Seryl

### History

Once a long time ago, there was a caravan journeying along a path. It wasn't too large, and was underguarded - at least compared to the troubled times. An unknown merchant perhaps seeking fortune or at least enough coin to feed his family for a little while longer. Nobody would be able to offer anything more about this merchant though, because partway through their journey, they were attacked. Bandits swarming from ambush and assaulting the caravan, slaughtering the innocent with nary a care except for the few who fought back.

Among these few, was a man with white hair - a gift from the gods in accordance with his talent and connection to the plane of air. Lightning grasp and shocking bolt flying through the air with deadly accuracy and graceful charm. Yet against numbers, a sorcerer's skill means little. A last ditch effort to summon a sundering storm of lightning interrupted by a bandit's blade.

Yet, the magic didn't just fail, it failed with spectacular consequences. A shockwave of power exploding out and scorching all in it's wake until all that remained of the once-living was little more than charcoal. A small ripped opening connecting the material plane to the plane of air trapped in place and acting like a vacuum, drawing in parts of the material plane with tempestuous force, drawing even fragments of the souls left behind by combat.

How long this phenomena continued, nobody would know the answer without either first doing some deep investigation, or asking the entity left in the wake of it's departure.

This entity appeared to be a short elven male, adorned with wings of electricity crackling from his back, alighting on the ground with a light step, his wings dissipating behind him, as this newborn creature felt a myriad of emotions for the first time. The joys of banditry, the fear of the innocent, but above all he felt an ache in his heart for the depression which had driven lives to this point.

After taking some time to process these emotions, Seryl found himself walking away from the scene of his birth (or rebirth) and heading towards where he felt the vague impression of a town to be. Relying on a gut instinct that promptly led him astray, having no sense of cardinal directions, and not realizing that all he had to do was follow the road, it would take him many years to reconnect with society.

The time he spent wandering was lived rather fearlessly, his connection to the plane of air weakening over time, but remaining strong enough for him to protect himself rather easily and forgive his mistakes as it came to trying to eke out a not-dying on the land. His feet taking him in what was a gradually extending spiral until he came to a strange tower on a hill.

Inside this tower lived an old man with long white hair that fell nearly to his waist, and a deep thoughtful beard. His eyes flickering like candle-light even at night. His face wrinkled, but his skin taunt and stretched against thick muscle and hard body. An aura emanating out from him that made Seryl immediately respect someone who was considerably more powerful than he was.

Remembering that Seryl had spent absolutely no time with other people, he had no way of communicating his plight beyond a few random hand gestures, one of which resulted in the man picking him up and throwing him into the tree, the blow nearly causing Seryle to black out from the pain and give the man a confused helpless look, as he knew he had no chance of fighting back against that kind of power.

Realizing that Seryl genuinely had no idea where he was, or malefic intent, the man gradually relented and took the young elven-looking male in and introduced him to hell. When the day dawned, Seryl would be sent running along the mountain, and when the sun had risen in the sky, he'd be sat in front of pages of written word and forced to understand it, and when the sun fell and candles were lit, he'd finally be forced to spar with the man.

This ended up in many cycles of Seryl getting the everliving spark beaten out of him so much so that he gradually got used to the beatings and acquired the basics of some skills. Attaining the principles of a magus, and ultimately understanding the essence of quiet movement - strangely though, despite his talent for it making it an easy task to fool animals, he never could fool the old man.

Decades passed in this fashion with the man who aged as slowly as his own tower before Seryl finally saw the open world, given directions and a written letter by the man before heading to the Union Pass city. the letter guiding him towards a mansion where he was supposed to make his home and settle amidst the people there and work on his lackluster social skills.

Over the last couple years he's spent in the city, he hasn't practiced much of the warrior arts, and has gotten somewhat sloppy, his connection to the plane of air long since faded into something rather thin, despite this the silence grates on him slightly, and he spends more time daydreaming of entering into something of tale, creating his own story, and perhaps being able to impress his mentor, although such things are a long future away.

### Appearance

Seryl appears to be almost elvish except for his short frame. A lithe gracefulness carried in his steps despite the fact that his body is obviously unable to bear a great deal of weight, his clothes made out of a thin silk that would seem frivolous except the bearer looks as if they could be blown away with a breath.

When outside the city, a katana in a wooden sheathe hangs by his waist, and a bow with a quiver of arrows rests upon his back. He is typically never without a headpiece of some sort, one to keep his hair from fluttering into his eyes.

### Personality

On account of his many years being apart from the common man, Seryl often has trouble getting along with others, his sense of humor often making the situation worse rather than better as he finds great value in witticisms and verbal traps. The common result of this being that his nature is rather rough at the edges which has resulted in a preference for subtlety in actions rather than boisterousness.

### Loves

For obvious reasons, there's no better place to be than in the middle of a storm for Seryl, although he lacks the ability to, he often dreams about being in the heart of a thunderstorm and simply dancing along to the lightning strikes, an experience he may one day obtain should his arcane powers grow to that point, something that inspires him to want to study just a little bit harder.

The second thing he is most interested in is chocolate, often preferring dark chocolate to a lighter one on account of it being too sweet for him to handle, the bitter flavors of the cocoa are an addiction he often has to work to quell or restrict, for fear of him spending his entire budget on the treat.

### Fears

Due to his origin, Seryl deeply fears the idea of war breaking out in it's entirety, the idea that that many lives would suffer in so needless a fashion wrings at his heart and makes him uncomfortable, as he vividly remembers those emotions as if it were the previous day resulting in the occasional nightmare where every place has become a battlefield and all lives were swept away by a storm.

This fear makes him protective of the people close to them, and those at risk of death will often find him closer to them in a bid to draw away the aggression they face in order to preserve them, no matter the cost.

### Hobbies

Despite his best attempts to socialize, Seryl has found that maintaining a conversation is as boring as it is challenging, often retreating back to his mansion to study his arcane spellbook and refine the structure of his spells or tinkering with the construction of a trap, something he enjoys purely for the thought process behind it. ultimately the only reason he goes outside regularly is to go window shopping for treats.

### Family

Having had no proper birth, the only family Seryl arguably has is the others of his species.

### Friends

1. Lady hand
2. The old sage in the white tower

### Aspirations

Seryl wishes to at some point fly within a storm and dance with bolts of lightning, to carry it's essence onwards and bring down the rain and thunder without a care for the consequence and feel at peace with the turbulent flow of nature's essence.