His Name is...

Centuries ago, a prince was born. A proud race of warrior nomads, the Kharzul, have long defied death by surviving in the Demon Wastes--a more hostile land to life, none could imagine. Legends say that storms marked his birth, that the earth shook and the skies wept, but that's the usual revisionist history. He had thirteen brothers and sisters to best before even becoming the Khaz of his tribe, let alone becoming the Khaz-at-khaan, a King of Kings that united the hordes.

But he set his sights high, for all he had ever known was the tradition of his people: that this cruel world was a test, an ordeal to measure a man's worth. His conquests would earn him greater standing in the afterlife, and with it, all the comforts and delights this harsh world lacked. He took the deal, and took it further than any warrior ever had.

When he could conquer no more, when he finally faced a foe great enough to end him, he welcomed death, for it meant his reward awaited. And yet, beyond the veil of death, he met no ancestor spirits, found no great halls full of banquets and orgies, received no acclaim from the legions of lesser souls whose lesser accomplishments would have damned them if not for loyal service in his name.

Instead, he found an uncaring void, a bleak landscape where deliverance from demonic lords who would press him into service as an eternal slave was considered the highest mercy, where oblivion was the finest reward on offer from an uncaring host.

And he was not happy.

He did not accept this fate. He spat in the face of the "angels" offering deliverance, and devoured the essence of the demon lords that tried to claim his souls, after besting them with the raw might of his spiritual strength, the force of his pure, savage will.

With each demon and angel devoured, he gained power, and soon found he could spare a mote or two to "redeem" other fallen souls, conscripting them into his spiritual army, in shared defiance and contempt for the cruel overlords of the World of the Dead.

And so, once again, he became an unsurpassed general, a King of the Dead, besting and devouring every spirit standing in his way, until he arrived at the gates to the world of the living, and dared its guardians to bar his passage. Per the legends, they surrendered without a fight.

Returning to the world of the living, but lacking physical bodies, his army claimed the fallen warriors and demons of the wastes, while he possessed his own body, long rotted to nothing, save for his Demonforged Armor, powerful and magical enough to both weather the passage of time and to contain his vast essence.

He set about rebuilding his empire, this time with one clear goal: to gain the power necessary to storm the very gates of Heaven, to confront the Makers who ordered the Universe, who decreed such a dark fate, who spread lies to the living, who deserve the fate he had in store for them. And he has nearly reached his goal, uniting the chaotic tribes and monstrous hordes of the Demon Wastes, and now advancing onto the rest of Khorvaire to amass souls and bodies for his unholy crusade.

His name is Khaz-Ulaan.

And he is Selina's father.