Valimar
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Draven
I dug this up from Remnants of Aggression, so as you can see...his history takes place in Eberron....Names of places can be changed easily. If you don't want to wait for me, you can go ahead, i don't mind. Also, you will see that he is one level too high. I don't have time to go throgh and delevel him right now...I need to study. But at least we have SOMETHING!
Name-Draven Ire’Dante
Class/Level-2 Fighter/4 Soul Seeker
Race-Human
Alignment-Neutral Neutral
Deity-None
Hieght-6’4
Wieght-190
Ability Name-Score/Modifier
Strength-17/+3
Dexterity-18/+4
Constitution-16/+3
Intelligence-15/+2
Wisdom-13/+1
Charisma-13/+1
HP-58
AC-17(+3 Leather Armor/+4 Dex)
Fort-+5
Reflex-+8
Will-+3
Base Attack Bonus +6/+1
Grapple +9
Weapons
Grishnak/Attack +10/5/ Damage 2d6 +5/Critical 17-20 x2
(Notes- A massive, Onyx Dai Katana with the many, eerie runes scrawled
across it’s glossy, black blade, Enchanted with Keen)
20 Ebony Darts/Attack+10/5/ Damage 1d4+poison/Critical x2
(Notes-Each dart’s tip is coated in Giant Wasp poison, doing an initial 1d6
Dex damage, as well as a secondary 1d6 Dex damage. Giant wasp poison is
common and costs only 200gp according to the Players Handbook)
2 Daggers/Attack+9/4/ Damage 1d4+3/Critical 19-20x2
(one in right boot, One strapped to inside of jacket, easily withdrawn)
Black, Leather Gauntlet/Attack+9/Damage/1d3+3 Critical x2
Armor
Custom suit of clothing, made of Darkweave and Black, studded leather. It
looks more like clothing than armor, and is very, very dark. +5AC, Max Dex
bonus +5, Armor check penalty -1. Arcane Spell failure=%15(+1 circumstance
bonus to hiding in shadowy areas, enchanted with +2AC)
Feats
Exotic Weapon Proficiency
Dodge
Cleave
Stealthy
Weapon Focus
Weapon Specialization
Skills
74 skill points
Gather Information+10
Intimidate+10
Move Silently+13
Open Lock+13
Hide+13 (14 in dark areas)
Spot+10
Survival+6
Search+10
Tumble+13
Climb+13
(all scores are the total, rank+score+misc)
Spells Per Day
3 First Level
2 Second Level
Spells Known
First Level
Obscuring Mist
Bane
True Strike
Second Level
Invisibility
Spider Climb
Special Abilities
Dark Vision (I know, very strange, but I don’t look at everything racially.
Draven is cursed, and his eyes are VERY noticeable. They gleam a brilliant
gold, and will reflect like, like a cats. They also, however, actually glow,
when he is filled with emotion (rage, anxiety, lust..lol) . He can see in
pitch black, but can be dazzled, as a dwarf or orc.
Soul Crave-Draven needs to drink the souls of those he has slain, at least
once a month, sometimes more, depending on the potency of the soul..burnt
out, old, or weary souls give less. He has a sixth sense, and can sense
general directions where there are concentrations of humanoid souls.
Soul Drink-Immediately after killing a humanoid, Draven can decide to
“Drink” it’s soul. The soul is ciphered through HIS, filling in the holes
where his has deteriorated, and continues on to the Devourer, where it
spends the rest of its existence in torment, before being extinguished
completely.
Inventory
Flint and Tinder
7 Days worth Cheese and Bread
1 WaterFlask
1 Flask of Drow Spirits (half full)
1 Ebony Pipe
1 Pound of tobacco
5 Thunderstones
5 Tanglefoot Sack
5 Alchemist Fire
3 Acidic Fire
3 Alchemists Frost
3 Alchemists Spark
2 Noxious Smokesticks
2 Smokesticks
Thieves Kit
Set of Ivory Dice
6 Silver earrings
4Random, silver Rings
1 Signet Ring with the symbol on his covered hand
3 Random, silver chains
1 Black Bandanna
1 Flask Giant Wasp Poison
Thieves Tools
Components pouch
6 Gum Arabic encased Eyelashes
2 inch big, magic ball. Inside are 3 live spiders
Vial of Betumen
Tiny wooden replica of archery target
G-74
S-5
C-10
BACKSTORY
Dera’Vainne Irezsu’Dantes is a name that has slithered throughout the
shadows of Khorvaire. A whispered name, with a dreaded meaning. In the Black
Tongue, it means “The Soul Craver, Infernal.”. Yet it does not belong to any
creature of legend. No demon, or dark terror is possessing of this title.
Rather, it is the name given to one man. One man who has been so terribly
forged by the darkness, and the hatred of Khyber, that his own true name has
long since been swept away by the years. In the common tongue, he is known
as Draven Ire’Dante, and this is his story.
His name was Mikael then. Mikael Larains. And his story is a long one,
wreathed in the cold of loneliness, and aflame with hate. He was born in 969
YK to Artius and Rosemary Larains. He was given two years of love before his
mother grew ill, and succumbed months later. His only memories of her are
brilliant, clear green eyes, and the bits and pieces of a Lullaby that she
would sing him in her waning days.
“Out on the road There are fireflies circling
Deep in the wood, where the lost souls hide.
Over the hill, there are men returning, trying to find some piece of mind.
Sleep My child.
Sleep My child.
Under the door there are shadows moving.
Don’t be afraid, hold my hand
Into the dark, there are eyelids closing
Buried alive in the shifting sand.
Sleep My Child.
Sleep My Child.
Sleep My Child.
Speak to me now and the world will crumble
Open the door and the moon will fall
All of your life, All your memories
Go to your dreams, forget it all.
Sleep My Child.”
In the days following his wife’s death, Artius was transformed from a
husband and father, to a drunken slob. He slipped from bearing the title of
a wealthy merchant, to a gambling pig. He came to despise Mikael, who was a
living, breathing memory of the wife that had been so painfully wrenched
from his life. Therefore Mikael himself was nothing more than a painful
reminder to the man. A maid was hired to take care of young Mikael, but the
woman only fed and clothed him. She never loved him. She never nourished
him. Thus, Mikaels young years were lonely. He had no love at home, and he
had no friends at school. He was small in those days, and was often teased,
and bullied. He would get beat up in school, only to be ruthlessly beaten by
his father for getting in a fight. Young Mikael, the boy who had once been
so full of curiosity and wonder at the world around him, reverted into a
dark, callous shell. His once wide and glittering eyes became cold. By the
age of 10, he was young, but he was no child. He had grown up hating his
family, his peers, and himself.
As he crept into his teens, he and his father often fought, violently.
Mikael was small for his age, and his father would beat him remorselessly.
The boy satisfied himself by refusing to obey any and every order he was
ever given, and took joy in sabotaging any joy his father ever got out of
life. Why shouldn’t he? His father allowed him no joy. Late in his 13th
year, he and his father got into the most violent fight of all, It had ended
when Mikael pulled a sword he had snuck into the house and threatened to
kill both Artius, and his whore maid. His father, who was drunk broke down
into tears. Perhaps he finally saw what he had become, and what he had done
to the son of the only woman he ever loved. Perhaps he was just an emotional
drunk. Either way, when he asked his son to forgive him, Mikael had told the
man to crawl into the Black Pit, and had walked out the door, never looking
back.
He had grown up in the city of Passage, on the shores of Lake Galifar, in
central Aundair. But when he left his fathers house, he made his way
directly to the Lightning Rail station, with a pocket full of money he had
stolen, and the sword slung over his shoulder. This he had stolen from a
drunken guard in the local tavern.
Without a second thought, the small boy caught a ride to the capital city of
Fairhaven, where he fully intended to start his new life. Within a week he
was arrested for petty theft, and sent to an orphanage in the outskirts of
the city. Mikael, who was quickly becoming a master at stealth, was quick to
escape, and shortly after, had taken up with the local Underground Crime
scene. Here he proved to be a very valuable component. The boy was cold, due
to his unloving history. He had no love for others, or for himself, and
because of such, was quick to prove himself very reliable in dangerous
situations. He was the boy who would rob the local bank in broad daylight.
He was the boy who would threaten to kill a pregnant woman if she said
anything about the jewelry he was taking. Due to his small size, and extreme
agility, he could also be counted on to perform any number of other stealth
related acts. Moreso, Mikael was quick to prove that he was more than just
talk. At age 15 he committed his first murder, when he slit mans throat for
stepping between him and a ring that Mikael knew full well, was worth only
50 gold.
Over the next few years, Mikael lived as a thug and a gangster. He killed,
robbed, looted, and performed hits loyally and without question. Money
speaks, however, and Mikael was forced to flee Fairhaven, after killing a
local crime lord, and long time superior. He had been bought by a fair sum
of money by a competing gang lord. Of course, Mikael had been tricked, and
would never receive his pay. He was, after all, young and foolish at the
time. Fleeing the country, he made his way through war torn lands, into the
country of Breland. At this time, Breland was waging brutal war with both
Aundair and Thraine, but of course, Mikael felt no alliance with the country
he had been born and raised in. Arriving in the village of Hatheril. Mikael
had only intended to stay a day or so, before continuing on, in search of
work, possibly as a bounty hunter. With the war, there was always plenty of
bounty to be had. But it was here that he would fall in love.
Her name was Shamaya Arsteg, and they had met in the Rail station. In these
days, Mikael had finally begun to grow, and though he was 18, he was six
feet tall, and well formed. His skin was fair, and his hair was black as
night, but his eyes were green like his mothers. He was a very handsome
young man, however, his cold, loveless life had calloused his features and
darkened his eyes. His presence made people very uneasy, but not this girl.
She had glanced at him, and had asked him what he looked so miserable for.
Twas a warm, sunny day. The war was far from these lands, why so upset?
Mikael had not known how to respond. The woman had persisted, and had told
him she would not let him go, until he had smiled. Needless to say, he spent
the remainder of the evening with her on his heals.
He did smile, before the end, however. And the two were quick to fall in
love. Never in his entire life, had Mikael felt the warmth of another’s
smile, or tasted the sweetness of a beloved kiss. He did not know what it
was to be cared for, and he had a very hard time learning to care. But he
did learn. For Shamaya alone, he turned from a life of crime, to live an
honest life. Her father was a commander of the local military, but he also
owned a smithy. Mikael helped him to run the shop while he was not home, and
soon, he himself joined the Breland ranks. He was to serve under Shamaya’s
father, who’s name was Venthor Arsteg, and soon, Mikael came to love the man
as a father. In their free time, Venthor would train him in the art of
swordplay. Mikael was a fast learner, and proved to be exceptional with a
blade. Seeing his pupils potential, Venthor trained the young man in the use
of an exotic weapon, not seen in these lands. The Dai Katana. It benefited
Mikael’s speed, and hight, and he was quick to prove himself very deadly
with it.
Soon enough, as the war began to peak, the horns sounded, even in Hatheril.
Captain Venthor, and his local garrison were needed in the Northeast.
Thraine and Aundairian troops had been crashing against the outcropping city
of Vathirond for years. Like a rock, the city had held against the sea of
war, but it was beginning to erode. With every attack, the garrisons of
Vathirond would slip further, and further. Their moral fed by the blood of
Breyland, the enemy was beginning to grasp the upper hand.
Mikael, who had recently proposed to Shamaya, was to serve under his future
father in law. It had been a bit of a surprise to the man, when he was sent
to the front lines. He had served for 2 years now, and the front lines were
reserved for grunts, and those with a death wish. Mikael did not question
his lot, however, and fought hard and honorably. The months dragged on,
however, and the dry heat of summer was washed away by cold, winter
rainstorms. Mikael too, was becoming cold and bitter. He had been promoted,
and now lead a small unit of men. Though he led them through victory after
victory, and was viewed as a hero, he could not smother the spark of anger
that had been blown back to life amongst the coals of former self. It was
obvious that his father in law was refusing to pull him back, or promote him
out of the center of the battle fields. Winter wore on, however, and over
time, the city of Vathirond and it’s surrounding farmlands were secured.
Breyland troops began to withdraw, and Mikael began looking forward to his
return home. In the darkness that the bitter war had churned within his
weary mind, one spark of light gleamed, beautifully. The though of Shamaya
urged him on, kept him fighting through the most brutal of battles.
Finally, he was given a withdrawal date. Two weeks. Mikael felt a warmth in
his heart he had never thought existed. He would be seeing Shamaya again.
They would be together forever. It was, of course, a shocking, and heart
rending surprise to Mikael, when Captain Arsteg approached him the day
before his scheduled withdrawal.
Arsteg informed Mikael that one of Brelands generals had been captured, and
was being taken to one of Aundair’s recently discovered, nearby camps.
Apparently, spies had discovered that the caravan contained only 10 men at
best. They were yet to meet up with their fellow troops. Mikael and 19
others where to be sent to the coordinates that Arsteg then gave him, where
they would await the approach of the caravan, ambush it, and save the
General before the caravan could reunite with the rest of it’s army.
Enraged that he was given yet another mission before being sent home, but
unable to do anything about it, Captain Larains (Mikael) grudgingly set out
on this final mission, but swearing to have his overdue stay investigated.
Over the next night, their coordinates where found, and Mikael and his men
set up, and awaited the return of the scouts he had sent to find the
whereabouts of this Caravan
When they returned however, He and his men were in for a terrible surprise.
The scouts where terrified, and told them through the gasps of a hurried
retreat that instead of finding the small caravan they sook, they had found
hundreds of troops, fanning through the wilderness, closing in on their
coordinates. Finding a high place, they had scanned the surrounding land,
and where horrified to see that a great circle of Thrainians was slowly
closing in on the coordinates of Mikael and his measly troop. Worse yet,
they had gotten close enough to overhear some of the shouted orders.
Apparently, the Thrainians had received leaked information that a small
group of solders would be in the area, and where trying to make their way
north. They apparently possessed some sort of magic item of great power. The
captains that the scouts had overheard had said to take none alive.
So it seemed a great treachery had taken place, and the thought settled
heavily upon Mikael, yet before he could make any orders, one of his men
stepped forward, plunging his hand into his sack, and retrieving a rolled up
parchment. He quickly explained that Arsteg had given it to him to give to
Captain Larains upon the scouts return. It was obvious that the soldier was
hopeful the note would bear some key to a rescue, or way out of the
predicament they now found themselves staring at.
Snatching the note from the mans hands, Mikael read it by moonlight.
Mikael,
It pains my very soul, knowing what I must do, and what I must tell you. You
will not understand, but that does not matter. I feel you should know the
truth at least, before the end. I do like you, Mikael, I really do; but I
know of your violent past, and so what is a father to do? Upon learning what
you are about to, I’m afraid you will not be able to be trusted. I’m sorry.
As much as you may love my dear Shamaya, and as much as you have changed, I
know it was for her; her feelings have changed. It has been this way for
several months before you left. Athlos Evanston, a wealthy, and respectable
member of the community has won my daughter’s heart and has asked her hand.
She will always love you, she tells me, but she cannot stay with you. She
couldn’t bare to let you know, and it’s understandable. I promised her I
would reassign you far away. She believes me Mikael, but we both know, you
would return. You would learn the truth, and it would break you. You would
be a danger to my daughter, Mikael, and I cannot have that. I feel it only
fair that I tell you the truth myself. And so I have. Now, with this
knowledge, I have no choice but to do what I have done. I hope you
understand. And so, our information has “slipped” into the hands of the
enemy. Your small group carries a powerful artifact, and it may have been
swallowed by any one of you for its own protection. You must all be slain
for it to be found. I’m sorry, and I wish the end could have been marked by
some other means. But alas, a father must do what a father must do. Goodbye
old friend.
Venthor Arsteg
Indeed the truth did break Mikael. For long moments he could do nothing but
stare at the note. Dropping to his knees and cradling it in his lap, he let
the rain that suddenly broke above, flow over him until the ink on the
parchment ran in rivers down his lap, pooling at his knees with tears and
rainwater. His men, beginning to panic, pleaded with him to stand and give
them orders. He did not answer. He had one love. His life bore one flower,
and in one violent gust, it had fluttered away…on its own freewill. He had
been deceived. Betrayed. Finally he spoke one word between gritted teeth to
his pleading men.
“Run.”
They obeyed, and he knelt for long moments, listening to the scattered
screams as his men ran into the enemy, one by one, and indeed met their
ends. In those moments, all warmth his soul had absorbed over the past two
years fled, leaving a void that was colder than before. Every bit of anger
and hate he had ever felt returned in rush more potent than any poison.
Drawing his blade, he plunged it deep into the mud. Laying his forehead on
it’s hilt, he prayed to any that would listen, swearing to give anything. To
make any deal for an opportunity at revenge…just revenge.
With his prayer finished, he stood, drew his blade from the mud, and,
without even bothering to shake it off, chose a direction and darted in it.
Reaching the ranks of enclosing soldiers, he unhesitantly plunged into them
like a knife, hacking and cutting his way desperately, trying to find his
way by them into the open. Limbs were hewed, and bellies split open. Mikael
fought with the fury of a Demon, long encaged. It was hopeless however, and
he found himself with his back to a steep ledge overlooking a rushing river.
Turning to face his enemies, he could do nothing to deflect the vicious
broadsword swipe that cleaved through his armor and tore open his chest and
stomach, casting him backwards, off the ledge. The last thing he felt was
the icy cold of the river water as it rushed over him.
When he awoke, he discovered that he lay in a strange cavern. The Blackcaps
were pocked with them. This one, however, smelt of death. The sour odor
washed over him in a wave so nauseating that he found himself spilling his
stomach. It wasn’t until he had finished, that he discovered his armor and
shirt had been taken off. Suddenly, his last memory hit him and his hand
shot to his stomach and chest, expecting to feel severed bone and slimy
entrails. He felt only skin. When he looked, however, Mikael was terrified
to discover that where he had been slashed, there now ran a scar unlike any
he had ever seen, for it burned and glowed like fresh embers. Suddenly
afraid, he found himself scanning the room. For the first time, he realized
that the walls shone glossy in the light, and were black as night. Onyx.
Staggering to his feet, he looked behind where he had lain, and his eyes
widened in horror. Before him toward the most hideous monster he had ever
seen. It’s flesh hung dead from skeletal limbs and its eyes glowed with an
unholy light. Between it’s decayed ribs could be seen…a figure, hideous and
tormented. Staggering back, he fell over, but it did not move. Instead, it
began to speak.
“I am Lugsnadah, Old and very powerful amongst the Devourers. Long have I
dabbled in the arcane, and I heard your pleas. I have answered. You live.
You will have your opportunity.”
At this moment, Mikael realized everything that was, and had taken place. He
had been spared. The moment of reconciliation was at hand. But he could not
be killed now. No, he had not had his revenge yet. A rock formed in his
stomach and he pushed himself to his feet.
“And in return, what do you ask?”
“I Ask nothing from you. You are mine now, stand where you are and accept
your future.”
It took all strength Mikael could posses to stand before the Devourer. A
great cloud seemed to grow around it’s looming, hunched figure, and it
approached until it stood just before him, peering down at him. It’s
unearthly eyes peering into his soul.
Snatching his right hand in its gaunt, skeletal fingers, it held it out,
and, still peering into his eyes, began to speak in a voice that seemed to
emanate from the very air around him, the foul reek he breathed.
“With mine soul, I enchain thee to me. Through your soul will I feed. Souls
will you hunt, and souls will you take, to feed your own and mine.”
A searing pain shot up his right hand, and he gasped, but did not grasp at
it, for it was already in the clutches of the Devourer.
With its other hand, it reached for the wall, and, to his surprise, its hand
slid through it, as if it was an illusion.
“Unless you die by the blade, You shall remain a cursed hunter for the
remainder of your days, or until I die. If you do not, Your will be mine
own. If you‘re life is taken by with your knowledge, you still, shall be
mine.”
The pain in his hand burned, and he gritted his teeth, but could not draw
his eyes from those of the Devourer. Slowly it began to draw its hand back
from the wall, and in it, he was astonished to discovered, was a massive,
Dai Katana of pure, Onyx. Its midnight surface gleamed in the light of the
monsters eyes. Scrawled across it’s glossy surface, runes burned like hot
metal. Slowly though, they began to dull, until they were merely marked into
the sword.
“Take Grishnak (Soulscythe). I bind your blade with you. It will guide you
in your search to satisfy your newfound hunger. From this moment on, Mikael
is dead. Your name is Dera’Vainne Irezsu’Dantes. The Infernal Soul Craver.
The devourer of humanities essence. Go. Have your vengeance. Savor it. For
your days there after will be debt.”
And so he left the caves, attired now in dark robes that the devourer had
given him from it’s stash of items from those it had long slain. Grishnak he
carried in hand. His right hand now bore a large, odd, spiraling, black
marking; and his eyes had transformed. What had once been clear, brilliant
green now churned into a strange, fervent gold. His eyes were the eyes of
the hunter, and they glowed a pale gold in rage or passion.
He made straight for Hatheril. His hatred leading him. He now blamed
Shamaya, her lover, and her father for even his curse, and he would have his
revenge. Upon reaching the village, he was quick to discover that already,
marriage plans had been made. By now it was mid Therendor. Shamaya and her
precious Athlos were to be wed the next week. Slipping into town, he kept
his profile low, and plotted his revenge, until the night before the
wedding.
It was on this night, cold and windy, that he watched from the rooftop of a
nearby building as Athlos celebrated his soon to be marriage. His hatred
burned the fiercer, at the party, but he bid his time, and as Athlos was
leaving, he caught up with him, beat him, and dragged him to his dear
Shamaya’s house. Her father was not there, and she was….horrified at the
least, when the door shattered and her long lost Mikael stormed in. He was
not the Mikael she remembered. Not only had he grown to a towering 6 foot 4,
his eyes glowed as only a demons should. He dragged her precious Athlos by
the hair.
Needless to say, after a brief struggle, he had her in submitting, and
forced her to watch ever detail, as he dissected her love, hoping that the
entrails he tore may shred her love, as she had done to him. His history had
taught him the art of killing, and he was certain to keep Athlos alive for
as long as possible. The deed was near finished when old man Arsteg walked
in. The terror in his eyes would forever draw a smile on the face of
Dera’Vainne Irezsu’Dantes. He needn’t an explanation. The old man drew his
blade and the two did battle, but Mikael had at last exceeded his master in
skill, and before the wide eyes of his own daughter, old man Arsteg had his
stomach tore open and his throat slit.
And so it was, the very first souls he drank were those of his treacherous
lover’s would-be husband, and her devious father. He spared Shamaya that
night though, (If you can called it being spared) and he left. Tears flowed
from both her jade orbs, and his golden pits; but he would never look back.
Fleeing into the wilderness, he disappeared, and over the next several
years, went through a variety of changes. From this day forward, his name
was Draven IreDante, anyone who ever knew Mikael, thought he had died in the
war. He spent some years with a dark and very secret assassins guild, and
had his hair braided into the customary dreadlocks that they bore. His were
tipped in crimson. With the assassins guild he forged a living that was less
sinister than he may have been forced into, had he continued to wander. With
the money he earned, he had a beautiful, black leather set of armor custom
made for him. And they thanked him, though they never understood his bad
habit of cornering his prey and, instead of killing them instantly, doing
battle with them, before slaying them. The reason was obvious. He had no
purpose for living, and unknowingly sook his own death. The guild never knew
of his curse, however.
He left the assassins, however, because over time, his hatred had diminished
to a dull painful outlook. Though very cold, and dark as the deepest abyss,
his soul had lost it’s evil edge. One cannot carry hate forever, and his
soon seeped from the many holes his heart had suffered. Over time, he began
leaning toward killing with more justified means. He became a mercenary, and
later a bounty hunter. He has done work for the House Tharashk, but he has
also taken work from then, for better bidders. Noone knows how he can track
his prey so efficiently. He does not possess a Dragon mark. Of course, none
know his curse. Revered and certainly feared by all who know his name, he
remains a bounty hunter to this day, seeking a living, and the means to feed
his soul. Over time he has been able to quench his thirst, and can survive
killing on a monthly basis, depending on the potency of the soul. He has
long given up hope in breaking his curse, and dimly seeks his own death in
battle, as it is his only hope of liberation.
RELATIONSHIPS
Draven has few friends, and scattered lovers. Most women are afraid of him,
and some are intrigued by him. His cold, distance tends to leave women
hating him, or obsessing over him…The latter always seem to be involved in
some sort of evil cult…Draven is yet to figure out why. The few friends
Draven has are also scattered across the continent. Most are dead. Most of
the friends Draven has were made during his years within the assassins
guild.
His right hand is gloved in a black, leather gauntlet, embedded with silver
studs (he hides the mark the Devourer gave him). His left hand is bare, and
bejeweled with many, many rings. Around each wrist are many bracelets of all
sorts, and around his neck are several chains. Each of his ears has 3, very
thick, silver hoops. To all that know of him, he is feared, but revered for
his expertise in stalking and killing. Draven is incredibly cynical. Rarely
smiling and never laughing, he goes about his business, caring little for
others. He speaks the language of money, though, and is very reliable in
situations too dangerous for others. The reason being simple. He has no fear
of death.
APPEARANCE
At first glance, Draven is terribly dark and intimidating. Yet there is an
exotic air about him. He is very handsome, with broad shoulders, and a thin,
agile frame. He is very tall, and his skin is pale. His arms and chest are
entirely covered in scrolling, black knot work and spiral designs. His
proud, thin face seems etched from stone and void of emotion, save perhaps
pain. Two braids hang from his chin, and his eyes are an eerie golden. His
raven black hair runs in tight dreadlocks, well past his shoulders, to mid
back and are tipped crimson. He wears beautiful, black leather armor.
Intricate braids and patterns run along it. Cloaked over his shoulders is a
flowing, open fronted, leather coat, which hangs entirely to his
ankles.(It‘s a trench coat). Slung over his shoulder is a massive, onyx
Dai-Katana, sheathed in black leather.
Posted on 2006-10-24 at 17:23:58.
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Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Shadows of the Empire
Neva
