Player: Micheal
Character Name: Deatö E'za
Alias/Nickname: Derath
Race: Human, Drenabon
Age/Date of Birth: 29 / Icedawn 2, 3090 ADW
Apparent Age: Mid-Twenties
Sex: Male
Height: 6' 1"
Weight: 133 lbs.
Hair Color/Style: Straight, ebony black hair otherwise typical of his heritage. Presently shoulder length at the back, but pulled back and tied into a short pony tail hanging down his neck. Bangs hang down the sides of his face, each bound toward the end with small golden clasps, roughly one and one half inches long; on their surface woven threads of gold and black.
Eyes: Two rings of electric blue dark at the outer edge sweep and spiral in toward the pupil much like a gentle storm slowly growing on the horizon. The brightest blue dance just out of reach of the all devouring black pupil; the slope of the hill onlookers might teeter at before falling into the abyss E'za oft meddles with.
Marks/Scars/Tattoos: Small, two-inch long scar on his lower back on the right side from a short blade that'd run him through once.
Physical Appearance: While not frail, Derath would find hefting a long sword a challenge and keeping it steady a feat even under the calmest of circumstances. His muscle tone comes from walking heavily while with various traveling troupes across the lands, and lifting about moderately heavy boxes to load and unload to pay for the bulk of his passage. Despite the workout, however, he does not go out of his way to bulk up, having no reason to prepare for a physical confrontation against the trained Aleävon; instead, he focuses on honing his mind. A fit body, however, enables a fit mind and to that extent helping out around camp is no chore.
Since he recovered from a few years ago from losing Elana, Derath often has a faint smile tugging at his lips to put those around him at ease. The radiant blue of his eyes speak volumes of the clarity of focus and vibrance while carrying the secreted mirth of his lips; tension rarely pinches his brow except in the most arduous of times (a confrontation, for example).
Not a bit of facial hair besides that of his trimmed eyebrows can be found; naturally gifted--or cursed--without needing to tend a beard or mustache, Derath does examine himself for any stray hairs or stubble that would hide his otherwise dashing features (if you hear him talk). The hair atop his head, meanwhile, is often tended and kept at length sporting the exaggerated bangs and the short ponytail that frames his unblemished features; a boon when portraying a female role in a story or joke before audiences, bouncing between genders with little to no makeup.
For a fair part, Derath's skin is smooth, albeit not silken like a Noble's might be with their fancy oils and creams. His hands might have a touch of texture from working the past few years in carting things around, but not mistaken for the hands of a man growing up working fields or mines. Additionally, little body hair can be found on him, much like his face, even under the arms.
Overall, the tone of his skin is a soft tan complexion with measured exposure to the sun. Fortunately, the melatonin in his body doesn't seem particularly susceptible to long exposure, but it does make darker tans a challenge.
Occupation/Class: Necromancer / Performer (that also part-times for spiritual communion)
Magic/Magite: (Astral 3), Dark (Astral 1), Illusion (Astral 1), Fire (Elemental 1)
Carried Possessions: Two gold and black cylinder clasps hang on either bang at the sides of his face. Of above average quality purchased for a reasonable price; purely for aesthetic reasons. A smaller one holds the ponytail at the nape of his neck.
A necklace of a white dove, whose wings wrap about the sides of the emerald half sphere, hangs on a golden chain about his neck. A special piece commissioned after Elana died containing a small amount of her ashes.
His tome, which he carries with him in one arm or a bag slung over his head. To throw off any trouble at check points or inspections, a minor ward was placed on it to disguise the true text behind an illusion; only those capable of using Illusion-based magite--or able to otherwise pierce the veil of the magic--can see what is written in the book. It is Derath's research into the dark art of Necromancy; a collection of most everything he knows, has learned, and has found and still studying to improve on his technique.
Often, he sports a carry bag slung over his head to hold his book, paper, pen, ink, and any other small items he might need out in the city or on the road. While with a troupe he often travels light, with all the survival needs kept back at the camp.
Clothing and Armor: With little need to prepare for battle, Derath wears a black, cloth jacket with wide cuff sleeves, trimmed with a band of gold. The jacket is held closed by a blue sash about his waist to secure it shut. A brown belt overlaps across the sash from the right hip to just under the left over the front; the belt allowing for carrying a short sword, when necessary, or any other weighty items at his waist.
Leggings include a skirt split up the front with a wide loincloth hung to hide the split while standing up right; both pieces are black with gold trim. Under the loose lower garments, Derath wears black shorts to prevent any embarrassing accidents.
Typically his feet are covered by dark brown traveling boots; cured leather with comfortable soles for a great deal of walking (which he prefers to sitting on a bumpy wagon). Sandals are worn only in Spring and Summer, on dry and hot days when any relief is welcome.
No crests or markings of any kind can be found on his clothing in order to avoid drawing attention to himself.
Weapons: Short sword. No particular significance or specialty. Derath prefers for it never to come into play even in a battle if it can be helped.
Likes: Books, Humor, Talking, Traveling, Theater, Black Rose, Rain, Storms, Dungeons, Forests, Taverns, Town Squares, Snakes, Eclipses.
Dislikes: Murder, Hot & Sunny, Deserts, Scorpions, Thugs, Zombie Hordes, The Aleävon, Zealots, Capes (cloaks are okay).
Merits: Energetic, Outgoing, Sharp, Flexible, Resolute.
Flaws: Rebellious, Soft-hearted, Spiteful, Stubborn, Fixation.
Worst Fear: Temptation. Using his power in a way that harms others, especially those closest to him, out of psychotic selfishness and desire to make the world 'better' by creating abominations out of the living or dead. Hallucinations, illusions, or insinuations of this happening can induce crippling self-doubt and paralysis of thought.
Extreme heights. Not your top of the ladder type height, but off a cliff or because a rope bridge was about to snap in half; the sort where survival lie entirely in the hands of gods, magic, and dumb luck. Depending on the situation it might inspire vertigo or, if suffering several jarring episodes in a row (climbing a broken bridge and boards snapping out from under his hands), momentarily paralysis.
Personality: After the death of his Father at the hands of the Aleävon--a militant group using fear of magite users to wield power--early in their rise to power, Deatö became consumed with rage and a desire for revenge. He kept it buried whenever possible in front of his Mother, who struggled to maintain their finances after they fled, but it drove him headlong into studying the Art of his Father, Necromancy, so one day the young E'za would repay the soldiers for their crime with the power they'd feared.
A young, female Necromancer named Elana began to unravel the hatred Deatö held toward the Aleävon if only to help the young man avoid a bloody and gruesome death in the act of carrying out his otherwise senseless revenge. She told him how his power and resolve should be used to undermine the Aleävon, slowly, so the entire organization would one day collapse rather than a handful of otherwise unimportant soldiers be slaughtered mere seconds before he, himself, was cut down.
It wasn't, truly, until the day he was forced to 'kill' Elana with his own hands that he understood. It took seven months of relative seclusion from society before Deatö could bring himself to venture out into the world again. The rage hadn't disappeared, but he'd learned the blind desire to kill would only lead to further harm coming to the otherwise innocent, uninvolved, and defenseless parties that might mistakenly come between him and the 'prize'. People like Elana.
While Deatö couldn't imagine himself following in Elana's footsteps of such angelic use of Necromancy as she'd dreamed of, he resolved in her memory to not use his power over the Spirits and Death for personal gain or the personal gain of others. It could only be used to help those in need and to protect the defenseless or weak from stronger foes--like the Aleävon. Even when the spirits or the corpses of the dead had to be called upon, Derath, Deatö renewed, would respect their passing and bid them to return to their slumber as soon as possible.
Following his reemergence, he set out on the road with gypsies and travelers of all kinds. While he never stopped learning his art in secret, Derath could not bring himself to remain in the town he'd grown up in with his Mother following the chilling events of that night. It helped him regain a sense of self and restored his ability to laugh and interact with others once more. Now, more than ever, believing every moment was something to cherish, he'd resolved to make just one man or woman in an audience wherever he entertained to embrace life and the small wonders that came with it every day. While certain of the Afterlife, Derath could find no reason that this life be filled with monotony, hopeless, and terror.
History: Deatö and what is known as The Aleävon today practically grew up together. Sadly, they never got much of a chance to play; one night, when the young son of the renown Necromancer E'za was about five years of age, a band of Aleävon thugs showed up and declared his Father a practitioner of "Unholy" magic (his Father had been one of those willing to stand up to the budding collective of power hungry misfits). With the growing power of the Aleävon E'za's family had feared such unfounded spite might be thrown in their face despite E'za's service to City and State. So, that night, Deatö and his Mother had hid as the soldiers arrived.
Once the soldiers had left, they had little time to mourn the death of Husband and Father. With no time to bury his body, they fled into the night for another city with what money and possessions they could carry in order to build a new life.
Deatö heard his Mother's plea not to study Necromancy as his Father had--an Art that had fallen ever farther out of favor as the Aleävon looked for people to slay for the "purity" of all Humans--fearful for his safety. At the time his deep seated need to kill the bastards that'd taken his Father trumped her concerns, though in hindsight he could see it had added that much more burden on them to remain hidden.
Lessons were done secretly, with a few other young students, and often times outside of the city itself to avoid concentration of soldiers 'checking in' on homes arbitrarily. Despite any fear their mentors held, the Art had to survive and Deatö was one eager to make that happen for his own reasons.
One of the other students was called Elana. A pretty girl whose bright, green eyes often found themselves sliding to one side at the young E'za; likewise he found himself captivated by her beauty as hard as he tried not to notice in favor of his studies. As the years wore on, however, they grew closer. Another student, a young man named Jërros was also attracted to Elana, but his advances were always turned down in favor of Deatö.
A few spats and sparks flew between the three every so often, which was hard to avoid given the confined nature of their study and the limited places they could evaluate the dead and lingering spirits without being discovered. Still, not one of them tried to seriously harm the other, though the two boys fought competed against one another in shows of mental and spiritual strength whether Elana liked it or not.
Two months after his twenty first birthday, Deatö found Elana missing from their home, kidnapped by Jërros in what Deatö would only later assume was a union of jealousy and madness. The now grown E'za hired a band of adventurers to help cut their way into the heart of his old peer's sanctuary guarded by a number of undead and beasts.
They arrived in time to witness Elana's "rebirth," as the fiend called it, as an unholy, only partially sane creature. Her will had become corrupted by the foul magic that had driven Jërros mad; an overwhelming surge of the foulest Shadow magic supplemented by a Black Bishop whose relation to Jërros Deatö never uncovered (the Bishop's body was no where to be found in the aftermath). The corrupted body of Elana lashed out at her beloved out of a desire to be with him again; such a noble intention twisted and defiled by the insidious Shadow energy that'd taken hold of her.
As the adventurers fought off the remainder of Jërros' undead guards, the two lovers were left to fight one another. At first Deatö refused, but after taking two rakes across the chest by the talons on Elana's hands he grappled with her until at last pinning her to the floor. She fought for every second, howling and clawing... there was no choice but a quick, decisive blow to her chest, just over her heart, and the words that poured out between his lips to send her soul into the Ether of Beyond once more.
He'd been left to stare at the lifeless corpse of Elana as the clash of swords slowly drew to a close and the high strung Necromancer suddenly found himself without the animated, radiant woman he'd come to love. If he could have thought about it, maybe he would have found a way to reverse the darkness that'd enveloped her body. There could have been another way. Now she lay dead.
Deatö had slammed a short sword of white flame into Jërros' chest that night. The sword itself ruined from the raw power running through it, and the scent of burnt, Human flesh left it stench in the room for days.
The adventurers departed then, sent to the city to collect their pay. The grief stricken Necromancer lingered for several months at the secluded abode. No remaining foul beasts lay around to plague others, and the solace gave him time to come to grips with the power he wielded; the same potential to go mad with power or desire that caused Jërros to take something so precious from the world. It forced him to reconsider what he held most precious and all of Elana's idealism what they could do out in the world even if it was the world that feared them.
When he emerged, Deatö took on the name "Derath." Better to make a clean departure from the hope of crushing the life out of the Aleävon with his bare hands and all the darkness that came with it. He started a new and joined a traveling band. Over the next eight years he moved between a handful of troupes of varying diversity and designs. At the camp he helped out with the supplies and even performed when it came his turn. In the cities or villages they stopped in he frequented the many taverns, squares, and theaters to amuse with jokes, tales, and entertain with song and dance. While no Awe-Inspiring Bard, Derath fancied himself an able performer when the town had none better to donate a little ryn for a night's delight.
At the same time, cautious for Aleävon traps--whose influence continued to grow with like minded power hungry thugs and mages (rumored to be at the heart of the group)--and Town Gossips, he found a calling on the side for those in need of spiritual guidance. Often times Derath only offered his services, in private, for those in dire need; disturbing the departed was not something he did lightly and for frivolous reason. A slain Father and a lost child was one of the first while on the road; Derath had sought the deceased Father's help in determining where the child had been hidden from the bandits and the troupe found the lad alive, if a tad dirty. This brought about various questions, but he always dismissed any concern involving anything dark, impure, unholy, or otherwise evil and called himself a simple Medium or 'Shaman' if it helped.
When not lifting crates, performing skits, or channeling the dead the man, now in his late Twenties--occupied himself with trying to find a group of like-minded people looking to topple the Aleävon or, at least, weaken its stranglehold over the land. Another precarious and potentially lethal endeavor, but one yet fulfilled as Derath seeks a group not only willing to murmur in dark places, but led by a man--or woman--with the drive to organize a rebellion.
Having enjoyed the past few years of a "simple" life, it's come upon him to focus more serious matters plaguing the lands in recent years. Talk of demons, the fall of cities, and the knowledge that he couldn't remain selfishly hiding in the shadows in hope of letting the larger world just pass him by have all come together in propelling Derath to find a group with the ability to change the course of history--however slightly--and leave his traveling companions. Hopefully, some day, he'd return and live out his years merrily frequenting old and new places alike. In any event, he was sure he'd die content in everything he'd done in Elana's memory.