Name: Devdan Arai

Nickname: Dev

Age: 19

Race: Human

Birthplace: Darrington, Terrenus; a small, now destroyed village resting by the lake between the Great Pine Barrens and the Forgotten Wood.

Physical description: Devdan stands at five foot seven, build short but wired with muscle. Lightly tanned skin frames deepset green eyes, capped by thick, short black-brown hair. His skin bares the numerous accumulated scars of a young woodsman, and on his face are barely visible family tattoos. Placed there after the destruction of his village, these are etched in white ink, never to be filled, to denotate that they were done by himself and not an elder.

Alignment: Neutral Good.

Religious views: Raised to Gaia, but only a disciple to the level of ‘growing closer’. Currently torn between religion and circumstance, and thus, between beliefs. A natural, but non-devout Gaian.

Sexuality: Situational. Rather than being attracted to a gender or trait, Devdan seems to respond sexually to a person based on the situation they share. It can be said that he is apersonal when it comes to sexuality; it is not the person themselves that attracts him, but rather, their place within their shared circumstances. This is as vacillating as it is difficult to explain, and will often seem counter-intuitive.

Psychological profile: Devdan is inherently opportunistic. He understands the value in not saying more than needs be said, and places high value on humor because of its unique ability to blend truth and falsehood without giving too much of either away. More practical than vain, he is happy to blend in when it seems wisest to do so. As both a Gaian and a survivor, Devdan has a deep fear and loathing of ‘unnatural’ magics, although is prone to extending that distrust to all schools of magic, should they appear a threat. That said, his innate instinct is to play at risk to win, and in lands such as Terranus, one does not win without encountering magic.

Background: Life had been simple. Raised in a village content with living quietly in the throes of nature’s whims, it should have stayed thus. A father, two younger sisters, a small house cut from local deposits of tuff. An understanding and connection to the lake that sustained them and the forests which kept them safe. Fishermen, woodsmen, and a single hedgemage who traded his slight gifts for keep. There had been no need for more, no understanding that one day, he would have far, far less.

Hunting had become first nature as opposed to second. In good years, he joined the seasonal nine-day ride to Ashville, when the majority of the locals banded together in the large cart to trade for supplies and stories. Years and years of uninterrupted peace.

At fifteen, he was able and expected to hunt alone. A week in the wilds had gone by without incident - he had marked the new trails worn into the earth by wildlife, and would bring back a large, recent kill to be salted and stored. The journey home was uneventful, spring air sweet with promise - except, that there was nothing to return to. Smoke was the first alarm, and the tang of stale blood on the wind. Everything was gone. Houses burnt, fishing boats drowned or gone, bodies charred or devoured by animals. No survivors, and no longer home.

Devdan underwent the common cycle of grief; the disbelief, the guilt, the questioning. There were few clues of who or how or, Gaia preserve him, why, save for the fact much of the damage was of magical origin, and the hedgemage was gone. The thought of revenge clawed its way into his mind, and settled to brood. He performed the rites for the dead, perhaps burying a part of his faith in the process. His sixteenth birthday coincided with the period of mourning, and as a result, he mixed his blood with the inks taken from local flora, and gave himself the tattoos of adulthood.

And then, the raiders returned.

His family and friends barely laid to rest, and he was dodging fireballs. There were too many to fight against; his own death seemed imminent. He did not see whether the caster was the mage he knew or another. But that rage, that desperate hunger for revenge took hold. He could not afford to die. Devdan fled - and lived.

The next two years were spent in the forests, roaming between the Forgotten Wood and the Great Pine Barrens, becoming closer to the land, and far more a creature of Gaia than he himself believed. An attempt to master his rage perhaps, or to flee from the reality of his loss; but if so, a failed one. The hunger grew insatiable as his body strengthened, and finally, scant weeks from nineteen, he turned his tread toward Ashville. Encountering small villages like his own on the way, he relearnt the trappings of a man; when to speak and when to smile, when coin needed to change hands and when it was wisest to seem not-too-interested. He waited; he listened. He began to understand that he would never fully trust a mage again. Finally at ease enough in towns to draw little unwanted attention, he made his way for Ashville, with nothing to lose, and answers to gain.

Devdan has eased back into society considerably in the months since his arrival, naturally falling into the semi-appropriate role of a rogue and mercenary, out of the need to be doing something as he tries to find out more about the attack. His time as a hunter have made him skilled with knives and the more traditional bow, both, and there are few tasks he will not attend to when properly enticed.


Player note: Dev is intended as an ‘open’ character while I learn the nuances of this place; if you have a plot you can see him in, let me know - he can be applied to almost any situation at this stage.