Artist Rendition, Deserts of Prodai
Among the many stories told, it is said that [REMOVED] was born within the arid deserts of Prodai, the illegitimate son of a Bhaskarian sell-sword and a dark-skinned mystic. Shamed, as they were, by the defeat of their peoples to the Venerated Republic, it is said they marked [REMOVED] with blood magic which turned his skin as pale as the moon, and his hair as dark as ink. And so, to avenge their people, the cursed child was abandoned within the commissary of the local garrison. It was here that [REMOVED] had found the swaddled babe, and took him into his protection. Of course, it could not be that the Decurion had forsaken his vows, and was left with a bastard of his own. Whatever the truth may be, [REMOVED] does nothing to squash these stories, and in fact has been known to throw fuel on the fire when and where he can. In truth, more is known of the myth than of the man, and that seems to grow with each passing day. Beneath the vast array of disguises, covers, and distractions, there exists a man forged by years of service to the [REMOVED], but more than that, to the Republic itself.
[REMOVED] would make any average male appear to be a titan. Yet, even at his limited height, the man presents a fierce countenance. Where a slender, but athletic, frame is usually concealed beneath the layers of his uniform or disguise, a thick ink-dark mane and pools of molten gold are defiantly displayed. Though a passing glance might not detect the man’s true identity, he is no true spy, and his costumes seldom hold up to heavy scrutiny. Beneath the array, [REMOVED] wields a brand on his left arm identifying him as a [REMOVED] with the markings of [REMOVED] Typically, the man wears [REMOVED], and will only don the typical [REMOVED] in ceremonial roles or when absolutely necessary to blend in.