In search of PHAT LEWT
The flashiest of elven wizards from the big city
A little magic never hurt anyone.
And a lot won’t leave enough of them to complain.
This elf stands at a lithe 6’4”, everything about him is fastidiously neat and tidy. From his coat to his boots, not a thread is out of place. His hair is cut and trimmed neatly, and is held back behind his face by a thin metal chain. His gray eyes have a mischievous twinkle, but those looking deeper into them will see a raging fire. His dress is impeccable, with a deep blue vest over white shirt, black leather leggings and calf high boots. His riding coat is of a rich black, trimmed in fox fur. He wields a finely crafted longsword at his side.
Lathilien was enraptured with magic when he saw an old wizard spinning a simple prestidigitation. His father, enrolled him under the tutelage of a wise old sage, who taught him everything he knew. Countless hours of drilling Lathilien in the ways of the Art, and that it should never be used to excess. All wasted. Sure Lathilien payed attention to his tutor, but if something could be done with magic why do it any other way.
The child became a man, he spent every waking hour pouring over old tomes, studying ancient sigils, and formula. His knowledge grew and his library of spells became ever larger with each growing day. He learnt the art of binding his essence and spells into swords and armor, and to brew potions, and could soon craft many fine items.
Soon he grew bored of life in town, and of casting spells in the safety of the training area. He heard rumors of the Western Isles. A small port had opened up there and were trading in pearls. So he gathered his finest clothes, picked up his spell-book, and bought the next ticket out of home that he could.