Alaric is an imposing man, far broader and more muscular than most scholars. He wears well worn leather armor over a tattered scribe's robe, and his thick, calloused hands seem more suited for a blacksmith's hammer than a quill. He has a sharp, square jaw and intense, weary eyes hidden behind a pair of small, circular spectacles. Small, blackened veins creep up his neck from beneath his collar, a sign of his growing pact.

I am terribly awkward in social situations, often speaking too bluntly or remaining silent for uncomfortable periods. I prefer the smell of old parchment to the company of people. Despite my hulking frame, I still think of myself as a librarian first and a warrior second, often trying to solve problems with logic before my patron's rage takes hold.

Alaric spent most of his life in the Great Archives of Oakhaven, cataloging histories of the Great Wars. He was a man of books and silence, possessing a strength he never used until the library was set ablaze during a cultist raid. In the smoke and fire, trapped beneath a collapsed bookshelf and desperate to save a rare collection of arcane manuscripts, he heard a voice offering the strength to survive and the power to punish those who burn knowledge. Alaric agreed without hesitation, feeling a surge of infernal power that allowed him to lift the debris and escape. To his horror, the pact did not end when the fire did. He now carries the soul of a fiend within his massive frame, forced to venture out from his comfortable life of research. He seeks to find a way to break his contract while using the brute force he never knew he had to protect the lore of the world. He remains an uncharismatic academic in the body of a gladiator, struggling to navigate a world that sees him as a threat.