First Name: Etto
Last Name: Voloc
Appearance: The wiry young man before you may have an attractive face with unusually colored eyes, but the way he openly stares at anything he wishes -- yet avoids eye contact -- can be unsettling. He also has a habit of periodically gazing at seemingly nothing as if oblivious to his surroundings.
Race: Tiefling
Initial Age: 18
Height 6'2" (1.88 meters)
Weight: 150 lb. (68 kg.)
Eyes: Red
Hair: Red
Facial Hair Style: Mustache and goatee
"I welcome everyone, but trust no one." -- Etto Voloc
PERSONALITY PROFILE
General Health: Excellent
Deity: Ilmater
Initial Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Profession: Wandering mercenary, hunter and scholar
Base Class & Proposed Development: Rogue/Swashbuckler/Monk/Duelist
Habits/Hobbies: Exploring, hunting, eclectic reading, philosophy, humor, poetry, drinking
Languages: "All that are dark and none that are fair." (Etto Voloc)
Primary Weapon of Choice: Fists and feet
Secondary Weapons of Choice: Longbow and various light weapons
Background: Like many tieflings, Etto initially followed the savage passions of his dark blood. As a young person, he already crept upon the path of a murderer and a thief. Then he agreed to murder a cleric of Ilmater, who had aroused anger by healing the "wrong" people. When Etto came to slay the cleric in the night, he failed to surprise his victim, who unexpectedly drew him into a discussion of the teachings of Ilmater rather than defend himself. After many hours, the talk ended, the cleric gave a blessing, and Etto killed the "fool." Yet, ever curious, he also stole his victim's writings. Months of reading passed before Etto had a change of heart and became a sincere devotee of the teachings of Ilmater, mostly forsaking his former profession. Despite this, he generally lacks serenity and is perpetually wandering. While outwardly friendly and self-composed, his interior heart remains tempestuous and troubled.
Goals: Satisfying his inordinate curiosity, testing and expanding his skills, earning his way, helping those in real need, humbling the arrogant, growing in self-mastery, and -- most of all -- redemption.
FACTS AND POSSIBLE PLOT-HOOK IDEAS
It is possible that family members (PCs or NPCs) of those he had slain in his younger days might seek to have him killed or brought to justice.
Etto has a reprehensible womanizing past, and it is possible that family members (PCs or NPCs) of those he wronged in his younger days might seek to have him punished or killed.
He does not consider himself a true monk of Ilmater, but rather a mere devotee of Ilmater who imitates the fighting style of those deeply dedicated to him. He would not be treated like a genuine member of the faith's monastic order by any well-informed cleric.
Although striving to walk an enlightened path, he continues to be drawn towards knowledge of a darker sort, and tends to pursue rumors of that nature. He will usually try to resolve any subsequent encounter through dialogue, if possible, before resorting to violence. He tends to be neutral towards reviled races unless they display hostility, and is patient with many tieflings even when they are openly threatening.
Despite his efforts to follow Ilmater, he does struggle and sometimes succumb to his many vices. Occasionally he is quite lacking in compassion for others, and he tends to be verbally aggressive towards the arrogant.
POETRY
"Come, death.
Walk in this season of your grim renown.
Come, let me have my bouts with you, knave
who tracked my Master down.
I honor you with shares of all I have.
Break bread with me; be sated at my table.
Snatch your sweet portions of my scanty rest.
Take all that I am able
to give of all that flesh and blood keep bringing
when cosmic bells have set my senses ringing.
Eat your cold way into my self-esteem
till even the deep subtle root has died.
Wrest from my mind the crowns of which I dream.
Take the externals; take the bright inside.
Tear out impatience by the handfuls -- so.
Grab, if you can, my pride
and thieve those words that leave me deified.
Come death, my friend, my friend.
I know the good your coming works in me."
-- an excerpt of a poem by Jessica Powers
Walk in this season of your grim renown.
Come, let me have my bouts with you, knave
who tracked my Master down.
I honor you with shares of all I have.
Break bread with me; be sated at my table.
Snatch your sweet portions of my scanty rest.
Take all that I am able
to give of all that flesh and blood keep bringing
when cosmic bells have set my senses ringing.
Eat your cold way into my self-esteem
till even the deep subtle root has died.
Wrest from my mind the crowns of which I dream.
Take the externals; take the bright inside.
Tear out impatience by the handfuls -- so.
Grab, if you can, my pride
and thieve those words that leave me deified.
Come death, my friend, my friend.
I know the good your coming works in me."
-- an excerpt of a poem by Jessica Powers