First Name: Xar
Last Name: Daragan
Appearance: A very imposing figure adorned in full plate. He has the way of battle about him, and his posture lends itself to that of a soldier of martial bent. Strange considering that he is often found studying a tome in his free time.
Race: Human
Age: 38
Height 6'1
Weight: 210
Eyes: A single pale orb in a ruined face
Hair: Redish
Facial Hair Style: None
Personality Profile:
General Health: Sickly
Deity: Find out through roleplay
Initial Alignment: find out through roleplay
Profession: Mercenary
Base Class & Proposed Development: Wizard - Wizardly pursuits
Habits/Hobbies: Killing, whoring and all manner of ill gains
Languages: Common, Arcane
Weapon of Choice: Greatsword
Background: The crimson haired man looked back at the ship he departed at Baldur's Gate. He thought back to decisions he had made that brought him to this particular port of call. Lean, hard-muscled he walked down the dock keeping a weary eye fixed on his surroundings. Wary of dockside thieves, that would be just his luck losing what coin he had to some cutpurse just as he arrived. He moved through the shuffle of the crowd and most gave him a wide berth, if not for the heavy armor he wore or large greatsword at his back. Clutching his pack he made his way through the crowd to the welcoming arms of a den of ill repute.
Later:
The man lay staring up at the crossbeams of the ceiling. He heard the shuffling of the prostitute as she gathered her things. She was trying to find his coinpurse no doubt for a little extra tip. The man smirked, he had spent the last of his coin on the inn and her night's company. Sidel, her name was Sidel, he said it once tasting it on his lips and smiled. The woman got up from her rummaging coming over to the bed pouncing upon it. "Yes, Luv" she cooed tracing her fingers upon the jagged scars that decorated his chest. he mused still staring at the ceiling, she was pretty enough, shame she was born to this life, sold into prostitution or worse. She moved in closer tracing his scars lower, no doubt trying to work a few more silver out of him. Calmly he whispered as if to a lover, "Get out." She pressed on as if the words went unspoken. He rose pushing her off him, she landed with a thump on the floor her slip sprawled about "Get out, get to whoring elsewhere I'm done with you." A look of rage crossed her face, "Vargas will hear about this!" She stood storming out gathering her outergarments and hastily slipping on her slippers as she left. He probably would, the man thought. He had seen this same show play out dozens of times. It was too early in the week for killing, he had just arrived yesterday.
He laid back upon the bed thinking back to his flight from Zhentil Keep.
He had been a member of a Mercenary Company known simply as the Black Company. They had formed a reputation of ruthlessness and skillful efficiency. Their reputation usually proceeded them as bloodthirsty animals. This usually came after the Company's business was concluded and the regulars were sent in to mop up. To say the Company was morally corrupt was an incorrect assumption, it just so happened that despots and tyrants paid better. The Company didn't have the luxury of morality when their were bills to be paid.
That was all over now, the Company had been scattered, slaughtered most likely. Xar was the only survivor he knew of and that by the skin of his teeth. Mercenaries are in demand everywhere. No matter where you go their be people needing killing done, and he was damn good at it.
Goals: Making a living, hopefully far enough away that his past never catches up with him.
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:
Hunted by paramilitary organizations due to his involvement with a nefarious state actor. The last known surviving member of his mercenary company.