A massive Red Dragonborn with soot-blackened scales and eyes that flicker like a dying forge. He wears the shredded remnants of a legionary's uniform over dark robes, and his arcane focus is a jagged crystal held together by rusted iron wire.

He is abrasive and volatile, speaking in short bursts of sound that mimic the rhythm of military commands. He finds beauty in ruin and has a deep contempt for any form of authority that he cannot physically crush or incinerate.

Born with the long and chaotic name of a forgotten draconic dialect, he was once a prized frontline combatant in a mercenary legion. He discovered his aptitude for the arcane while looting the library of a sacked city, finding that magic was a far more efficient tool for destruction than any sword. He murdered his commanding officers during a midnight raid and used their tent as fuel for his first intentional fireball. Since his desertion, he has roamed the lands as a self taught mage who views every village as a target and every fellow soldier as a rival to be humbled. His mind is a fracture of military discipline and entropic madness, leading him to believe that only those who can harness the fire of the stars deserve to draw breath. He keeps his original long name as a mantra, believing that its complexity protects his soul from those who would try to control him.