Détesté. Des étourdissements. En fin de compte confus.
Avad était tout ça.
Ayant été frappé par la foudre et ne portant aucun métal sur lui, il a été gravement secoué, et n'a pas pensé clairement du tout. Son livre d'orthographe était serré à son côté comme s'il pouvait la guirlande de la mort. Finalement, il a réussi à rassembler quelques vagues pensées : le renard argenté sur son cou. Célèbre voleur. Princesse est partie. King ne sera pas content.
Puis il a pris un moment, en regagnant les processus de pleine pensée, pour considérer à quoi ressemblait la scène. Lui-même, un mage de tempête connu, couché dans le couloir. Une serrure s'est fondue et s'est évanouie par la foudre. Une princesse disparue. Rien de tout ça n'était une preuve de son innocence, et il a mis ses dents sur la façon dont il avait été manipulé involontairement par cette dure salope Fate.
Stupéfiant à ses pieds, il commença à entendre les sons de sabatons qui claquaient dans la salle à un rythme rapide, et fit son choix. "Andom têllumar neru'un vanastel." Un autre nuage de brouillard s'est propagé de sa main ouverte, et les pas ont ralenti pendant le moment crucial qu'il a fallu pour qu'il se mette à ses pieds et remonte à quelques pas de la fenêtre. « Je suis content que vous soyez étanche », murmura-t-il en fouillant le carnet de sort, avant de sprinter à l'ancienne ouverture de verre et de sauter à travers.
En descendant, il a commencé à dessiner le glyphe dans l'air pour un nuage d'épaisseur anormalement épaisse pour amortir son atterrissage. Au lieu de cela, il a reçu un pic vif de douleur à travers ses temples. "Ohhhh non..." il gémit. "J'ai exagéré."
C'était la dernière chose qu'il a dite avant de sombrer dans l'eau avec une éclaboussure inouïe et d'être rapidement presque noyé par sa robe. C'était un exercice d'humiliation pour lui d'aller à la rive, sa tête a terriblement mal. Il a trébuché, les étourdissements de l'usage magique sans fin de ce boulon sauvage prenant son péage.
"Je te déteste... tellement..." il a grimacé alors qu'il s'est envolé à côté du voleur.
Name: Avadodren Ichen Onem (the -ch in Ichen is pronounced as a hard, guttural hiss)
Age: Appears somewhere near his mid-thirties to early forties.
Race: Avadodren, or Avad, as he is known to very close friends, is 100% bonafide human.
Looks: No matter how exceptional I truly am, all that is seen is my exterior. By that standard, I was born average, and will die average. Av is exceedingly typical looking. He is of typical height, somewhere between 5'10" and 6', and average weight for his slightly slender build. He has a messy head of brown hair and a pair of gooey, dark-brown eyes. His skin is pale and fair, a few freckles smattering his brow and the bridge of his nose, to his eternal chagrin. He wears his uniform as a High Battlemage, a long, flowing robe of pale ivory white and embroidered with ash-gray and flaming red in elaborate flame patterns. His honorable stars are worn on his shoulder. He nearly always carries his spellbook with him. It is a massive tome, bound in dark gray leather and bound with ragged, long-used, gilt pages. He has a bit of a theatrical flair about him; often, he will twitch a finger and use a tightly controlled gust of wind to flip the pages instead of being a regular person and using his fingers in a more mundane fashion. Put it all together and you have a medium-tall, medium-light, brown-on-brown-on-pale person, eyes glimmering with deep intelligence, with a flamboyant nature and an incredibly sharp mind.
Bio: Avadodren Ichen Onem was born Avad Onem into a Valstand noble family of middling influence and wealth. Though he wanted for little in his childhood, he certainly had none of the absurd wealth of some of the higher families. He was trained in the standard noble pursuits; swordsmanship, riding, court manners. Then, at one particularly uninteresting party, he experienced a cataclysmic magic surge. As many such events go, there was much flash. There was, however, far more danger at Avad's magic surge than most. Several nobles were permanently injured, and his father, Veddys, was killed. Avad, desperate to escape the cloying guilt that ate at him, decided to find a noble death: a battlefield mage, torn apart either by the power of his own spellcraft or by whatever might be faced at the moment.
Through some cruel joke of fate, he lived through every campaign, and indeed, through many years, began to creep little-by-little up the ranks. Eventually, his desire for a good death fled, replaced by a savage desire to ascend to the highest echelon of magic: an Archmage. He took the name of the greatest Archmage in the history of Valstand: Odren. He appended it to his own, calling his determination for all to see: I will be an Archmage. Along the road, he took an honorific as well: at the battle of Ichen, he distinguished himself by saving over a thousand men with a well-timed fog cloud to obscure the enemy's lines of sight. Thus, 'Of Ichen's Glory' became his military title. He internalized it, turning it into a name as he fully took it for himself, becoming nigh-obsessed with his rise to glorious power, burying the memory of his past and determined to make his late father proud.
Over time, that motivation faded. He was no longer a child, and became able to look back without regret. His meteoric rise through the military steadied off as his frenzied energy petered away, and he settled into the life if a professional High Battlemage. While he still aspires to the Archmage's mantle, he longer pursues is feverishly. He's a close confidant of the king, and is able to see the good buried beneath the tyranny. He firmly believes the king has the best interests of his subjects at heart, and will support him in nearly endeavor.
Other: In departure from his typicality, Av is an exceedingly skilled mage specializing in storm magic. In particular, he has a talent for nimbomancy, or the control of clouds. He has a lesser talent for direct combat with his magic--although the lightning bolts and lashing rain ensure that he's no slouch there, either--but rather, when engaging, is far more adept at tactics and strategy. His fog and cloud control allow him to craft expert illusions and massive concealment and for one of his age, he has a near-encyclopaedic knowledge of military strategy, born both of natural aptitude and of enormous amounts of study. As a side of effect of his long military experience, he is able to remain unbelievably calm under pressure.