Full name and title: Voltaire, Some call me...Tim
Hobbies: Dying, leading mongbats into poison fields, burning
everything in sight, and attempting to burn down Cain's log cabin
Turn ons: Anything flamable, more sulphurous ash in his reg bag,
torches, and pretty fire!!
Turn offs: Water ellies, Arctic Isle, and nightshade that just
won't turn into poison.
Favorite saying: "Things burn so much better with a little BRANDY
on them!!"
Favorite thing to slay: Anything flamable
History: Born into a poor serf family Voltaire knew only of serving
his time on the farm and tending to the wheat field for which his family
had been left to care for. Voltaire was a mischevious child and was
known to wander the farm eyeing the passing strangers from far off lands
rather than doing his chores. His father and mother saw something
special in Voltaire, but knew that as serfs they could do nothing for him
but teach him the ways of the soil and hope that someday someone might
see these same things in him and take him on as an apprentice in some more
skilled field of study. At the age of 12 while Voltaire slept in
his bed he had a great dream of an armored knight reading military reports
from scrolls. The old knight was war-weathered but somehow still
kept the grace of a gentleman. His hair was of a golden fading color
like the wheat fields he and his family tended to, and he wore a beard
of the same color. Voltaire looked around him and noticed that he
was within some sort of tower or castle seeing that the walls were all
constructed from masonry and the window on the wall to the left of him
overlooked the night-life of a sprawling city. Such a city!
A city that is alive with people even in the darkest of hours. While
peering out the high window Voltaire noticed a rustling, and then a slight
movement of something black through the window. Before Voltaire could
even blink his eyes the source of the movement was darting through the
window. The intruder had dark brown short-cropped hair and was donned
in all black. Voltaire expected the man to carry the same wore-torn
features that come from experience in the mortal arts, just as the golden-haired
knight had worn, but instead Voltaire saw only the face of a young man
with dark eyes and even darker intentions. The young intruder moved
silently but quick all the way through the window then pulled a small piece
of parchment from a belt loop. The young man unraveled the piece
of parchment and mumbled the words "In Flam Grav"...words that Voltaire
had never heard before, but understood all too well. Before the golden-haired
knight could even turn around the young intruder waved an arm over the
parchment and then towards his target. Suddenly a wall of flame awoke
from the ground consuming the fine red carpet and the golden-haired knights
scrolls. Even though the knight stood in the very center of the growing
wall of fire he stood without movement, but only to draw his sword.
Quickly the young assailant drew his sword with lightning-fast reflexes
and lunged for the Knight. Obviously out-skilled and out-witted the
young assailant was thrown to the floor by a well-placed backhand from
the knight and was knocked unconcious. After a few moments of glaring
at his would-be assassin the knight slowly rolled his head up and looked
directly into the eyes of Voltaire. Voltaire bolted awake scared
half out of his wits from the dream and found himself and his bed soaked
with sweat. The next day Voltaire was wandering through the fields
and he thought of the words that the young man had read from the scroll
and began reciting them in his head. Before Voltaire realized what
he was doing he began speaking them out loud..."In Flam Grav", and the
fires awoke from the ground consuming the wheat in huge collumns of bright
red flame and thick grey smoke. The entire farm was consummed in
flame, which went on to destroy the village in which he and his parents.
Voltaire, now feared by the townsfolk, was banished from the region given
only a candle to light his way, a mortar and pestle which he had taken
from his personal belongings and a dull red robe. Voltaire made his
way along the roads, a wandering piece of flotsam in the river of Sosaria.
Voltaire while wandering these roads began
to see pires in the distance and great buildings the likes of which he
had previously only dreamed about...and little did he know he had dreamed
about these very towers and buildings just weeks before. Voltaire
was drawn to the incoming town like an moth to a flame and as he approached
the buildings grew to immeasurable heights. He finally arrived at
the outskirts of town and read the simple sign into town which read "Britain."
Voltaire didn't quite know what "Britain" meant, but he assumed it the
name of the town and wandered on. Along the road he noticed a small
bustling blacksmith shoppe with a forge larger than he had seen in his
village. Was everything larger in the cities? Voltaire approached
the forge drawn by the warmth of the coals and he noticed a grey-haired
blacksmith eyeing him from across the anvil. This man, who Voltaire
soon came to know, was Cain. Cain listened to Voltaire's story and
realized his great potential when Voltaire, with no magery training, was
able to melt iron ore with but a few power words right before Cain's very
eyes. Cain took Voltaire in from the cold, and gave him a home...he
also gave him a family and guild to call his new village.