Prodigal sorcerer, legendary rake
Beneath the black hair that’s spiked into a insouciant urban style around his elflin ears, Aller’s soft, emotive eyes sparkle with a delicate tan hue. The skin of his face is soft and clean, his features delicate and maintained to an almost girlish manner.
His green velvet jerkin is trimmed with emeralds and dire bear fur, unclasped at the neck to accent his collarbone. A golden pendant and rings adorning his fingers compliment the tone, a pattern kept with a pair of well-maintained deerskin pants and soft leather boots.
At his side, a mahogany-and-gold epee hangs on an elaborate scabbard adorned with swirling, apparently living leaves and vines. His fingers rarely stray from casually maintaining contact with it, as though it were more pet than weapon.
Surprisingly, he seems to travel light; a single wine flask and small pouch are all that can be seen as what he carries.
“Wha’? I don’ ken why ye wan’ to hear abou’ borin’ court stuff. Ye been to one function, ye been ta’ them all.
Now, tha tale abou’ tha time I single-handedly stared down a troll as ‘ee was rampagin’ tha road south o’ tha Gate? Tha’s a tale worth tellin’, lad.
There we were, only an ‘our ta’ makin’ camp, when tha soun’ of a terrible, uneart’ly screamin’ begins. The whole camp is up an’ alert, waitin’ fer wha’-may-come. ‘Ee loped, an ugly behemoth wit’ green, lumpen skin an’ an evil gleam to ‘is eye, roamin’ fer tha unwary an’ unready.
We did’nae have ta’ fear, ‘cause ’ee were canny ’nough ta’ know not ta’ bargain against a well-prepared caravan, an’ ‘ee growled an’ snapped at our men, bu’ did’nae challenge us. Aroun’ an’ aroun’ ‘ee circled us, lookin’ fer a weakness in our lines, bu’ we were strong an’ unafraid, an’ ‘ee soon los’ int’rest.
As ‘ee turned, however, we an’ ‘ee saw tha’ one of tha lassies tha’ had gone ta’ forage fer wood had returned, scurryin’ home all tha quicker fer havin’ heard tha fearsome noise. ‘Ee dove wit’ unholy speed, screamin’ fer blood an’ bones ta’ use fer ‘is supper! The guards hesitated, unwillin’ ta’ break tha ranks lest ‘ee double back fer tha hole made, bu’ I did’nae pause, slidin’ out from ‘tween their legs ta’ race fer tha doomed lass.
Wit’ a gust o’ magic, I blew a burst ‘a flame across ’is path! ’Ee recoiled, distracted a mo’, turnin’ ta’ regard me wit’ terrible, bloodshot eyes. The lass, bless ‘er heart, caught ta’ tha meanin’ of my deed, an’ broke fer tha men behind me, already forgotten by tha horrible beast.
It may as well have been tha two of us now fer how far tha other men were. Jus’ me, alone in tha twilight, an’ a fifteen foot tall troll, a giant even fer their kind, starin’ at each others’ eyes, waitin’ fer tha break of nerve ta’ signal tha doom of tha other.
I admit, I’m no’ tha mos’ intimidatin’ of men. I’m small, an’ more seemin’ at home with soft bed an’ good drink – an’ a fine wine this is indeed, madam, may ye ne’er want fer respect – bu’ ‘ee knew tha’ tha power o’ tha flames was one I controlled, an’ fire be what a troll fears more than anythin’.
For long, tense moments we growled at each other, darin’ wit’ our minds ta’ turn. ‘Ee bellowed a long, low roar, an’ in response I jus’ called tha flame ta’ life, dancin’ on these fingers as I willed it. I brought my hand up ta’ my face, an’ with a sudden breath, burst anot’er bout a’ flame up at ‘im! Tha bellow turned ta’ a howlin’, an’ ‘ee flinched, recoilin’ from my magics, unwillin’ now ta’ e’en look at me.
“Ye git from this place, ye foul boggart!” I commanded ‘im like a hunter wit’ a disobedient dog. “Run ye hide from here afer I scorch tha light from ye eyes an’ sear tha skin from ye bones!”
‘Ee gave one las’ retort, a garrumphin’, growlin’ snap, truely intent ta’ strike an’ clear tha head from my shoulders, bu’ ‘ee then met my eyes; seein’ in them tha’ I was ready ta’ make good on my threat ta’ teach ‘im tha taste of flame, an’ ’ee quailed.
‘Ee nae e’en made a sound as ‘ee returned ta’ the dark tha’ had bourne ‘im, an’ from word I hear ‘ee ne’er returned ta’ menace th’ road again.
An’ tha’s the tale of how I stared down a rampagin’ troll. Now! Madam, we have a pressin’ need fer more a’ ye wonderful elixir! Fill our glasses wit’ wine, an’ we shall be merry all nigh’. That, I can promise ye."