Toutes les langues étrangères ont été traduites à partir du Periseti natif et placées entre crochets pour plus de commodité.
"Mon Dieu, je n'y crois pas! Bronze Lion {a cassé cet homme en deux!! Nous avons une condamnation, les gars! Fils de ma main droite, corrupteur de femmes, a été exécuté!
Leon Alabaster était triomphant sur le cadavre de son adversaire. Les cris stupéfaits de Minty Doukas, l'annonceur le plus célèbre des Fight Pits, ont balayé les murs de grès des Fight Pits, suscitant des applaudissements émeuteux du public.
Leon Alabaster secoua de la brume de ses rêves et se concentra sur la tâche à accomplir. Le cheval robuste qu'il avait prêté a travaillé son chemin dans les écuries du Winnowing Cloud, une maison publique juste à l'intérieur de Jeorva. L'aubergiste, un homme portier au visage délicatement préoccupé, a volontiers donné à Léon une place dans la salle commune pour un prix modeste.
Léon ne comprenait pas très bien pourquoi il allait à Jeorva, mais il était toujours d'humeur à avoir des visions prophétiques. Peut-être Jeorva a-t-il vu la lumière et a-t-elle passé des pendaisons publiques au système juste et équitable utilisé par les gens éclairés de Periset? Léon l'espérait. Il voyait toujours les bourreaux étrangers comme des personnes inutilement tristes qui n'avaient pas assez d'exercice. Faire leur travail implique peut-être de combattre les criminels jusqu'à la mort les aiderait peut-être à cet égard.
Les vues qui ont accueilli Léon alors qu'il passait les portes de Jeorva et montait dans les rues n'ont certainement pas prouvé ou réfuté ses suppositions. Pas d'aboiements criants, pas de bannières volantes, pas de foules de spectateurs sifflants qui affluent vers les vues glorieuses et les sons de l'abattage juste. En effet, il semblait que Jeorva était aussi barbare et banale que jamais.
En étouffant sa légère déception, Léon a brièvement divertit l'idée d'aller simplement dormir. Cependant, il s'est rendu compte qu'il avait offert une promesse au maître de caravane. Il aurait besoin d'aider la caravane qu'il a embarquée sur ses marchandises. En particulier, il aurait besoin d'aider à transporter du fret à destination et en provenance du marché choisi par la caravane. Dans l'ensemble, Léon a considéré que c'était une bonne affaire. Frappant une pièce de monnaie grotesque à l'aubergiste pour la sécurité de son cheval, Leon s'est dirigé vers la porte et en bas de la rue. Le marché n'était qu'à quelques pâtés de maisons, et Léon savait exactement où étaient ses cohortes. Peut-être qu'une fois terminé, il se pencherait sur ce qui aurait pu lui donner une raison de déménager à Jeorva.
Name: Leon Alabaster
Element: Light/Teleportation
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Appearance: Leon's toned muscles and uniformly-tanned skin belie his exceptionally violent past. He stands tall at around 6'5'', and has brown, curly hair. Leon generally wears non-restrictive clothing, but will not hesitate to wear heavy armor for protection's sake. Leon enjoys wearing nothing but his loincloth and, on colder days, a toga. A general lack of warm, protective clothing does very little to boost his mood, but he has learned to grit his teeth and bear with such discomfort.
Theme Song: This is NOT optional.
Nature: Leon is a warrior with a fiery-hot heart. While he assumes the worst in nearly everyone, he holds a soft spot in his heart for the unfortunate. To anyone who reminds him of his past, Leon will gladly lay down his life for them. When infuriated or stirred to move, Leon strikes with unnecessary force and nothing else. When relaxed, Leon is a heavy drinker and a hard joker. If compelled to heal or defend anyone, Leon acts with the utmost professionalism, and lashes out at any distractions.
Leon prefers to avoid using magic, believing it to be a crutch for weaklings. However, he oftentimes finds places where the only solution is to use magic. When that happens, Leon often finds himself unable to act without feeling like he is betraying his own principles.
Backstory: Born on the streets of the great city of Periset, Leon never knew his father. His mother, a born slave, had very little time to care for him, forcing Leon to grow up by his own experiences.
 At the ripe old age of thirty-two, Leon's mother had finally figured out how to free herself from slavery: marrying her master. Their marriage was, as a matter of fact, enjoyed by both parties, and Leon's mother had earned a luxurious life on her own merit. Unfortunately, the conditions for their marriage required that she disown Leon, a condition that she gladly accepted. Homeless at the age of twelve, Leon was forced out on the street. It was by sheer chance that, two weeks after this unexpected eviction, Leon was picked up by the owner of the Periset Fight Pits.
A combination between a theater and a penal system, the Fight Pits were the most popular community-operated source of justice in the city. It wasn't by any stretch supported by the city's authorities, but was widely endorsed by the city's lower-class. Though Leon didn't know it yet, he had been selected as one of the Fight Pits' newest gladiators. Leon was trained by the Fight Pits' premier coaches, an orc by the name of Branwen Malog. Branwen treated Leon like his own son, and did his damnedest to prepare Leon for the grim career ahead of him, which Leon tucked into with ignorant gusto.
At the age of 16, Leon was billed for his first fight. Branwen brimmed with pride as Leon crushed the life out of a condemned man with practiced ease. Leon's rugged good looks and phenomenal strength drove the crowd wild, and made Branwen and his colleague's very wealthy. Leon very quickly became the Fight Pits' most popular player, and found his calling in life.
Though the gladiator's life is filled with prizes, fitness, and popularity, it wasn't enough for Leon. Day after day, and fight after fight, Leon gradually began realizing something: he didn't want to spend the rest of his in the fight pits. The thrill of death had lost both its sting and its charm, and now was merely a chilling numbness spreading across his soul. The unforeseen awakening of magic powers that allowed him to heal the grievous wounds of others near-instantly exacerbated Leon's dissatisfaction.
Branwen was unusually supportive of Leon's concerns. It was, after all, the very same reason why he was a coach instead of a fighter. In between matches, Branwen taught Leon the basic healing and teaching skills that were the craftsman's mark of the Fight Pits' greatest members. Over the course of several years, Leon rose to the illustrious position as Pit-Fighter Coach. Now, Leon was in the same position as Branwen was. Money, fame, safety, and the respect of all his coworkers. All of these were his. Yet he was still unsatisfied.
Leon began getting visions of an unknown city that he needed to reach, filling Leon with aimless determination. Slowly but surely, a mission and a destination formed in his mind's eye: Jeorva. The temptation grew too much for him to bear, and Leon felt himself unable to resist the temptation to simply leave Periset and fulfill his mission. Leon retired amicably, to the knowing appreciation of Branwen, and bought a spot on the nearest caravan out to Jeorva. As the caravan slowly made its way across the desert sands, Leon thought to the future. What awaited him in Jeorva? Would he be able to earn a living away from an endless cycle of murdering others for the amusement of the crowd? Only time would tell.
Goal(s): Leon hopes to find a safe, comfortable job that allows him to actually help people for a change. Failing that, he hopes to build a reputation bloody enough to discourage others from trying to attack him. With a dangerous combination of healing skills and obscene physical strength, Leon feels he has an excellent head start on both of these goals.
Inventory: 
 One white loincloth.
 One hempen robe.
 A pair of leather buskins.
 A dirty, gray toga.
 A thick leather scabbard.
 A large leather satchel.
 A flint shaving razor and a dog-hair shaving brush.
 Eight torches, dipped in pitch.
 A well-maintained bronze gladius.
 Two heavily-used caestūs, worn only in combat.
 Five days' rations.
 Twenty gold coins, stored in a separate pouch
 A brass necklace, a gift from the Fight Pits' crier.
 A bar of lye soap and a dirt-scraping brush.
 A small container of cheap wine, brewed by Branwen himself.
One medical kit, containing:
 A small rag, for cleaning and polishing.
 A bottle of rubbing alcohol, wrapped in linen.
 Three clean needles.
 A small pair of scissors.
 Two rolls of clean cloth.
 A cloth bag filled with gypsum plaster.
 A small, well-kept field knife