Zafir, the Wind's Shadow
Wish, and see the power that comes. Wish, and feel the rush of the wind that carries you far. Wish, and ready the weight of judgement to pass.
Appearance
As many faces as there are grains of sand in the sea of dunes.Their most common body is of ebon skin, with eyes the color of crescent moons, and hair as dark and flowing as the clouds that cross the desert on a moonless night.
When they wear garbs in their common form, they are airy and loose, often their face is masked, and their head covered in clothes of many colors.
Skills and Abilities
Shapeshifter- They wear many faces and takes many forms. Some more common than others.
Of Sand - Zafir can become sand, as well as command it.
Cosmic power - While bound to a master, and out of their box, Zafir has a supernatural ability to wield the magicks of the world. Getting him to use it, however, is another thing entirely.
Driver of Desires - Being a Djinn, Zafir has an innate ability to not only sense the wants and desires of most mortals, they can often times manipulate their pull. A simple desire to earn more coin, can turn to a lust for wealth so great a man drowns in its pursuit, while the love of family may dry up as suddenly as creek in the dead of summer's heat. But lies are tools too.
Master of the Martial - To a timeless being, what is the mastery over the arts of mortal slaying, but a paltry pastime across the eons? But likely it is simply bluster.
Eye of the Stars- It is uncanny, what the Djinn can see, and how little hides from their gaze. How much he shares, well, who can really say.
Personality
Detached.Observant.
Quiet.
Roaming.
Intense.
Biography & Lore
What is a master, but a fool who thinks they can command? Many he has seen. Fewer he has served. And less so still ,those that the have found worthy beyond the third wish.Just ask Constantine of Seluca. The fool who took hold over The Box, once the city had fallen. His fingers rubbed against the runes, those most aged scripts. The warmth of his skin, the essence of his life, all scraped against the surface until The Box did release.
Zafir.
A introduction. Nothing more. Just a telling of the terms. Once, to show him the power. Twice to see the wind's call. And thrice, the weight of judgement. They would serve, Zafir had assured him. They would be his to command, and so long as a wish remained, the Djinn would obey.
Such was the contract.
A thing of trust.
Trust, however, rarely outweighed a mortal's need.
One, came and enemies were slain.
Two, brought riches from far and wide, and the coffers did fill.
Then came three. And Zafir had told him, as they had told all their master's before. Three brings the scales. Three comes the weight. Three ends in judgement.
"You are unworthy," Came Zafir's words, like a whisper of sands that skate across the dunes. Gone, into The Box.
What came of their master then, was of no concern to Zafir.
Until the next hand rubbed the walls of The Box, and out came the Djinn.
With eyes of silvered moons, Zafir did tell their newest master, before all his men. "Wishes, three, you will recieve, no more, no less. Wish, and see the power that comes. Wish, and feel the rush of the wind that carries you far. Wish, and ready the weight of judgement to pass. I am yours, less the third comes, and you are found wanting."