[Phoenix Themed]
Custom: Full
Character Name: Zandalar Keifuin
Race: Orderite
Gender: Male
Clan: N/A
Class: Mage
Appearance: Zan has fiery red hair, or rather, the reddish orange shade of a new copper penny. It shifts between red, yellow and oranges with the shifting of the light. His skin is a pale pink that makes him look like he's got a mild sunburn, that only darkens to a full out sunburned look when he blushes. His eyes are a vibrant royal purple with flecks of a brighter blue around the iris.
His wings are the same color scheme as his hair and he prefers clothing that leaves his shoulders bare. This is mainly corsets. He has a fondness for skirts, tights and arm warmers as well as anything that has a lot of buckles.
Personality:
+Dedicated: Sees tasks to completion, no matter how it would affect him or others around him. If he's been told to do something that he fully agreed upon, he will do it. His word is his own personal collar and binding contract. Though he always leaves himself an out, his morals and his honesty and his personal code of honor are the things that would break the contract. Killing in cold blood for example, goes against his moral fiber, and thus he wouldn't do it. Kidnapping, torture, misleading someone. Those things too would sit badly on his shoulders, and so he does his best to not get into situations that would cause him to break said word to begin with.
+Honest: Doesn't lie and hates those who do. The best way to get Zan to dislike you is for him to find out that he's been lied to. He doesn't do it, sees no point in it. Even if it's to spare someone from the painful truth, he wouldn't lie. Omitting certain parts maybe, but a flat out lie never. After all, it's not a lie if the other person convinces themselves of something you never said.
+Helpful: Willing to lend a hand, within reason of course. Zan is big on physical labor, despite his more mage-like tendencies.
-Temperamental: Easily angered, slow to cool down, and most often times his aggression and temper are converted into a need for physical exercise. The best way to calm him down when he gets worked up like this, is to work him hard. To exhaust him until he's numb and can't feel or think well at all.
-Snarky: Doesn't curb tongue when angry, miffed, or generally not happy. His tongue is as sharp as the blade he carries. It's a very personal defense system that he uses to get people to back off. Whenever it's deployed he doesn't care at all, how much he can hurt others, or how much trouble it'll cause him later. This trait is also triggered by his temper.
-Elusive: He never seems to be around when you need him. The urge to travel and see the world hits at odd times, and when it does he usually packs up and leaves within a few days of that first restless itch. Sometimes without warning, but never when he's got a task that's in the works. If anything that job will turn out sloppy, as he's driven to finish it in as little time as possible.
Biography/Background: Zandalar was raised in a hybrid village on the continent of Ayr, in the Great Peaks, that held a name that was far too long for him to pronounce or fully recall. To him it was simply 'Home'. There he's interacted with everything from pure-bloods to first generation hybrids, to those who are so mixed you couldn't tell what their forefathers were to begin with. Both of his siblings were of mixed blood, both are related to him through his father as his mother having died giving birth to him. He doesn't mourn that which he's never known, and the stories his father will sometimes tell is just that, a story. The day dreamer part of him wonders if life could ever really be the way his father paints it, while the realistic part of him knows it's true. Somewhere. In a land far away there are feather winged people of various hues, in a city that was built only for them.
Their lives seemed like that of a fairy tale, tinkerers and smiths and the urge to create just for the sake of creating. There was no struggle to survive, to hide, to stay safe and well. The dreamer and the realist often clashed on this point. To have lived a life in the city of clockwork creations, to have wanted for nothing, or to live as he did now; free, with a family that loved him despite the fact that his siblings only shared half of his traits. That the woman he called Mother had small, knife-like horns growing from her skull and white-blue dragon wings upon her back.
But what did he have to base anything off of? Bed time stories of a place that sounded both wonderful and terrible. To be with others who looked like him and his father sounded good, especially on days with his sibs were being bratty and he just couldn't connect with his mother. But on the other hand, to live in that world you had to have so much hate. To hate an entire race just because someone told you to. To sneer at another just because they were different. He'd be spitting on his mum, his little sister and brother, his friends, the village elder. He'd be kicking them down and desecrating the graves of the fallen.
He didn't want that. It hurt to even think that way.
He'd tasted love, unconditional love of family and friends, to blinding anger, fear, and sorrow. He's mourned the passing of those younger than him, and celebrated the coming of age ceremonies that others have gone through.
But he's always, always felt that there was something he was missing. Someone or something more that he was supposed to do, become, or see. It started to eat at him when his father finally allowed him to start formally training his magic, and to go on hunts with his peers and teachers. He knows what it is. A yearning to learn just who and what he was. To grow and spread his wings and see just how much change, chaos, he could cause in the turbulent world. To see if he could make things better, or only cause things to get worse. Because the world as it was now, was broken, and he hated it. He hated it so fiercely that it made him sick some days, and to think, he hadn't even fully stepped foot in it.
Thoughts on the Great Engagement: He feels like it's stupid. But it's the gods will that their creations fight and fight and fight and never grab victory because it's for the most part, two against each other with the third side free to split and aid either side. Or to simply wait it out and achieve victory by slaughtering the weakened winner. It's a genocidal mess and he wants no part in it, but because he enjoys living he has no real say on if he gets dragged into it or not. There's only so much space in the world and not everywhere is peace obtainable. After all, life is a war unto itself.
Thoughts on the Magescian Races: He has no real feelings towards any of the races as he takes everything he hears with a grain of salt. He was raised surrounded by all three races and their progeny. There's nothing that says each race is inherently evil, just like there's nothing forcing each to be truly good. There's always grey matter in between everything. But this doesn't mean he'd be overly wary or friendly towards any one person, group, or race. He meets them as individuals and will thus react to each one as an individual.
Thoughts on the Dragons and Khehora: He thinks they're okay. He personally hasn't met any in a non-hostile situation, which, truth be told, he has mostly always been the instigator. He's respectful of their power and their strengths, and has a personal code of honor when it comes to them. He doesn't fight the ones who look like they're nesting, or the ones that are really young. If they look sick or injured beyond healing he'll attack and view it more as a mercy killing than anything else.
The Khehora are more a mystery to him. He hasn't met any wild ones, only the tame pet-like toddlers that are bonded to others. He dislikes the bonded ones greatly, but never takes his disgust out on them. It wasn't their fault that they've been reduced to playing fetch like an obedient dog.
Statistics:
Int: 4
Atk: 3
Def: 3
