Valerius looks more like a hungover poet than a soldier. He has messy platinum hair that hangs in his face, golden elven eyes usually narrowed in a look of mild disappointment, and a permanent smirk. He wears tattered dark-teal noble silks over reinforced leather and keeps his slim katana loosely at his hip, never standing quite straight.

He is insufferably cocky and uses humor as a shield against sincerity. Valerius hates being called a fighter or a hero, insisting he is just a businessman whose business involves people staying out of his way. He is fiercely defensive of his 'unrefined' lifestyle and mocks the traditional martial arts of his people.

Valerius was born into a prestigious family of elven bladesingers but was quickly exiled for using his technical prowess to break into the local vault rather than defend the glades. He spent the next few decades in the human slums, where his refined lineage and natural agility made him the most effective thief in the district. He never saw himself as a warrior, yet he spent every night practicing with a stolen katana until the blade felt like an extension of his own hand. After a heist went sideways and left him the sole survivor of his crew, he decided to 'retire' into the adventuring life. He claims it is just a way to find more expensive things to steal, but he actually enjoys being the smartest person in the room during a tavern brawl. He maintains his criminal connections, though he finds it more fun to insult his old bosses than to take orders from them.