Age: 38 (Minimum 18.)
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Height: 6 feet
Race: Human
Class Third
Skills:
"As the eagle was killed by the arrow winged with his own feather, so the hand of the world is wounded by its own skill." - The words of his teacher would forever loiter, much like a fathers daunting lectures. He was but a youngling when the saying first took to his ears, yet stubborn, he sought means to deny its meaning, no matter a lack of its proper understanding. The ways of the sword had long since posed an enigma to him, nor did the shadows frighten him still. Was he not a child of the night? Nevertheless, few have managed to hone both body and mind in an equal fashion. Whilst emerging an envied warrior, Auris had abandoned other criterias deemed by some far more important, such as social skills. Logic and ration outside of a battle-field were also lacking, perhaps to a worrisome degree. "Unneeded." - he would often hear himself proclaim, stifling what could be seen as remorse for past ignorance. Few were the times when, not met with a sword in hand, the man would take to the ways of the land, cooking and alchemy, brewing what mediocre recipes he grasped from his early teachings. "Your stew tastes worse than your potions do, my son. But at least this time you could actually trail the boar." Leaving aside the above, the Third also became well versed within the arts of magic manipulation, specifically two means of subduing his targets through both negation of magic use and physical torture directed at the magic wielder, which, unfortunately, bore its toll on the caster as well.
Weakness(es):
Few are aware of the exact levy a Third pays for the use of such significant strength, fewer still speculate that it differs from one to another. Never were they known to discuss such issues between themselves, perhaps out of fear of traitors, perhaps out of a simple disregard for such trivial matters. In Auris' case, though, it comes twofold and dripped in irony: albeit capable of nullifying even the strongest of wizzards, even a mediocre spell would cause severe damage to his body. Thus, each and every hunt taken must ensure the demise of the hunted before the predator takes its place. But once had he fallen from a touch of frost, a mere crack of a log the herald of his advent to a mingy sorcerrer; two days and two nights it took for the great warrior to stand on his feet. As for the second, while using his more potent binding, Enforcement, Auris must ensure that no damage is brought to his body. In the event of such a situation, the Third would risk loosing the link with the process, binding himself and rendering his own abilities usseless in turn. Afterall, nobody said hunting mages would be easy. Mayhap a great loss must be risked in order to wield great power.
Equipment:
- Long sword
- A journal used to both chronicle and log daily activities and events of interest
- Several manuscripts carefully detailing the traits of past, current and future marks
- A ragged leather pouch neatly placed across his pack meant to hold two days worth of nourishment
- Bindings (Chains used in the process of enforcement)
Personal Quote: "We are judge, jury and executioner."
Description:
Standing at slightly above 6 feet, Auris Tel'avi, the Evening's Howl, is as imposing as a man can be. A robust body carefully tucked beneath worn armour stands as witness to countless battles across the years whilst oil-slick hair frames haggard cheeks and cracked lips. Charcoal eyes lodged by thick eyebrows complete the Third's features, painting the image of one which could be described as either a king or a rabid beast. Finger deep cuts and arm long rakes lay neatly distributed across his chest-plate, sheltering what once was the gleaming insignia of the notorious division which enforces the proper use of magic throughout the land. Amongst the phletora of items composing his battle gear, the naked eye could clearly spot a red linen cloth hanging from beneath his chain vest, perhaps meant to add a drop of colour to the rather morbid attire. Spiked knee-caps and shoulder blades offer protection for critical joints, whilst the spinal column stands guarded by his only tool of combat, the long-sword. Last, but not least, a leather pouch clumsily mounted atop a broad back holds both journals and logs of daily events.
Personality:
"Have I ever met a Third? Once, when I was still but a boy, tangled by the marvels of a life at Court. Ah, I remember it as if it was yesterday. Obviously, it wasn't! I was still but a lad, tang-.. Do not interrupt me! Darned be who sent you. Now, where was I..; oh, the Third! Yes, yes, I can clearly see him now, marching past wooden doors which led inside the council, plate and sword drenched in crimson red. Blood! It was a metaphor! Stop interrupting me, by the Gods. Do you want to hear the story or not?! ..Now, what you must understand about this particular Third is that, he was as fierce-looking as a gladiator and as horrifying as a banshee. The very air surrounding him brought about a stench of death, hollow eyes capable of toppling even the most violent of tides. His voice? Like thunder, like blizzard!
I remember it even now, that lingering chill which crept up my spine as he addressed our beloved Monarch. An odd individual he was, mechanically voicing each and every action he did: 'We are now handing you the journal, ruler of Calisma', he would say, 'We are now informing you of the lack of need for gratitude; No, we have not yet chosen a wife, yet your inquiries are making us uncomfortable'. What an odd creature, indeed. I could never understand why he would always refer to himself in the second person, yet perhaps they are truly haunted by the malevolent spirits of mages slain. Or perhaps he was simply insane, one could never tell. Withal, it was certainly an encounter worthy of your book, young man. Women shall bite their tongues and men shall grip their hilts at the sound of such a terrifying existence. May the Gods be with the unfortunate souls he hunts." - Albert Vardi, Chapter VIII: Magic and its downsides.
Auris Tel'avi would be, difficult to describe, at best. Upon first contact, one could quickly assume the lack of touch with society had turned the man to a wild beast which barely kept to his own calling. It was not (entirely) true. In honesty, he simply cared little for what pleasures the great cities had to offer, nor was he adamant in experiencing any of them. Even so, Albert Vardi stood not far from frank words. His demeanour brought about an almost ghastly anxiety, voice and eyes veritably the human equals of a chilling winter. Calculated, Auris spoke more through the use of snarls and smirks, amply akin to a grumpy elder. Perchance, the only human trait one could not deny would be his avid adoration of spring. "The season of rebirth often gives us another attempt to walk upon the righteous path." - the saying went.
History:
Few things could be said about Auris, fewer still which he remembers. Born in the midst of a mountain settlement, he lived his early years secluded from civilisation and the schemes a modern society brought with it. Child of one loving family, he displayed unusual agility and strength as a youngster, having taken his first step at the fragile age of 10 months. Joyous were his days, blissful innocence keeping the boy from partaking in the bloody massacres which erupted like plagues passed the mountain tops. Never would have he noticed, was it not for the kin which vanished like nightmares at daylight ever so frequent. Often would he ask of play-friends, brothers and sisters which shared the same bowl and sat at the same table: "They shall soon return, beloved child." - the answer came promptly, both mother and father lacking determination to explain the heartaching certainty.
And so it was that in the spring of this 7th birthday, the eve came to take his mother. Silent and lacking in omens, war had slithered to the heart of their very doorstep. Men were slaughtered and women raped, rivers of blood bathing the bodies of cursed sorcerrers with demonic grins curling up on thin lips. Maddened and scared, he ran, ran past creeks and brooks, past forests and woods, past swamps and cities, never to be heard from by the man which cradled him as a newborn. The years leading after the event were harsh, the Third swiftly discovering that not all lands were as welcoming as his own. During the day he partook in humble labour for those which would have him, the boy refusing no duty as long as it would bring either coin or sustenance, whilst during the eve, he sought to find asylum in whatever hole would have him.
At the age of sixteen, he was chained and charged with the crime of poaching on royal grounds. Oh, what a dreadful experience it was for the still blossoming boy, to have been ripped from the utter freedom which he so adored only to be thrown inside gritty dungeons. Yet, it was within those very dungeons that his true destiny came to be, heralded by the unexpected visit of one later known as Mauris Wildhammer, a Third. Not until this very day does Auris understand what it was that drew the inquisitor to him; nonetheless, eternal praise has always been given.
His freedom stood granted the very day, and withal, the boy no longer dreamed of frozen peaks and lush hills. Oh no, he was much to drawn to the man in polished armour which towered above heads left and right. And so they set off, embarking on what would be the adventure of his life. The years passed, as Father Time never sits still, the boy now strong and fearless, forged by the trodden hands of the elderly counterpart. The world no longer held secrets from him, nor did war of any sort. As he reached the age of 27, the pair parted ways, few words having been spoken. A firm embrace alongside a blade, plate and letter were the only keepsakes left behind by the mentor which had freed a caged bird many, many days passed.
"Do not open the letter, Auris, until you shall find one to free, as I found you."
Anything Else: Other details of note.
Auris cares little for conversation, women, alcohol or vices of any sort. That, in no way, means he couldn't be tempted into having them by the right voice.
