Name: Marth Leblanc
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Station: Second son of a Havendall noble
Powers: Pyromancy, the magic of fire. Acquired through traumatic and unintended means that shall be described in detail in the Bio. As for the extent of his power, he can produce a softball sized fireball without much thought, and with effort can set a single room hut ablaze, but he is untrained, having to experiment and test his own limits.
Description: Standing at five foot four Marth has nearly reached his full height. He is thin, despite how much he eats, and has pale skin. His eyes are red, a side effect of his magic. He wears his brown hair short and combed to his right, and tends to smell of a mixture of honey, his perfume, and ash. His clothing is simple for his station, black and slick with little in the way of jewels or precious metal. He has recently taken to wearing a simple metal chest piece due to the demon attacks.
Mentally the end of the world has already begun to wear on him. his family died before he could do anything, and has recently had to use his magic a great deal, weakening him both physically and mentally. Beyond that however he is a simple but driven young man. His entire life has been decided by tradition and fate, and he has fought it in any way he can, though his doing so has resulted in the most traumatic occurrence of his life thus far. He tries to be kind to others, but makes himself an outcast, too many near him having died already. In reflection, he is a good man, but tired, and slowly reaching his breaking point.
Biography: Born the second son of a noble in a war-like land, Marth was fated to be a warrior. His young life was spent care-free, his education starting at the age of six. He had to learn how to ride a horse, the history of his proud family, how to read and write. When he had free time he spent it swimming and playing with his twin and older brothers, those memories some of the most fondly regarded from his early years. When he was fourteen he was locked in an armory, rows of weapons in front of him, swords and axes noble and harsh, graceful and savage. The weapon Marth choose would be the one he would fight with the rest of his life, the weapon expected to be found next to his corpse on the battlefield when he died. In a dark corner, hidden under some axes, Marth found a rusty old spear, and in an act of spite choose the commoners weapon.
He was a quick study, learning to use the spear as both an effective weapon offensively and defensively. His twin, who was far more willing to be a warrior and nothing more, took up an ax and shield. The two would spar often, fighting for hours at a time, with neither holding the advantage for long. At sixteen Marth's twin brother would go with soldiers to fight the wild desert orcs. Marth hasn't seen him since. Marth however didn't want to be a warrior on the front line, so instead he tagged along with his father and uncle while they were away from the family fortress.
Marth grew close to his uncle, who was also a second son. Whenever they could get away with it the two would play cards, testing each others luck and wits. When in the city of Jadis Marth got another chance to fight destiny. His father was busy, and was going to be busy for days, making deals with the Gold cartel. His uncle had informed Marth of a chance to escape the life he had been given and gave Marth a sack of coin. Taking this chance Marth found himself on a wagon, one of the guards to protect the gem and metal laden wagon as it traveled south into elvish lands to trade for the precious silks the elves produced.
A week into the journey, it had been four days since any sign of civilization apart from the empty road. The group was camped on the side of the road, Marth in his sleeping roll. Before he knew it however an elf's sword was at his throat. The camp was overrun, at the end though everyone was rounded up save one, who died fighting. The entire crew was bound in chains by the elves and forced to march the rest of the night and the entire day. Everyone knew they were to be made slaves or worse. As the moon rose they reached the shore of a lake so massive the opposite shore couldn't be seen. It was there that the elves began to chant in their strange language as two of them systematically drowned the humans. Marth watched in horror as the people he had just become to know were murdered in cold blood.
Marth was the last one to be edged to the water. Put on his knees in front of the dark water it seemed death was to claim him. By this time the water was swirling with energy, magic. His head was submerged. Marth's breath left him, the world faded, before he heard something, muffled by the water in his ears. The sound of screaming. Suddenly no longer were hands holding him down, and Marth forced himself to surge upwards, sparks following him. The elves were being attacked by wild beasts, some kind of saber toothed beasts. Marth didn't see very clearly, all he knew was to run.
He ran, and ran, until at long last he stumbled into a clearing to see smoke, a wagon. Stepping up to the fire he fell over, unconscious. The humans who camped there took the young man with them, they were on their way back from a successful voyage to elven lands. Once reentering Jadis Marth made his way to the inn his father and uncle were staying in. He sat there through his fathers shouting rant with an tired look in his eyes. Once a brilliant blue his eyes were now a dull red. Once they were again in their homeland Marth learned of his power of fire.
Sitting in front of one of the fireplaces in his families fortress Marth found himself moving his hand into the flame without thinking, when his mind caught up he couldn't help but stare as the fire left his hand untouched, moving his hand out of the flame he found that some of the fire had followed. He couldn't understand why, but it seemed like he had some power of flame. Over the months he trained in secret, until he was able to hurl a small ball of flame across a twenty foot long room and scorch an apple balanced on a stool. It wasn't long after that Marth's father declared that he would be visiting Tolos itself.
And so Marth, his father, and his uncle found themselves on the road south. They were about two weeks away when they met a band of goblins. Cut off guard by the small green creatures Marth's father was cut down before he had a chance. Marth's uncle was hardly better off, screaming at Marth to flee as he was hacked at. Marth clung to the horse he was upon, unthinking as tears crawled down his face. He could survive the death of his father the stubborn man, but he had loved his uncle. When finally home Marth relayed what had happened to his family, though few believed it. When the goblins began showing up they were fought off, with average losses. Then a dragon appeared. The fortress which had held off six hundred attacks fell in a day. Marth barely survived, only making it out due to his relationship with fire. The rest of his family had no such fortune.
Alone, his only family alive being a twin he'll likely never see again, Marth walks. He doesn't know his goal, only that he intends to live, live and when the day comes, die with his spear by his side.
Relations: Since no other characters have yet been made, at least compared to when I started writing this, there are no characters to link with mine's backstory. I am willing to adapt this to make room for other characters though if needed.