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Name: Roscoe Forscyth
Gender: Male
Age: 52
Physical Description: Roscoe stands at an even six feet tall and isn't particularly fit, but certainly isn't unhealthy. He has a runners body in the sense that his frame is thin but toned, although he doesn't do much to keep himself in shape. His eyes are grey in color and his hair is jet black with a grey forming at his temples. His hair is about halfway to his shoulders but he always keeps it pulled back in a pony tail low on the base of his head and keeps all stray wisps tucked back as well. A faded scar runs down the right side of his face, a perfectly vertical line from about mid-forehead to even with the bottom of his nose. It passes through his eye, which is cloudy due to being rendered blind in the eye from the injury. His expression is generally set to grumpy. His brows are usually furrowed and his lips are pulled down in a frown, although he has no permanent wrinkles to show for it.

Roscoe likes to dress smartly. Waistcoats, top hats, shoes with a wedge to the heel, pants and coats with lots of buttons and embellishments. He's not particularly wealthy but likes to make it appear that he is of higher standing than he actually is. Part of the reason for his state of dress is because his profession is that of a tailor. He makes all of his own clothes so they fit him perfectly

Personality: Roscoe has a no-nonsense attitude. He doesn't joke, he doesn't stand for foolishness, and he certainly doesn't have time for layabouts. He is a hard worker that craves perfection and won't rest until it is achieved. Roscoe is smart, shrewd, and isn't afraid to tell you what's on his mind. Overly-critical of himself, his judgement is swift and severe.

There are those that would say he's in a constant state of walking around with a stick up his butt. Nothing seems to make him smile and it's hard to get his approval, but if his frown falters or he actually approves of something you'd best mark the day on the calendar and cherish it forever as he's not one to praise lightly. Being blind in his right eye makes him a bit easy to startle when approached from that side, and when that happens it generally puts him into a sour mood. Well, more sour than usual.

His preferred magic is earth.

History: Roscoe grew up in a poor family. He was an only child and his parents worked day and night to provide for him. He watched his father work himself to death and his mother nearly starve herself making sure he was fed while she went without food. When he was old enough to work he got a job at a tailor's store, the only available trade that would take someone so young. He was a quick learner and picked up the trade well, bringing in an extra income for himself and his mother.

When he was twelve he was involved in a cart accident on his way home for work. The resulting injury blinded him in his right eye and left the scar on his face that he wears to this day. His injury didn't hinder his work. In fact, it made him get even better. He spent his time healing by learning more detailed tasks of tailoring, such as embroidery and making fancy dresses.

His mother passed away when he was eighteen after a hard life, but he was more than ready to take care of himself. Once the tailor that hired him retired he took over the business and tripled it's customer base in just a years time with his quality and skill in his work. He's been working there ever since, making the finest clothes for the wealthy and smart, affordable attire for those that are less fortunate.

The Summoning: Roscoe came to in a dark cave with a strange shimmering light before him. He squinted, his good eye going a bit blind as well for a moment as it adjusted to the light. Where was he? How had he gotten down here? The last thing he remembered was waking up in the middle of the night to incredibly loud tolling of bells that seemed to be coming from underground. He usually wasn't one to go exploring but something about the bells had dragged him out of bed and on a search to find them.

The tolling had stopped and he looked down at himself, his face going red. He was in his night clothes still. God, if anyone had seen him he'd never hear the end of it. He didn't even have his slippers on! He was about to turn from the strange shimmering light hovering above a cauldron when a voice called out to him. Or...wait. There wasn't an echo. It was in his mind?

Hello, friend.

"Who's there?" Roscoe snapped, turning quickly to look at the portal. That was where it had come from...he thought. A little chuckle filled his mind again and he rubbed at his ear, trying to make it work.

A friend. I hope.

Roscoe glared at the shimmering portal and, despite himself, found his feet moving forward slowly. There was something about this portal that had his curiosity in its clutches.

"I don't need a friend. I do need a shop assistant," he said slowly. There was silence from the other side of the portal, but finally it began to glow brightly.

I can be a shop assistant, as long as you be my friend. I need friends.

Roscoe threw up his hands but there was a flutter in his heart. One that he couldn't explain, but one that he knew was life-changing. "Fine, since you're so desperate. I'll. Try."

Wonderful! Please, do call me Kevser

Before he could reply a small bundle floated out of the portal and landed on the ground before him. As the light faded a tiny dog sat before him, her coat striped and spotted at the same time, the stripes glowing like a galaxy. Roscoe knelt before the tiny creature and she leapt up to lick his nose. Well then. She'd have to learn not to put her dirty paws on his nice white night shirt.

"Roscoe," he said quietly in return, to which Kevser gave a happy yip.