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|  Zhaelic Da’eania
Full Name: Zhaelic Da’eania
Age: 147
Class(es): Wizard
Race: Elf
Subrace: Dark Elf
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Deity:
Domains (if cleric):
Short Bio/Description:
Physical Description
The Dark Elf before you is an average height for his race, not too tall, however not necessarily small either. His pitch black skin, and stark white hair, which is kept short and practical, is a familiar contrast of the Dark Elven race; his almond shaped, violet eyes are one of the most interesting features about him, as they shine brighter when angry, and radiate dully when mellow, or in a state of rest suggesting a fairly chaotic nature. He is dressed in loose fitting, black clothes, made of a fine material. Around his waist is a brown leather belt, adorned with various pouches and small bags, evidently containing strange pieces of tat for spell components. A brown leather bag is slung across his shoulders, out of which you can see the ends of scroll cases and the spines of various books, one of which is a dark blue which he tends to protect the most. His black boots are tall, coming to just below his knee, and are made of hard leather normally found in the attire of adventurers.
He seldom speaks, apart from the incantations of spells, but when he does so, it is in a well refined and educated manner and to the point, often blunt however not seemingly rude. He seems distant sometimes, maybe revisiting times long forgotten in his past. He tends to keep a distance from large crowds, and prefers to be approached that to approach. However, when one gets to know him, he seems both friendly and trustworthy.
Background
“The light seems daunting. The lightless caverns beneath me are solitude from what many of my kin call the continents of heathens. That is behind be now, however, I choose this path, I am exiled.”
Zhaelic was brought up in a respected Dark Elf household, prosperous and noble (by the standards of Dark Elves). He was given all he wanted as a child, and was taught by the finest mentors. His favourite teacher, and a great friend was the Mage Zhal Fae’lantir, a powerful Wizard, and a knowledgeable scholar. Thus, he chose the path of Wizard, in a binding apprenticeship with Zhal.
For years, Zhal taught him discipline and manners before he was permitted to utter the simplest cantrip. He was given exams on history, languages and script and he was told to keep a record of the books he chose from Zhal’s extensive library. Several times he questioned the meaning of these tests, and several times he was given the same answer:
“The road to power, if that is truly what you seek, is a path through much more than just knowing the most powerful spells.”
These tests continued for many years, and by the age of fifty, he had earned his spellbook. He was told to research the spells which appealed to him most. He was told to practice their incantations, and every week he was given an examination of the pronunciations of the incantations. By the age of seventy, he was making exceptional progress, and was allowed to enter his master’s chambers, and help him with his experiments. Over these years, Zhaelic kept quiet, and followed orders, disciplined well by his master. His master, as a great master of divination, said one experiment day, when Zhaelic was one hundred and forty:
“I am not long for this world, my apprentice, thus I have chosen to pass my knowledge unto you.” Zhaelic did not understand this comment, and questioned its meaning. “In your soul, you do not conform to the likeness of our kin, as I do not. I have followed your progress over the years, from the books you read, to the spells you have chosen to learn, and I have concluded that you are powerful of soul, incorrupt and you hold the ability to have a better life. To leave these walls, and the constant conflict, to follow me to the surface.” Zhaelic was astonished, he never felt as he was feeling now, in his soul something had unlocked, something brilliant and fulfilling. “Come, we do not have time to waste. You shall take your things and leave before I. I have created a portal that shall take you to the outer limits of the city, quickly now you must make haste. The houses of the city have already guessed at my plan, and they come to kill me even now”
Zhaelic did as he was told, he gathered his possessions, and components and headed for the portal room. He was followed by Zhal, his black robes flowing around him. There was an explosion from the ground floor of the tower. The door had been blasted off its hinges, they came for them now.
“Through the portal!” Zhal exclaimed, gesturing to the shimmering doorway infront of them.
Zhaelic turned, moving toward the portal, he moved to step in, stopped and turned. The chanting of incantations filled the room as several house guards moved into the room, lightning cracked from Zhal’s fingertips, slaying one guard and keeping the others at bay.
“Go!” He screamed. “I will meet you on the surface!”
One of the guards moved to strike, his blade shattering on an invisible force wielded by Zhal, he was flung backward by a plume of fire, cracking the black walls of the tower. The portal shimmered, as Zhal shouted for him to leave once more. He did, and turned as he entered, just in time to see the sword of a guard pierce the side of his mentor, before he was transported through a falling void of webbed magical energy. There was only darkness.
He awoke, the portal before him had closed, and the shouts from the city could be heard even here. Pushing out all remorse for his fallen mentor, he stood and moved off into the darkness of the Underdark, searching for the path to a sinless existence, the path to freedom.
For seven years, Zhaelic has wandered the Underdark, hiding from the denizens of its bowels, for seven years he lived in fear. Until now, the shaft of light from the world above blinded him temporarily as he moved towards it. This was his destiny.
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