Marek
Marek was born somewhere in Alliria...probably. The city’s good at swallowing people whole, and his parents vanished into it early enough that he remembers neither names nor faces. One of them might’ve had magic. Maybe..
He grew up the usual way Allirian gutter-rats do: light fingers, quick feet, and a talent for spotting which marks wouldn’t notice a missing purse until morning. His magical abilities surfaced young, usually right when things were going wrong, and he learned fast that mixing sorcery with steel kept him breathing. These days he favors short blades and daggers, channeling bursts of magic into his strikes.
Marek sells his talents to whoever’s paying: guarding caravans, cracking skulls, or doing the exact opposite of guarding when the coin’s better. He’s brash, arrogant, and dangerously confident in his own invincibility. This confidence is rarely justified, but it hasn’t killed him yet.
When he’s not working, Marek can usually be found in a tavern, drinking like he’s trying to forget something, though what that might be has never occurred to him. He has a talent for surviving, a gift for trouble, and an uncanny ability to walk away from disasters of his own making, usually poorer, bruised, and convinced he still won.
Appearance
<Briefly describe what your character looks like>
Skills and Abilities
Marek is a conduit of stormborn magick. Lightning flows through him like a second pulse, wild and unrefined. He doesn’t cast spells with careful precision; he hurls them with reckless instinct. Sparks crawl over his skin when he’s agitated, his blades hum with static when drawn, and in battle, each strike is punctuated by bursts of crackling energy. His lightning isn’t elegant sorcery, but it’s raw force, channeled through steel and fury. Whether shocking a man to his knees or overcharging his daggers to slice through armor, Marek wields the storm wildly.
Personality
<What is your character's personality like?>