Markus Ariticus

Driven by greed and regret, his acendency is destined to be mighty, but his test is still to come.

Description:

Appearance:
Markus’ bodily appearance consists of rather fair skin, typical of Eladrin birth. He has pale green eyes and long straight light blonde hair that is unevenly cut, his nose is medium length and is straight, curving slightly at the tip. His teeth sharpened finely, forming a sharp edge thats been bluntened over the years. His eyebrows are a thin darkish blonde with a rather pronounced shape. His ears are long and pointed, they reach about the length of his face and bare several gradually healing holes for earrings. Along his face, mainly on his jaw and cheek lie a few faded scars from wounds long past.
Markus overview sheetMarkus skills overview sheet

Bio:

Born centuries ago to parents he never could recall, Markus wandered a great city of Humans, disorientated and alone at the age of 4. He knew little of the world and less of himself, attempting to find solace in a destitute life.
It wasnt long before his not to long past found him. At the age of 9, after years of scrounging through city streets for sustinance and shelter. Markus learned his first name, an Eladrin woman, sharing the same pale green eyes and light blonde hair as Markus, sought him out and approached him. Showing remarkable Valor, Markus stood in defiance to her will, she stood above him, as a full height Eladrin, commanding in a language he no longer understood.
She spoke to him as Markus, and when he didnt reply, she brutally hurled into the citys market square, weilding dagger in hand she attempted to take his life, before his athletic spirit took hold and he ran and hid from his predator.
Without his knowledge, he had been visited by something that would haunt him eternally until his last breath.
Markus wandered, as a petty thief, taking advantage of his somewhat adept slight of hand abilities, feeding himself with the pockets and purses of commoners for 8 more years. Every 3 years he would be confronted by the Woman, and every 3 years he would run, partially fearfull of his demise.
As he began to master his practice, Markus joined the ranks of other petty thieves, who revered him for his skill. To him, swordplay was natural, he showed promise when faced with his rivals, he had found himself dexterious enough to pull of rather powerful attacks when he was younger.

It was a cold afternoon, the sun ducked low behind the towers and the overcast clouds and a single Eladrin man of young age and form stepped through the darkening streets. He was dressed in old clothing, a light brown hood and faded green tunic, a thick cloth belt strung at his waist that supported dark brown loose pants that ripped at the edges, cutting off just below the knees. Although he appeared to be skinny and frail, he walked with great strides that flowed together and didnt draw attention. He darted his eyes back and forth before spotting someone he had met before.
Approached by a rather large merchant by the name of bkemth, he held a slender knife in his hands and walked with menacing intimidation towards the boy, the boys pale green eyes darting back and forth aware.
“You! Elf” He called in a gurgly voice “I seen you before havent I boy.”
he didnt reply, but instead stood more upright, revealing more height then he would normally let on.
“Ah yes, your the boy who i see every so often, right before i happen to ‘misplace’ something hmm?”
The boy, unarmed, twitched his eye as the man gradually got closer.
“Im gonna go an be straight with ya, I been able to tolerate ya, you look like the lively sort, ive seen yah runnin round here before, I figure one day you gone grow up an get a proper career son.” he scratched his potruding belly and sniffed “you see last thing u stole was of value, and im not gonna forgive you as much as i normally done, a few copper coins, i can get more you know, but stealing a mans wedding ring?”
now he was not but a few metres of the boy, and the boys hands twitched eagerly.
“So” the man continued “I think you’ve go-”
The boy didnt let him finish, before he could even blink, the man was disarmed as the boy grappled and twisted at his fingers as quick as lightning, weilded the knife and drove it steadily into the mans chest.

The streets were mostly empty due to people sheltering from the approaching rain, so when he coughed his last breath it was clearly heard. Slumping to the ground, eyes agape, staring forward, mesmorised by this act.
He didnt die a quick death.

It would be no more then a year before his hand was, to his perception, “forced” to slay another. Soon he was well known throughout the higher class district as a boy who could rival an entire crime syndicate by his own in a test of dexterity, his natural swiftness was both admirable and curseable.
Markus spent the next dozen or so years in the presence of infamy, women, coin and the pride of a long record of criminal history, all successfully evaded. The streets became wrecked with the loathing and persecution of thieves, and eventually during the seige of the city’s walls, riots broke loose. Merchants hired mercenaries and strode into alleyways, daring the nimble to take him, nobles drew swords and struck down boy and bandit for the crime of spending too long eyeing something that did not belong to them. While an opposing force trumpeted against the walls, the people had already began to destroy themselves. By now Markus held rather loosely, a standard of high rank in a bandit gang that consisted mainly of women. While he never did any more for them then empty the pockets of nobles enough to hand in his weekly dues for the copious amounts of indulging he flooded himself in, he kept the attractive Rogues rather pleased with themselves.

It was during the riot that Markus took to the streets and wisely decided to flee town, his 25 odd years of “borrowing” left him aware of approaching danger, and this was fairly obvious.
From then he traveled to several towns, each holding small, noticable fortunes to pillage and with each came rather large duals to test his arm further, he soon became paragon.
It was much to his pleasure that a reputation of his dexterity had exploded amoung the more paranoid members of communities. His skill increased at reletivly a lucky rate, he was always enough to take down the strongest of foes, until the woman approached again. It wasnt surprising, and Markus had grown gradually cocky in every area but the ability to evade this woman, but he felt his prowess as a fighter had improved considerably, so this time, he aimed for the kill.
Pushing her into the rain drenched streets he cut two deep slashes across her brow and cheek, her fair, fine facial structure brutalised by decades of loathing at the hand of someone who held himself above the world. The fight was swift, but in a twist of fate, she drew her malice, and announced she was no longer playing.

Markus was prone, his hands drooped wearily to his sides as rain pelted at him like accusing fingers stabbing at his helplessness. A long, slender Eladrin blade was driven through his chest, he wheezed and coughed, writhed and begged but to no avail, the light went out.
he slept for what felt like days before he awoke in a haze of putrid smoke, the air was thick with ash and dirt and the sky tinted green, its hollow form barely masked by slivers of black clouds that hung resistantly against a constant dismissal of a gale seemed to continuous and static to be real.
Gasping for breath, Markus rolled to his knees and glared through the haze to the burnt field of dark brown that unfolded along an even stretch for as far as the eye could decipher. The air carried no hint of tempreture, but a strange chill bit him to the bone, it covered his whole body evenly like he had fallen upon ice with a wound that bared his skeleton, filling his whole with an unrelenting shiver.
He felt weak, stressed, tired; as if an entire life of hardship had been avoided and driven into realisation at this very point. Getting to his feet, Markus stared at the sky, his knees quivering under the quiet force which pressed against him from above. He stood there for what felt like hours, soaking in the harshness of the enviroment, unwilling to search or see.

He awoke in a cell, not knowing how he got there, but feeling significantly weaker then he had ever felt. A knife wound sat tended in the centre of his chest, and his hands, feet, legs and hair were layered in mud and grime. His survival insticts kicked in immediatly and he stepped through the feywild and out of the cell, stumbling his way to freedom. He cursed the world, he cursed the woman and her eyes, that bore the same hungering pale green wholeness as his own.
The next three quarters of a century Markus spent doing the same as he had done before, He was strong, but he didnt grow stronger, he felt nothing was too difficult, everything came to him easily, and it began to make him bitter. He sought nobles and slaughtered them for nothing but the look on their smug faces disolve to self pity and fear, he made his mark on every place he came across. And for the entire 75 years of wandering, the woman hadnt returned.
He began to spend more time amongst the Eladrin of the region, and dwelt in the feywild majorly delighting in nothing but scouring entire continents under the cover of his stealth ridden shaddow. He felt made for this place, His supreme ability conjured over 120 years or more had given him the power to evade or strike when appropriate.
for another hundred years he dwelt in the feywild, before he returned to the mortal plane once more.
The world had changed, places where roads had never been where now constructed, and word of the founding of land to the south was apparant. But soon it was all folly, for once he traversed upon the city of which he was imprisoned, he was dazed, and cast under an incantation that drew him to the walls of the prison towers.
His mind raced as he was dominated further into certain incarceration, he tried to break free, but he could not ignore the searing burning that he felt upon his forhead. It drew him further into his doom.

a pair of tower guards escorted him throughout the halls of the fort, leading Markus through archways, atriums and a central hall, they didnt even restrain his movement. Something they saw when they glared at him told Markus that they did not expect him, passers by went wide eyed at the sight, and several elves, dressed in extravagant robes of blue and red noticed him, grinned and hurried far ahead of him.
Finally they arrived in a large chamber, the ceiling was about four men high, and the smooth cobblestone floor stretched out in rectangular shape. Sturdy archways with hinged windows that hung loosly in the slight breeze dotted themselves along the left wall, while the right wall bore a half dozen doorways.
The guards stopped and nodded to a figure who stood in the distance, cloaked in red and blue, before they turned tail and left eagerly.
The cloaked elven man strode towards Markus as he reluctantly stood still as stone with the aching touch of his forehead blurring his eyes. The elf was about Markus’s height, his garments where uniform and exquisite, they unfolded in swirls and arcane symbols marked into the linen. His hair was dark for an elf and eyes bore a humorously delighted tint of amusment and profound amazement when he stared at his victim. Otherwise, to Markus he looked like a dull and self important fool, he had already begun to imagine what he would have to do to this elf to repent for this act.
“I would ask you to sit, but im afraid that would likely be impossible” He began in a tone which expressed volumes of personal congratulation.
Markus struggled to break free.
“My colleges will be with you shortly, I dont really know my way around that spell, and i wouldnt want to upset Dira” He spoke as he rubbed a smooth hand over his cheek “I am Venar by the way, I know you wont need it but i would feel impolite otherwise”
Suddenly several of the doors burst open, and other elves in red and blue robes approached, grasping staves of burned steel. They approached Markus with looks of determination, except one of them, a female elf with darker blonde hair and a rather regal face, she studied Markus and his forhead with hidden trepidation.
For two days Markus stood in a state of paralysis, with his mind screaming in the increasing pain of his forehead. It began to spread. Gradually the searing pain flooded his eyes and cheekbones, and soon it flickered at the bases of his teeth, excreting a pain so intense he began to break free of the hold placed upon him. He slammed and cried great screetches of pure rages into a arcane wall that split him in two.

Markus Ariticus

Eternal Winter Jadony