[hider=Alarand]
Name: Alarand
Age: 26

Gender: Male

Race: Elf

Nationality: Orlesian

Group Affiliation: Inquisition

Occupation: Mercenary
Specialization: Reaver
Appearance:
[hider=Picture:][img] https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/7f/ab/58/7fab5802abab73e5a4e131e4ddf6907b.jpg [/img][/hider]

Equipment/Weapons:
[hider=Armor/Clothing]
Silk Robes (as pictured)
Scaled Articulated Gauntlets
Steel Capped Leather Boots
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[hider=Weapons]
A kreigmesser is a single edged sword that may be wielded with two hands or one as the user prefers, possessing both crossguard and nail. 
[hider=Kreigmesser][img]http://www.kattnet.com/weapons/kriegmesser.jpg[/img][/hider]
Alarand also tends to keep one or two daggers on his person, in the case that he loses his blade in the midst of combat.
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[hider=Canvas Pack]Blanket, Flint & Steel, Small bundle of cord, small pot filled with regular travel rations[/hider]

Bio:
[hider=Long Text]
Alarand was born as the lowest of low in the Alienage of Val Royeaux in 9:14 Dragon, late winter. From there, his life began- as hellish as it might be. If the citizens of Orlesias had few rights under nobility, elves had none. Much of his life was spent just attempting to live. His mother never spoke of his father, Alarand never asked. He wasn’t the only child running around the city that didn’t know their parentage, and the topic only seemed to bring about bad memories for his mother when it did come about. His life had been a relatively simple one up until then. The routine every day was dull; move around the city at first light, and try to secure a bit of food from the scarce number of bakers and butchers that had pity enough for the elves to throw out their week-old bread and scraps. Dodge city guards, nobles, and avoid any citizenry in a particularly nasty mood.

He spent his childhood in that manner, turning to minor thievery in his teen years- nothing big, just the stray bit of food or coin. Anything more would have been obvious anyway. As he grew older, his interests turned towards manual labor, which was always in short supply. He worked for years, until in 9:37 Dragon Alarand disappeared from the streets. It was little remarked upon, as such things happened to elves often enough.

The young elf was turned to a tool for The Grand Game, captured for a group of radical supporters of Gaspard de Chalons. The undercurrents of the game had long been building towards war, and they wanted to be sure that their interests were secured. In this case, that the elves remained lower class, to protect the underground trades. It was a gap of just a few months before he was forced through the Reaver ritual, with the intention of turning the elf into a weapon of terror for the war. The memories of it were traumatic to the extreme, and Alarand could never recall the full process- other than the feeling of drowning as blood was poured down his unwilling throat, the young elf strapped to a table and unable to do more than stare in terror as he was forced to swallow it. Within him, something awoke and grew, at first uncontrollable with rage and bloodlust. The lucid memories of the time were always in a dark room, a heavy door sealing one side, and a pile of straw in the corner, always with the stench of blood and decay overlaying the memory, the scant others of being strapped down, eyes covered and ears muffled- only the sound of wagon wheels audible. Though he wasn’t aware, Alarand became a valued tool and one of the symbols for anti-elf propaganda.

When Alarand next was aware, he lay among piles of corpses in what he now knows as Halamshiral. Disoriented, lost, and still highly volatile, he was lucky to be picked up on the Imperial Highway by members of the forming Inquisition. Recognizing his symptoms, Alarand was able to receive help regaining himself, in exchange for joining the inquisition. Ever since, he has loyally worked for the Inquisition of his own free will, loyal- and still on a personal search to regain who he once was… or better.
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