I, am Ozdon. I was given this name because my father dreamt of me becoming a kind, a personification of force and divinity. I am at the age 16 according to the years of man. I am known as the Wanderer because I have yet a place to call my own and even then I will travel where I am required.
While my father was a half-elf he did not pass those features onto myself, leaving only my mothers race to be passed down.
I stand 5 feet 11 inchs tall with a muscular but body, reflective of my time in both training and reading. I have black hair with big green eyes, that hold flecks of blue when the light hits them just right. My pale skin and a gothic yet handsome appearance in general makes me unique.
I see myself as one who follows a dark path filled with shadows and blood, magic and steal until the crown is on my head. I want to the king, not just of this land but of life and death itself by first training in the way of blade and magic. I generally view alliances as a step towards my future, either as a friend or a body to step over.
I intend to lie, steal, charm and assassinate in order to become the next Ruler of Kings. It should be known that while I feel very little in the way of emotion I enjoy the amorous congress of other males my around my own age. Thus, I now start this path towards victory or I will die trying.
A Sentimental Value
I did not wish to leave my home without something that I could use to protect myself in this world where men struggle for power and lads pray for safety. I recalled my father having a flail in a oak chest in his and my mothers room that I used to train with.
Opening the chest there was a simple but sturdy looking flail. It had a 4 foot staff, counterweighted by a spiked metal ball that looked as though it had come from a cannon.
This is a weapon I can use, at least to start me off and protect myself as I'd had some training with it from the man next door.
I first met the lad who I had decided to become my advisor as I stepped through the gates of the town, quite literally bumping into the poor soul. Though it was the middle of the day my vision was overcome with the sights and sounds of the town.
Elijah, who was to become Elijah the Friend was dressed in a white linen shirt with dark brown, almost black leggings, light brown knee length over tunic and brown leather shoes.
The meeting was rather cordial yet awkward as I looked up at him from the ground before he pulled me up.
The lad was around my age, yet looked more learned than fighter, my thoughts while speaking with him was that he would be a great aid to my plan of becoming king and would aid me in strategy and research.