As a rather young half-elf, Varis stands tall at around 5'11 with short, dark black hair, dark brown eyes that could be confused for black, and slightly pointy ears that he finds as an annoyance. Varis usually wears a combination of leather armor and plate armor, with the plate armor covering only the most vital parts of his body such as his torso and a dark green cloak which almost touches the ground. Varis usually comes equipped with a short sword and a dagger.

Varis was born to loving parents who cherished Varis very much so, albeit their own relationship with each other had some minor problems. Born to a loving human father and an even more caring elven mother, the problem of their relationship came to light when Varis' father -- a noble -- came under heavy flak for falling in love with an Elf by his family (most notably his grandfather) since Varis' father was meant to marry another noble girl.

Eventually, things reached a boiling point when Varis' father denounced his family and left. Those actions, which not only gave way to a deeper hatred for Varis' father by his family, but also called for swift action. Varis' family hired an assassin to off Varis' mother, and the assassin, successful in the slaying of his mother, had no choice but to kill Varis' father when he tried to intervene. As the assassin finished killing off Varis' father, Varis himself began to cry in his crib, which prompted the assassin to walk over to his crib, dagger in hand, ready to kill off the young, barely one month old child.

But something stopped the assassin.

The assassin took off with Varis and raised him as his own. The assassin, not even bother to hide the truth from Varis that he was in fact an orphan (although he didn't mention who his parents' killer was) taught him how to kill from a young age, with crude, horrific punishments if Varis didn't do what he was taught correctly or efficiently.

Varis continued his training, continually growing a deep hatred for the person who took him in. Varis grew to resent him heavily, wishing that he had a better life. Eventually, it wasn't until Varis came home one day when he was nineteen that his wish was granted -- albeit with a crude twist. As Varis entered his home, he found the assassin dead, laying in a pool of blood in his own bed. On the assassin laid a notebook. Varis picked up the notebook, only to read what the assassin -- what the man who raised him -- scrawled in blood. Varis, horrified to learn his parents' killer, left the house in a hurry after taking only what he needed (armor, a short sword, a dagger, and a purse of coins) to prepare for his long life ahead of him. It wasn't until a month later when he was contacted by an assassin in a guild, offering him a job.

Needless to say, with nothing better to do, Varis took the job.

Pet Peeve: His ears. He hates it when people remark about his slightly pointy ears. In his words, "They're only slightly pointy!"

Skills

• Proficiency with bladed weapons
• Proficiency with stealth
• Proficiency with assassination
• Ability to not notice a girl's advances/hints

Name:
Drizzak

Age:
16.

Race:
Goblin.

Class:
Alchemist.

Biography:
Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'. All that is known about him is that somewhere out there, in the world, there is a Goblin who believes himself to be a dragon, wandering around in that tattered red dragon costume.

Demeanor/Attitude: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin for him to preside over, in all his draconic might.

"Drizzak think he good goblin. Is you good goblin?"

Equipment: Drizzak has little to his name other than his chemicals, his weapons and his dragon costume. He wears the costume as much as he can, when he isn't in battle. Whilst in combat he ditches the costume for a simple pair of cloth pants, enchanted to not burn in the fire he sometimes douses himself with. They do absolutely nothing to make him immune to outside sources of fire.

He seems to wear a wickedly-spiked iron collar, set with a lovely fire agate.

Skills/Abilities: Drizzak mainly focuses on dominating his opponents through the use of alchemical mutagens, increasing his strength and resilience. The mutagen gives him a red coloration to be more like his idolized 'ancestors'. He also has a surprisingly wide knowledge of makeshift explosives and harmful chemicals. He is not above lighting himself on fire if it comes to it. His knowledge of healing solutions consists of literally throwing potions at people. Thankfully, he knows how to aim them so the broken glass isn't TOO hard to pick out.

Weapons: Drizzak possesses a rather sad little crossbow, able to throw both flask and vials, and bolts. His previous jagged dagger has since been replaced with a lovely silver one.

Name:
Alator Strongscale.

Age:
94.

Race:
Lizardfolk. With a touch of something sinister.

Class:
Wizard.

Biography:


Demeanor/Attitude:
Cold. Calculating. Morose. Alator rarely shows emotion other than quiet consideration or anger, preferring to mediate and moderate herself in mind as she does in body. Her attitude towards others is as his attitude towards everything is. She speaks on the level, and as an intellectual, preferring not to squabble or fuss over explanation about his actions or goings-on. She is the type to analyse her situation, her comrades and even herself.

Though she can be cold, she is not without her humor. She can sometimes spare a jape at someone's expense, or share a happy moment with another. She is not without emotion, just able to be separate from it when logic dictates her. Occasionally, when engaging her passion, be it reading, writing, conversing or actively practising about or involving magic, she can allow herself a moment to let her childlike wonder shine through. That or her ravenous hunger.

If you were to ask her a question, she would be more than open to helping you to understand whatever it is that is confusing you, should she have knowledge on the subject. Eager to teach, one could say. Alator is easily placed in the Lawful Neutral alignment bracket. She will serve herself first, but tends toward common courtesy and acts with restraint. When she can.

"Come, child. When we make camp, I will tell you of the stars above our heads. There are messages for those that look."

Equipment:
Alator carries little with her aside from what she wears and what she keeps in her pack. She grabs herself in dark robes, lined with fur and covering most of her body aside from her hands. The robes are hooded, and sit beneath a thick cloak of bearskin. Upon her back is a pack filled with relevant reagents she may need for her magic and emergency supplies. Other than those, the only other item she carries are her quarterstaff and her grimoire that acts as her spellbook. Her rather morbid looking grimoire is decorated with rusty iron and tattered cloth. It seems to be covered in occult symbols and scratchings.

Skills/Abilities:
Alator possesses a vast knowledge base on phenomenon of magical origin. Her knowledge on other matters, and her general knowledge, are wide but mostly forgotten due to her voracious focus on magical studies. Other than that, her eyesight is sharper than the average lizardfolk and due to her strange blood, she is slightly more acrobatic than the average bulky, dumb lizard.

Weapons:
She carries with her a quarterstaff made of twisted wood and iron, set with a gem in its cage-like top end. Alongside this she has her grimoire. It's rather heavy.

Name: Artos Raulyn

Age: 26

Race: Human

Job: Magus

Description:



Even for a human, Artos is farly average in body type. A bit on the tall side, he is also fairly toned from daily training. His eyes and hair are not hereditary, as his parents eyes were artic blue and they both had honey colored hair. His eyes are a deep scarlet red because of a mutation from his frequent dabbing and poring of ancient and forbidden tomes and his hair had become dabbed in an ivory white, a small price to pay as Artos claims.

His armor is fairly lightweight, allowing him to move and cast spells at will and not hinder his agility. The armor itself is self-enchanted, though it's fairly weak. He mainly uses a longsword he lovingly called 'Red Trinity' due to the red embellishments on the hilt and scabbard.

While most of his time is spent on reading and studying ancient tomes, he trains in mastering his weapon, 'Crimson Trinity' and spends the rest on training Martial prowess, though not particularly advanced, he could hold his own. He's still particularly young, his knowledge in the ancient arts, while intensive, is not very deep. He is still learning, although at a very fast pace.

Biography:
Born under the Raulyn household, the household was viewed as slightly prestigious but fairly normal. His parents were both Magus, something which Artos was not privy to. Artos' birth was not planned for, but they still took care of him deeply. He was somewhat neglected due to his parents pouring time into learning the secrets of the tomes, though Artos didn't particularly mind as his parents did still love him and he was naturally independent.

His childhood consisted of fights, with children who bullied him and then being rewarded with a nice fist marked shape on said bullies' faces. He had a natural affinity for fighting and love for it, his battle sense is extraordinary being able to make up strategy before the fight, and tactics during the fights. He had fought three brothers of said bullies, who were taller than him and had managed to win, albeit barely. His parents always tried to reprimand him, but they found that the bullies would usually instigate the fights, making them try and talk to said bullies parents, although they were thick headed.

At the ripe age of 14, the day was normal with the birds chirping, the ray of sun penetrating through and the sound of fists colliding with skin. The bullies were trying to pick on Artos, to which he delivered swift retribution. After the last bully was on his knees, begging for him to stop, Artos let him go with a swift kick, he trudged home. The journey home was as serene as it could be, he was lost in thought until the smell of smoke penetrated his nose. In the far distance, his household was dancing in a pool of orange and red, it was on fire.

Running as fast as his legs could carry him, he arrived at the estate, only to find his parents fighting something. The only thing Artos could distinctively recognize was his elongated ears, it was an elf, drow, high elf, Artos didn't know. All he knew was that both his parents, who were both strong magus, though Artos didn't know, was being overpowered by this figure. Bolts of light and the clashing of blades resounded through the burning building, and before he knew it, both his parents fell. They had been overwhelmed, and the figure ran his blade through his father, and soon his mother too. The figure was smiling the whole time, he looked at Artos with a sardonic grin that would haunt him, and said something about him becoming stronger so that he could 'devour' him and then began to strut away.

Rushing to his parents, and through tears, his dragged both of them outside the building. The debris almost caught Artos but through tenacity he had managed to dodge. His parents were still alive, though they were at deaths door. His Mother and Father were placed side by side, through hacking coughs that resulted in blood spewing out his mouth, his father had confessed that they were attacked by 'The Devour', one who hunts Magus'. Artos had no idea what he was talking about or what was going on, hugging his parents, saying that they were going to be okay. Only to be met with a sad smile, and tears they claimed that he should train and become a better Magus than them. He said that there was a secret room, inside their shed, and all the ancient tomes and texts were in there. The mother then mentions that his Uncle would come and care for him, and also train him. Artos was still confused, being handed a key and a piece of paper. Then they were... gone.

Artos was devastated, he was sitting next to them for hours after their deaths, he decided to bury them next to their own beloved homes. A few more hours passed, and there were two mounds of dirt and pseudo-gravemarkers. Still raining tears, he said a short prayer before toughening up and punching himself. He looked for the shed and after more hours, he finally found it, it was well hidden to the point where 'The Devour' missed it. Placing the odd shaped key in and with a large click, the 'door' moves aside and revealed a deep basement. The torches lit up one by one. Stepping down one by one, the humidity was overflowing. Using the wall as a crutch to go down, finally arriving at the bottom the slight hum of magic hit his ears. Squinting his eyes, adjusting to the darkness, he noticed what was basically a library and on the corner was armor and a sword that he would use.

Grabbing an old dusty tome, Artos had begun reading and at first it confused him to no end, but he didn't care, after more hours his uncle had arrived, and with stoic eyes he knew what had happened as his parents did exclaim that someone was watching them and had sent him a message before hand. He tightly hugged Artos, who had begun crying again. After hours of talking, his Uncle, Adrian Raulyn would take care of him. Adrian was very understanding and lenient, and he himself was trained in the art of the sword, a master even. They had decided to live somewhere close, so as to be close to the ancient tomes.

Years and years of training and reading had made Artos very powerful, though not as strong as 'The Devour' yet. At the age of 21, his uncle had passed away, peacefully and serene, unlike his parents death. Though Artos mourned, he mourned with a light heart, knowing his Uncle, Adrian had left life peacefully... unlike his parents. Setting of to secluded training and poring of ancient tomes, his mind was dead set on avenging his parents.

Reaching the age of 26, he had expended all the tomes and secrets and set out to travel the world to look for more of the hidden tomes.

Demeanor/Attitude:
Chaotic Good

Artos is a so called perfectionist, not being able to leave something unless he understands the intricacies of it. He is kind and tries to help out people when he can, his helping nature was something from his parents, though Artos doesn't notice. He is a bit of a battle fanatic, trying to fare his skills with against any people who are willing and strong. He has a natural sense of battle, creating strategies before hand and tactics during the stress of battle. He is also fiercely independent, growing up with the lone-wolf mindset and it has stuck ever since.

He has a strong distrust of any being with elongated ears, Elves, High Elves, Drows and anything similar. He also will show slight hatred for them, even though he himself knows that not all of them are as evil and maniacal as the ones who killed his parents. This stems from his childhood, an incident that has since been his drive.

His main mission is to find 'The Devour', and will not rest until he has found justice.
His secondary mission is to find tomes of old and power, and finding other individuals who are magus' to trade secrets and knowledge.


Other:
Since he needs to spend hours reading and reading, he has grown to like reading.
He plays the Lute to himself sometimes when he is deeply thinking.
He prefers to self-cook.

The tomes he had read so far are numerous and number alot. Including but not limited to;
~Tome of Sanabits, an ancient tome transcribed by the greatest healers of Eons long past.
Status: Badly burnt, over 95% is unreadable thanks to a fire.

~Book of Elementum, ancient tome found by his parents, transcribed by the greatest Magus' of the past.
Status: Fully readable and learnt. Learned elemental spells.

~Tome of Auguriis, another ancient tome containing enchanters of old greatest techniques.
Status: Hard to grasp, but he managed to grab the essentials, he's still getting around to it. Managed to enchant his armor, can enchant others.

Name: Das, that's it, just Das.

Gender: Male

Age: presumably young(ish) but clearly endowed with a lifetime of experiences

Appearance:

Das is a grey skinned dark elf with bright amber eyes that almost reflect that of a primordial beast. He is of an athletic build, but nothing too bulky. Draped around his shoulders is a vest of fur, matching his pants and boots of similar bone and brown hide make. He could be described as wild looking, with long black hair, a fox's grin, clothes of hide and the eyes of the untamed.

On his hip hangs his sole item of convenience, a sharp and rather long hunting knife. He holds the necessities of life in a rough ruck sack flung over his shoulders, including dried meats , bread, and fresh water among other sundries.

History: Raised in a far away land by far away people, Das is somewhat of a foreigner and his past just as foreign. However it should be noted that the dark elf has countless adventures and life time experiences under his scratchy leather belt, and despite his "jester's" demeanor, has been to hell and back, or possibly heaven and back, who really knows at this point.

Alignment notes: Das is really all over the radar, being as unpredictable as he is wild.

Magic note: Das has an innate ability to understand and seek out other beings of magic, himself being a shaman of sorts, being able to toss fire and completely engulf his body in an explosive flame. He calls it being "Kafshe".