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APPEARANCE

Elias shares many of the traits inherent to his race; a tall and slender blue frame peaked with a mane of long, bone-white hair, sharp elongated ears and cold grey eyes.
However, his years of military service have rewarded him with a powerfully defined physique rivaling that of a modern day Olympic swimmer. And while his body has endured the heat, sun and sandstorms prevalent to the deserts surrounding his beloved Oasis, his weathered appearance has combined with his natural comeliness to produce a confident and handsome visage.

His style of dress is mostly military in nature, preferring the long scale-mail coats of his people rather than the bulky protective plate utilized by Humans and Ejderha. And while Elias prefers not to wear a helmet, I imagine his dress to look something similar to this: Duszek Military Attire

Elias Urbas was a successful up-and-coming senior lieutenant among the Warhost officer corps whose unit was known for their daring in battle as well as their loyalty to the Oasis.

Eventually, this renown among the troops caught the attention of the Elder Council. Specifically, an elder named Gwidon Korol. Gwidon's son, Aurek, had come of age and was planning to serve his military levy in preparation for one-day taking his Father's place.

In celebration of Elias' martial prowess, his unit was granted the honor of escorting Aurek into his first battle. To ensure Aurek's safety, Elias' troops were placed on the portion of the battlefield least likely to face the enemy.
Sadly, the army's commander grossly underestimated the brutish tactics of the desert nomads and Elias' phalanx came under a fierce and unexpected cavalry charge.

In the fighting that ensued, Aurek was unhorsed by the savage Mon-Keigh and dragged behind the battle line.
Rallying his soldiers, Elias charged into the fray and saved Aurek before the raiders could end his life.
Sadly, Aurek had already endured a fate worse than death for the Duszek. He had been "rounded"... a savage practice where the ears of Duszek prisoners are carved to look like those of a human...
Aurek's dishonor was set in stone.

But even greater dishonor faced Elias, who was ultimately responsible for Aurek's safety. At first, the Duszek judiciary called for Elias to end his life and join the Weave. But at the insistence of Aurek and Gwidon, his sentence was changed from death to exile.

Thus Elias Urbas, champion of the Heym Warhost, was banished from his beloved Oasis and cast into Aludra's untamed wilds. For weeks Elias wandered the streets of Camacho, tired, hungry and aimless.
Then finally, Elias came upon a League recruiter who bought him passage to Aschere and ushered him into the life he knows today.

Even though Elias has taken well to his new surroundings outside the Oasis, a large part of him still hopes to one-day return to Heym and regain the respect of his people...

It is a desire he will probably carry to his grave.

Character Name: Elias Urbas
Concept Thread: Elias Urbas
Prompt #??: Prompt #4.

Proteus heaved a heavy sigh.
Camacho turned out to be a drier well than I thought.

Since his arrival in the untamed port city, he had diligently combed the streets looking for hopefuls to take to Aschere where they could try out for Aludra’s most prestigious adventuring organization, the Asterion League. However the two weeks he had allowed himself for recruitment had produced only a motley assortment of thugs and cutthroats. Hardly the types of characters worthy of the League’s high standards.

Resigned to his fate, Proteus ambled into an open-air tavern to have a spot of wine to set him up for the day. Once he was seated, the thickly-bearded adventurer placed his order and leaned back in his chair to take in the scenery.
That’s when he saw him.


Elias glared with shame at his hooded reflection in the rain barrel. It had been three weeks since his exile from the Oasis. And without the light of the Weave to guide him, his wanderings had brought him to the very city that supplied desert raiders with enough food, steel and gunpowder to launch raids against his home. Now he was surrounded by his enemies in all directions. But instead of facing him with an offer for a quick and honorable death, the Mon-Keigh only regarded him with a mild intolerance, as they would a beggar or stray dog.

It didn’t matter. Elias had found a way to keep his mind off his wretched state. The only problem was that drowning himself in spirits every day had taxed his meager assets. And now, standing before his favorite wine house, Elias realized that he carried no coin for which to pay for his daily alcohol-induced coma. Looking at the tavern from across the street, Elias slumped against the alley wall and fell to his knees.

Mindlessly, he began to claw at his hair. Undoing the warrior’s braid along the side of his temple, Elias pulled out the last thing of value he possessed next to his sword and armor. Whimpering softly, he stared at the golden ring in his palms. Against his will, the memories began to flood into his mind.

He thought of the morning of his last battle…
To the temple, where the Officers of the Warhost gathered to say their final prayers and receive charms of good luck from loved ones.
He thought of his beloved sister, Hania, who had weaved the very same ring into his hair to ward him from evil. Closing his eyes, Elias still heard her harmlessly chiding him for not having a loving wife to braid a token of affection into his locks…

It seemed like ages ago, yet to Elias, the pain was still very real. Even then, he still found the strength to chuckle. After weeks of scrounging for food, sleeping in his own filth and living on rotgut, honor and duty seemed a far cry to what Elias needed now.
He needed sedation. He needed his drink.
I need to forget.

Stumbling to his feet, Elias’ exit from the alley was stopped by an old man who pointed a cane against Elias’ chest like a halberd.


Proteus didn’t know what made him cross the street and approach the skell.
But in all his years of adventuring, he had learned to trust his instinct. As he crossed, Proteus took in the little bits of information offered by the derelict to form a larger picture…
He has a strong and agile frame…suitable for martial quality.
Broad shoulders and a raised cloak…he’s wearing armor and a sword.
The way he tears the ring out of his hair…desperation.

But as he approached, Proteus was met with the real shock…
Blue skin! God’s above, he’s a Duszek?

With his curiosity peaked beyond his self control, Proteus pointed his cane at the warrior’s chest to keep him from crossing.
“That’s far too valuable a trinket to go spending it on a day’s ration of grog.”

Elias bristled at the Mon-Keigh’s impudence.
“Out of my way, old man. Or I shall relieve you of your miserable existence!”

Proteus’ eyes narrowed at the scathing display of the Duszek’s dignity and his incredible command of the Common Tongue.
“You couldn’t fight a Mushkin with a wooden spoon in your condition. But your stench, T’sen, could move mountains!”

“How dare you address me as an equal!” Elias fruitlessly attempted to bat the cane aside.
“I’ll gut you like a wharf rat if you don’t get out of my face.”

The fury in the Duszek’s face was palpable, but Proteus knew that in his hazed and hung-over condition, the dog could do little more than bark.
“Doubt it,” he mused. “I am trained to fight. Where you on the other hand, appear only trained to drink.”

Elias had had enough. Casting his cloak aside, he drew Sunfang in hopes of releasing his pent-up rage on the old man. His anger was replaced with a stunned shock as the elder cracked Elias on the wrist with his cane, forcing him to drop the sword.

Proteus strutted into the alley and turned to face Elias.
“You certainly have the strength and the speed,” he commented. “But your rage will inevitably unbalance you.”

Elias roared as he kicked the sword into his hand and fleched for his opponent’s heart.
Proteus, expecting the attack, quickly stepped aside and rapped the Duszek across the wrist again. The blade fell harmlessly to the floor.
For the second time today, Proteus heaved a heavy sigh.
“Have you learned nothing, Longear? In battle, anger is your enemy.”

Elias’ arm throbbed with pain. But greater still, was the pain in his heart.
This savage will not best me!, he thought.
Picking up the sword, Elias turned to face the old man just in time for every nerve in his hand to give out…
No! NOOOO!

The shock on the Duszek’s face was Proteus’ cue.
Striking his cane against the ground, he was quickly rewarded with the sound of the warrior’s sword falling on the alley floor for a third time.

Elias had lost all his reason. Charging in a blind rage, he felt the old man catch his injured arm and twist it behind his back. The ensuing pain brought him to his knees and cleared his mind of the morning’s haze.
“Aaarg!”

With the Duszek held fast in a Lamian arm lock, Proteus used his undivided attention to make his move.
“Simpleton! This is my arm now! If I wanted to, I could break it to teach you a lesson!”

Elias’ eyes welled with tears, the pain in his arm and the shame in his soul overriding his sense of dignity.
“NO! PLEASE!”

Proteus examined the condition of his charge.
Poor wretch. He’s gone down for the last time.

Leaning forward, the League recruiter whispered into Elias’ ear.
“As this is my arm now, then Godsdamnit, I want it strong and sure.”

Elias froze. The man’s voice had turned from aggressor into that of a mentor. So strong was his shock that he didn’t even notice when the human had released his arm and stood him up.

Proteus looked into the stunned eyes of the Duszek before continuing.
“Among my people it is believed that when the Student is ready, the Master will appear.”

Leaning forward, he picked up Sunfang with a quiet reverence reserved for holy artifacts and priceless objects d’art.
“I can help you regain your power and confidence. But you must first take a trip with me to the island of Murzim. There you can perform the rights of passage to become a member of the Asterion League, a most ancient and venerable guild of heroes.” With a quick and fluid movement, Proteus returned Sunfang to its sheath.

Elias remained stunned at the dignity rewarded to him by this strange Mon-Keigh. Feeling a lump form in his throat, he marveled at how he almost lost the sole reminder of his precious Hania and how in one single combat he had been humbled…and praised.
This is no ordinary Mon-Keigh, he thought.
He commands respect. His words are wise.

After a brief pause, Elias responded.
“H-how did you know?”

Proteus allowed his features to soften.
“There was a time when I too was brought low by my affairs. Everyone falls, my boy. It is the rare few who rise again.”

Elias processed the words of the old man in his mind.
I have nothing to lose. Can I truly rise from my fall?

Looking up at the old man’s weathered face, Elias made his decision.
“Please, T’sen. Tell me more…”