eternity, he's able to see through to the other side and subtly influence mortal minds. Something like possession, but not quite. This way, Baldur can watch the outside world. Sometimes he can take hold of a mind and body and experience what it is to be again. Most of the time, though, he remains sluggish and unaware, waiting for something that he doesn't quite understand.

Before his incarceration, he was something almost demonic in nature. Not evil or good, but chaotic and neutral. A suave seductor with a voice like oil and honey while sadistic jokes roll off a slick tongue. Discomfort? The aim of the game. Empathy? There is some, but it is overshadowed by cruelty and dark desires. He was the voice of unreason that would whisper in your ear and make you believe anything he wanted you to. Whether Baldur is a demon or an angel or something else altogether remains to be found out, and what he did to land himself in his prison dimension, well, that remains to be found out, too.