Name: Fyr

Race: Demon

Age: 33

Sex: Male

Appearance:

Fyr's about 162cm tall and of above-average muscularity, but feasting and drinking have caused a noticeable amount of fat to accumulate around his waistline as well. His black hair reaches well past his shoulders and is one big and unkempt mess he seems to be almost as proud of as of his wound horns. The latter don't appear to be made of keratine, but of some kind of much more mechanically stable compound. Those few people who had the opportunity to touch them even claim that they'd feel a bit metallic. His skin is of a reddish complexion all over his body and feels more like leather than anything else. A look on his nacked back would reveal quite an assortment of long scars.


Personality: Most people might associate hell with nothing but terror, so it comes all the more as a surprise to them that Fyr actually is not the kind of savage killer addicted to cruelty they might expect. On the contrary Fyr tends to be friendly, sometimes even jovial. Despite all the threats surrounding it and all the hardships of survival it brings with it, Castle Bronze actually is the best thing that has happened in Fyr's life so far. His thankfulness not only comes from him realizing that it's advisable, but from heart -- as much as a demon can have such, that is.

However Fyr also likes to enjoy himself, feasting and drinking when there's the right opportunity and pulling harmless pranks on people to get over a hangover. Overall the process of socialization with the castle's inhabitants goes along well, but still not to the degree he and the people around him might prefer for he still knows little about the social customs of this world's inhabitants.

In combat, Fyr presents himself as determined and nasty. He treats his present enemies the same way he treated his past enemies, just with more experience.


History: The forest around Bronze Castle is large and diverse, and so are the creatures and individuals living in there. Not everyone is turned down by initial failure, not everyone lacks the optimism and dedication required to pull through with a delicate piece of magic and not everyone is afraid of the darker things possible.

It was a dark and thunderous night when Fyr was ripped out of hell and tossed into the mundane world, summoned by ritualists who had spent months on their effort to obtain some 'help' for their own tribe. Their belief was that they had targeted the spell right and only summoned one of the lesser, more docile inhabitants of hell whom could be controlled and used for their own purpose. Ignite that campfire here, cast a levitation spell onto that brutally heavy stone there, do this, do that...

Admitted, at first Fyr did indeed not even realize that he was effectively being enslaved, simply because that kind of treatment was not so different from what the small demon had been experiencing in hell for years. However now he saw something he had not seen before: People walking around without someone else lashing them into a certain direction, people just doing what thy wanted to do... freedom. He struggled with his unfamiliarity with the world, but still the desire rose quickly to obtain this freedom for it just felt so much better.

Fyr had not killed before for he simply had been under constant supervision by beings much more capable than him, but the latter didn't hold true for those... whatever those two-legged creatures were. He burned them, impaled their chests with wooden stakes or just outright bashed their heads with whatever happened to lie around. Years of hard labor had hardened him and taught him to adapt so he proved ready. Luckily the Bronze Castle's guards didn't kill him when he arrived at their gate in rugged clothes and with hardly any food left.

There was only one thing of significance he had on his body: a small, golden needle piercing through his left ear. It was, and still is, the only possession that the summoners had brought out of hell along with him. Just like its origin it seems to defy the laws of nature from time to time and grants the same thing to its owner.


Equipment:

• Simple linen clothing, more gray than white and intended for everyday use.
• Leather armor adapted to his small size.
• Crossbow: A donation to him since he wanted to learn it, but he's not made much progress with that so far.

Spike:


Personal ability:

• Fyr's a demon. He has much, much less trouble with wielding magic in a much more instant manner and thus is able to use it even in a fight. However that doesn't automatically make him the pinnacle of wizardry, for every spell's formation still needs to be learned and that is something none of his former masters cared much about. Therefore his repertoire is effective, but also rather basic.
• Resilience: Fyr might not look like much, but he's made sure that all that condensed magic has been put to good physical use by implementing bones and horns significantly reinforced with metallic minerals and by packing his sinews and muscles tighter and sturdier. The good side of things ? He can survive bone-breaking and flesh-tearing events a lot easier than others. The bad side of things ? A well placed stab wound to the heart will still kill him and so would large bloodloss or similar things. Also he's a brutally heavy boy.
• Strength: He's a demon, and albeit he's by far not the largest he's still a lot stronger than he looks like and can easily keep up with much, much larger humans, elves or other individuals. However it is all raw strength, meaning that he simply lacks the skill required in order to put it to effective use in combat. He's probably a brutal tavern brawler, but can be happy to know which side of a sword not to use for holding it.

covered in dark grey scales excluding face biceps and most of the chest.

Screaming had echoed within a empty building. There sat upon remains of a small wooden animal cage, bones of several types of small creatures, and fecal matter, was Tash. The place seems to have been abandoned, with other kinds of creatures in cages with a assortment of being alive or dead. There were a few piles of dead rats on the floor being consumed by their kin. The rats actually trapped by the rat-traps were at the bottom of the piles, had rotted away long ago.

After long Tash had gathered themselves, turning confusion and fear into bored contempt. Tash made a mess of bottled taxidermies and miscellaneous substances in containers. Upon a time of rest Tash could recall a females voice in their head. It turned into a memory of a hooded figure who would rummage around this room along with repeating several sentences for hours. They would hunch over serval books upon a rickety table. The memory would fade along with Tash's attempts at repeating the words of the women.

The period that Tash spent in the building would last over two days and within that span he started piling like things together. Going through the building he had eaten some animals, while freeing the remaining ones. While investigating the books he came across a bestiary with several pages soaked in rat piss, others just missing. It depicted illustrations of some local fauna and races that included wolves, rabbits, deer, goblins, kobolds, and harpies. The rest of that book, intact, was written and harder for Tash to get interested in. There was a flight of stairs up and out of the basement. Upstairs, the rest of the house, was dim, dirty, and cold. It was nearly baron beyond furniture and essentials. It lacked personality and the soul of someone living within.

Enough time passed forcing Tash to leave the house in search of food in a nearby forest. He ventured in directionless besides for his hunger driving him forward. He would hunt and bring game back to the hut.

One day guards caught word there had been a reduced amount of deer in an area and went to investigate. On a trail Tash had been laying in a bush next to some deer tracks. Guards of the Castle happened to be marching in Tash's direction. As the men came within 20 feet of Tash, he decided to booked it after they had passed. One of the guards noticed and they apprehended Tash for questioning. . .