Leo is a lean, sharp-featured aasimar with pale bronze skin, white-blond hair, and faintly luminous eyes that seem to catch light even in darkness. His most noticeable features are his hands, which are stained with ink, alley grime, and old chemical burns from years of petty theft and improvised spellwork, and his crowded, uneven teeth, which show whenever he smiles. He dresses in patched street clothes beneath a weathered black coat, carrying a small knife and an arcane focus made from a polished piece of stolen glass.

Leo is alert, transactional, and relentlessly opportunistic. He has a quick mind for loopholes and a quicker tongue for excuses. He dislikes grand speeches, heroic causes, and people who offer help without naming their price. Beneath his swagger is a deep terror of being powerless, hungry, and forgotten again.

Leo grew up beneath the bridges and market awnings of a crowded city, learning early that pity was a currency poorer people could not afford to spend. He survived by stealing purses, forging simple documents, and selling directions through alleys that respectable folk never noticed. His celestial heritage made him memorable, but not beloved. Priests called him blessed, guards called him suspicious, and other street children learned not to sleep too close to him when he was hungry. His magic first appeared when a wealthy traveler refused to pay him for a job. Leo reached for the man's coin purse, and a burst of impossible color erupted from his fingers, turning the man's hair bright blue and filling the street with the smell of burning roses. Leo discovered that the power was unpredictable, but useful, especially when combined with lies, locked doors, and a willingness to abandon anyone slower than himself. He now wanders from city to city with one simple objective, get rich enough that nobody can ever make him beg again. He has nothing noble to do, no cause to serve, and no patience for anyone who expects gratitude when money would work better.