Szordryn Zaphresz
Appearance
Szordryn is a dull-grey dark elf standing at a diminutive 5'3 in height. His lithe body is smooth and hairless, though tiny wisps of white hair poke through in places along his limbs in small numbers. His vermilion eyes are set deep in their hollow sockets, and a pair of thin, sculpted brows crown them. His facial features are sharp and angular, the result of centuries of selective breeding by his house. Several tattooed runes adorn his body, some symbolic, others simply aesthetic.
Skills and Abilities
While physically unimpressive, Szordryn finds his true expertise lies within the magical and esoteric as a sorcerer. Where others within his house saw fit to train with the blade or the bow, Szordryn sought out that which could damn him: forbidden knowledge. His natural affinity for magic allowed him to dominate the more brutish of his kin, manipulating them like the marionettes they were, to serve his own purposes. His abilities with the blade are comparatively scant, but still nothing to sneeze at, even though he prefers the grace of not having to touch his prey to kill them.
Personality
Szordryn is a vexatiously-condescending wretch of a man. He maintains a superiority complex towards other, lesser species (which, unsurprisingly, is anyone not elven) and treats them with casual disdain. As the only one with any magical affinity in his house, his belief in his own superiority is only buttressed by his dislike of his more martially-minded brethren. Still, his delusions of grandeur do not blind him to the threat posed by others, and he will regard most of the people he meets with a healthy degree of paranoia, fully expecting them to be forming their own plots for his demise. There are few he can truly call his friend, but there are many he considers part of his tool kit, each of them waiting in turn to be used to serve his own end.
However, he is still a male, and as such, is inherently inferior in comparison with the women he finds himself commanded by. He knows full well his usefulness as a simple pack mule or breeding stock, but it is his silent desire to rise beyond the status as mere meat, to show why it is he who is deserving of respect. Nearly two hundred years of humiliation and obeisance have fomented a level of fear and hatred for those whom he serves, and it is this same fear that drives him deeper and deeper into his quest for forbidden lore; for arcane power and the favor of dark gods to grant him his heart's desire -- to see the surface world consumed by unholy darkness with him at its helm, a prince of the Dark Ones, finally in the position of power he seeks. For now, though, he is just a sack of meat to be used at his commander's fancy.
However, he is still a male, and as such, is inherently inferior in comparison with the women he finds himself commanded by. He knows full well his usefulness as a simple pack mule or breeding stock, but it is his silent desire to rise beyond the status as mere meat, to show why it is he who is deserving of respect. Nearly two hundred years of humiliation and obeisance have fomented a level of fear and hatred for those whom he serves, and it is this same fear that drives him deeper and deeper into his quest for forbidden lore; for arcane power and the favor of dark gods to grant him his heart's desire -- to see the surface world consumed by unholy darkness with him at its helm, a prince of the Dark Ones, finally in the position of power he seeks. For now, though, he is just a sack of meat to be used at his commander's fancy.
Biography & Lore
Born to a martial house nearly two centuries ago, Szordryn displayed an affinity for the arcane that was unusual among his brothers and sisters. Their distaste was made clear through bullying and punishment, but that only drove him deeper within himself, steeling his mind to the hardships with the promise of eternal reward in the end. He spent his time honing his craft with the blade, to be sure, but his true passion lied in the search for obscure and forbidden knowledge. In secret, he would read and question the nature of things, while in public he practiced with the inelegant tools of swordsmen at the behest of his mother. Once he found his current station insufficient, however, Szordryn simply left the warrior's academy and made his way over to the ancient halls of the sorcerers with the desire of joining.
Decades passed by as he spent his time locked away, studying, inundating his mind with what little knowledge their arcanists had. The scant resources available were not enough, however, and he saw fit to expand his home's library with whatever he could collect from the other societies beneath the surface. Enlisting with a fledgling warband, Szordryn offered up his services as a sorcerer and was instead branded a slave, useless for little more than pleasure or carrying loot. While humiliating, it at least gave him the opportunity to scavenge from the magical schools they attacked in their raids, which, in turn, would grant him greater power and bring him closer to obtaining authority. During this period, he found scraps of rumors and myths of something far darker than the gods and goddesses they worshipped; something -- or, perhaps, several somethings -- that were more powerful and far more willing to bestow their unholy blessings down on their worshipers. He desired to know more about this Dark Magic, to see what it would take to gain that kind of raw, chaotic power. Those torn and torched books contained dreams and nightmares, forgotten truths and craved oblivion, all demanding to be found for a simple, simple price.
More time passed and he soon found himself under the authority of a newly-promoted Commander to prepare for excursions upward towards the surface. He knew from his readings that up there, the various creatures fought and bled for their own gods beneath the great scorching ball that illuminated the land, something that he had never personally experienced before. However, he deduced that other societies would have different lore, and perhaps possess different magical abilities that he could learn and grow from. He grew giddy with the idea that there would be others to use to his own ends, as well as the idea that he could serve as more than mere flesh. No, he was more than just a nameless slave; he was the ever-ambitious Szordryn Zaphresz: sorcerer, seeker of lore, the heir to whatever dark throne he would erect on the surface in his pursuit of suffusing the lands in the beautiful malefic light of these rumored Dark Ones.
Decades passed by as he spent his time locked away, studying, inundating his mind with what little knowledge their arcanists had. The scant resources available were not enough, however, and he saw fit to expand his home's library with whatever he could collect from the other societies beneath the surface. Enlisting with a fledgling warband, Szordryn offered up his services as a sorcerer and was instead branded a slave, useless for little more than pleasure or carrying loot. While humiliating, it at least gave him the opportunity to scavenge from the magical schools they attacked in their raids, which, in turn, would grant him greater power and bring him closer to obtaining authority. During this period, he found scraps of rumors and myths of something far darker than the gods and goddesses they worshipped; something -- or, perhaps, several somethings -- that were more powerful and far more willing to bestow their unholy blessings down on their worshipers. He desired to know more about this Dark Magic, to see what it would take to gain that kind of raw, chaotic power. Those torn and torched books contained dreams and nightmares, forgotten truths and craved oblivion, all demanding to be found for a simple, simple price.
More time passed and he soon found himself under the authority of a newly-promoted Commander to prepare for excursions upward towards the surface. He knew from his readings that up there, the various creatures fought and bled for their own gods beneath the great scorching ball that illuminated the land, something that he had never personally experienced before. However, he deduced that other societies would have different lore, and perhaps possess different magical abilities that he could learn and grow from. He grew giddy with the idea that there would be others to use to his own ends, as well as the idea that he could serve as more than mere flesh. No, he was more than just a nameless slave; he was the ever-ambitious Szordryn Zaphresz: sorcerer, seeker of lore, the heir to whatever dark throne he would erect on the surface in his pursuit of suffusing the lands in the beautiful malefic light of these rumored Dark Ones.