Fitzgerald Vaelor, the Red Regent of Thal-Sereth

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LVL

Warlock

Fitzgerald Vaelor, the Red Regent of Thal-Sereth

Level 20·Male·Medium

Lawful Evil

Species

Lich

Appearance

Fitzgerald the Red appears as a dignified lich draped in the illusion of a once-regal desert prince. His desiccated frame is tall and almost fragile-looking, but he moves with unsettling precision, every gesture measured like a courtly performance. Beneath his spells, his bones are lacquered in a faint vermilion sheen, as if sun-baked clay had replaced ivory. His skull is crowned by a broken circlet of blackened gold, and his robes are layered in rust-red silk, cracked leather, and strips of preserved leaves that crumble into dust when touched. The strangest detail is the living vine that coils around his left wrist like an affectionate bracelet, blooming a single white flower whenever he is emotionally compromised, which he despises.

Height6 ft 4 in

BuildTall, narrow, and unnaturally balanced, with a sorcerer's poise and a corpse's immobility

EyesLeft eye ember-red, right eye pale gold with a cracked ring of black

HairNone, though the remnants of his old hair cling as copper-red ash around the crown like a halo of dust

SkinBone-white with a faint iron-red undertone, like sun-bleached sandstone

“Low, precise, and resonant, as if every sentence has been rehearsed in a throne room and a tomb. He speaks softly when most dangerous, and his laughter sounds like dry leaves crossing marble.”

Alignment

Good

Lawful

Chaotic

EvilLawful Evil

Distinguishing Features

A cracked circlet fused to the bone of his skull

Red sandstone-like bone sheen on his forearms and cheek ridges

A living vine bracelet that blooms during emotional distress

One eye socket filled with a floating ember-red star

The scent of hot dust and rain on stone follows him even indoors

Voice

“Velvet sandpaper, patient and imperial, with a sudden crack of grief when the subject turns to his homeland.”

Clothing

Layered crimson and sand-colored robes stitched with bone thread, a high-collared mantle of cracked amber scales, and gloves lined with hidden sigils. His garments are immaculate, though always dusted at the hem with fine red sand that never falls away completely.

Body Language

He stands very still until a decision is made, then moves in abrupt, elegant cuts, like a blade being drawn from silk. His fingers constantly count invisible beads when he is thinking, and when he is pleased he inclines his skull with the solemn courtesy of an old nobleman.

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