Character Stories & Profiles / Traits

[Demogorgon]

To help clean things up a bit on here. Please re-repost your characters in this thread.


Character Background Profiles - Required

History
Include date and place of birth, family (careers, alive/dead, location, contributions to the character), homeland (not necessarily place of birth), early history/childhood (school, apprenticeship, labourer, clergy, etc.), history/teen years, current occupation (class and otherwise), friends, and associates, hobbies or activities of interest.

Physical Description
Write a paragraph on the phisical appearance of your characters current physical body. Include his physique (height & weight without using specific measurments), type of dress (adventuring and non-adventuring), armour worn (and ornamentation, if applicable), weaponry carried, favoured colours and/or designs, phisical mannerisms, type of speech, habits or tendencies, etc. Remember to take ability scores into account when writing your PC's description.

Mental Description
Write a paragraph on the mental characteristics of your PC. Include his attitudes, morals, beliefs, philosophies, religion, fears, aspirations, short and long term goals, and types of friends and/or enemeis. Include a description of how your PC's intelligence, wisdom, charisma relate to one another, as each is influenced by the others. Make sure that you PC's mentality does not conflict with his alignment!

[maketasty]

Dartingclaw
Kagonesti Druid

History

Just turning 70, Dartingclaw was about to receive his adult name before he awoke in a strange, new forest...

He had spent his entire life in the Trumas Forest near the Highvale Range. His people used caverns along the wood's edge as shelter and the forest for sustenance. Mountain streams and springs provided fresh water to sustain the fifty-strong tribe. He was born of noble blood, at least as noble as Kagonesti can be. His father was the chieftain of his tribe, and his mother had been married to his father as custom dictates when two Kagonesti tribes meet - his mother was the daughter of a neighboring tribe's chieftain.

His life until now had been fairly uneventful. He trained with his father in the druidic arts, mastering the ability to change into a wolverine. He was quite adept at moving quickly and striking suddenly, granting him his childhood name of Dartingclaw. An uneventful, predetermined life was of no interest to him. He knew he was to follow in his father's footsteps - grow old, marry, and lead a clan of Kagonesti of his own. Its the way it had been for centuries. Even the cataclysm changed little of the Kagonesti ways. He would often daydream about wondering the world, experience what was beyond the mountain range. He had heard stories of the forests of stone, where giant horned and hooved men lived. This is where he yearned to go see the most.

Physical Description

Dartingclaw has short, midnight, black hair. His eyes are the color of the noon sky. His skin is a leathery tan. He has a strong physique and carries himself with cat-like grace. To the average human he would stand only breast-high. He is clad in green-dyed, well-tailored hides. Around his neck sits a chain of different animal claws. He carries a well-worn wooden staff with intricate carvings.

He carries himself with an almost supernatural calm. His steps are quiet, well-placed, and light. His speech seems slow and methodical. If you knew the language he spoke, you'd recognize that he speaks slowly because it takes him awhile to form his sentences and thoughts. You'd recognize that perhaps he is not the smartest Kagonesti.

Mental Description

As you spend more time with the elf you notice that he is very instinctual. It would take him awhile to explain to you what he was doing, but he capably and adeptly accomplishes tasks such as foraging, scouting, and healing. He seems to be keenly aware of his surroundings and what is going on, but he might not be able to explain it or comprehend it completely.

Dartingclaw has been raised by a tribe that would seem particularly harsh by an outsider. They are very in tune with nature, where the strong, fast, and clever are respected and adhered to. Interfering with the balance of kill or be killed is rarely practiced. The tribe protects their own fiercely, but does not come to the aid of strangers unless it benefits them. Strength is born from suffering and his tribe does little to ease the suffering of things. However, nothing gains strength from destruction. He has been taught since he was a young child that he must protect the world from destruction.

Dartingclaw has joined hunting parties to exterminate hunters, loggers, etc. Their pray has no quarry and oftentimes he has left woman and children to fend for themselves after he fell their husbands and fathers. The only people's lives that have value is his own clan's. The paradigm of human life being sacred is beyond his comprehension. Murder being an unlawful act in cities would make no sense to him, but he would respect the 'natural law.' If they are doing nothing to harm him or interfere with him, he will let them exist, but if he is starving and they have the means to feed him, he will not hesitate to 'murder' them.

Dartingclaw worships nature and everything that constitutes - the air, the trees, the sun, etc. He views it as a whole and a living, breathing, entity itself. Gods are not a foreign thought to him, as legends have been passed down in his clans about them. He views the gods as aspects of nature. If his belief were to be classified in the pantheon, his worship would most likely resemble worship to the high god.

He is not crude or unwelcoming. He is friendly and welcomes the company of others. Especially those who have experienced the world. Although he is curious and asks many question, he oftentimes takes awhile to fully comprehend the answers he is given. He can't recall many facts, but he oftentimes instinctively knows the correct course of action or answer.

[insanity]

Thrrdon
Bakali Fighter

History
Place of Birth: Blackwater Glade
Family: Scrusuth (mother), Kursum (brother), Kobdorn (female clutchmate)
Homeland: Blackwater Glade
Tribe-Name: Swamprunner

The Blackwater Glade has been Thrrdon’s home for many years, and within the great swamp is where he learned to fight and fight hard. While some swampers near the glade seek treaties with the bakali, others do not, and they have felt the sting of his trident more then once. As the swampers do not always make worthy opponents, and Thrrdon has sought out other swamp beasts to do battle with, receiving his fair share of scars in the process.

Thrrdon is close to only a few members of his family. His mother, Scrusuth, still reside in the glade, serving the tribe as a priest of Siarrlas. One of brothers had set out of the swamp shortly after Thrrdon left, but he has not seen or heard of him since his own departure. Kobdorn, while they were raised together when very young, is not a sibling in the human sense. Thrrdon has always been trying to earn her affection since they matured, and many of his ventures into the swamp to fight various creatures were attempts to win her as a mate.

His desire to win Kobdorn as a mate was his purpose to leave the Blackwater Glade to seek greater opponents, and return to the glade in the future to form his own tribe.

Physical Description
Thrrdon is noticeably larger then the typical bakali, and stands well above other humanoids, often instilling unease in them. His scales are primarily a dark green, almost black in color, speckled with a lighter green and the belly scutes highlighted with a yellowish-green. Several scars can be seen across his body, obviously signs of serious conflicts in Thrrdon's past. His jawline closely resembles the alligators of his swamp home, with a somewhat shorter, broader snout then other bakali.

Most people may not immediately realize that Thrrdon is wearing hide armor, as it is made from the hides of several alligators, and appears very similar to his own hide. The trident in his hand, however, is immediately noticeable, as well as the spear and javelins lashed to his backpack. Aside from his armor and backpack, Thrrdon wears a simple leather tunic.

Thrrdon speaks in a very low, grumbling rumbling voice, almost felt more then heard, punctuated by low hisses and growls. He rarely speaks, and when he does, he is not long-winded and direct. During intense moments, such as anger or combat, hearing a raging roar come from him is common.

Mental Description
You can take the gator out of the swamp, but you can't take the swamp out of the gator.

Thrrdon is ferociously territorial over what he claims as his, and typical of bakali, he is distrustful of strangers. He is prone to snap at strangers who get too close with his jaws or lash out with his tail if provoked. To date, life out of the swamp has been challenging, at least socially as he tends to look at other beings primarily as competition for food or other resources. Fortunately, he has begun to understand that non-bakali can prove themselves to become trustworthy clutchmates, and has recently befriended a few non-bakali.

Those who can continually prove their strength in combat are on the path to earn Thrrdon’s respect and eventual trust. Even powerful enemies are respected. Thrrdon is suspicious of those using magical powers, and generally has little tolerance of them, with exception of those skilled in healing abilities as they have helped him in combat before.

Thrrdon’s goals are simple, prove his worth as a warrior, earn Kobdorn as a mate, and form his own tribe back in the glade.

[necromik]

BONO

[Demogorgon]

"Hu......mansss..."-Zissren



History

Place of Birth: Blackwater Glade
Family: Regortak[Father-Alive], Iszeno[Female-Alive], Ezerkon[Brother-Alive]. All live in the Glade.
Homeland: Blackwater Glade
Tribe-Name: Swamprunner

We all have a bit of nature derived in us all. We all enjoyed the love of being out in the open, enjoying the sights, and feeling our animalistic, and primal natures.... Though one creature decided to take the essence of what Taladas gave to him to heart. The knowledge of the Cataclysm is still unknown to Zissren, who was not even born through the destruction that it caused, or what some of the Dragonmen had known as, a new beginning.

People knew not to delve into the depths of Blackwater Glade, with several Bakali tribes flowing around with a high disdain, and dislike for the humans of Taladas. One such tribe that invoked a more primal side was the Swamprunners... No one wanted to be caught in the swamp while they were around. Brutal, savage, and one even humans didn't want to draw near for any such treaties due to the extreme barbaric nature they wish to indulge on those that didn't know the line they crossed.

Zissren himself has felt the rage of the spirits of the lands fill his veins at an early age. A member of the Swamprunners, he was trained at a very young age to defend himself, with the traditional means of the longspear, used mainly to keep the alligators and the swamp cats that lurked. The longspear was also a tool for the Bakali, used as a form of fishing when times became rough.

Zissren learned at an early age to distrust the humans that flowed around by his father, Regortak. An older, Bakali who had seen the hardships of the Cataclysm but also the resources it had gained. They were now the rulers of the glade. He was thought, and given the knowledge that humans were the enemies, and as such.. Zissren's known grew even at an early age. Days were spent where his father built his mind as a tool of weaponry as much as his body, and sadly.. As wise as Zissren could be, he had trouble... Showing and explaining what his mind was and knowledge gave him.

Another sign of his distrust grew with his brother, Ezerkon who knew full hand of what the humans were capable of. Unlike his brother, Zissren had not gotten caught by the swampers that attempted to trespass on their territory and Ezerkon had some battle wounds to show for it. His tail, was severely damaged with cuts along its hardened scales, and his right eye, was not a sight to see for their was no eye to be seen. Even with his limitations Ezerkon built the body of Zissren through training, both physical and nurturing of his brother, he became the perfect sparing partner to train with. The duo even going as far as traveling on mini-raids across the glade was wild-game, and even sometimes... the prey became those that dared partake a bit further into the middle of the danger.

It was all a game to them, to toy the quivering humanoid in fear, muttering about dragonmen before the poor morsel became a fine meal for the tribe... but even in time, there was still a tradition that needed to be kept. The elders of the tribe, thought it was finally time for Zissren to follow the path that each Bakali of the Swamprunners took, they must travel to the outer rim of the glade, before moving onto the lands to bring back something of importance. Anything that would be a reminder of their journey as a sign of their growing maturity. Zissren was gifted with only the bare essentials, weapons, armor, and a few tools for living, and feeding when worse came to worse. The only rule that Zissren himself had to follow was brought down by the elders. "Do not harm those, that were brave enough to make a treaty with the Swamprunners." True to the Bakali honor, that trust and honor of the words of the elder will be a lasting impression on his mind because everything else... was fair game.


Physical Description:

Zissren was much larger then most other races around Taladas, always looking down around at the others, with that neck shapened in a crook, allowing his head to snap outwards, the curve the neck provided providing a better motion for his head to bite anything that came close. Green scales adorned his body, hardened without much wear of battle. No battle scars was fitted to show the hard-times, still a relative new-blood to the battle world physically but one that took no time getting into the meat of battle. Muscles laid within the scales, coming forth with each movement of those strong, powerful legs and through the biceps of his arms. The Bakali was definitely a mighty specimen at first glance. A soft white undertone was displayed on his stomach while a golden fin rested on the top of his head, matching the golden hue of those eyes, that animalistic gaze.

Strapped across his abdomen, hiding that soft white undertone was hide that was formed, and made in the shape of armor. The hide of the latest Swamp cat that crossed his path was his useful means of using the scales, and the armor as a necessity to avoid any harsh shots from his foes. Attached to the hide, by a simple string was one, very long spear, not well crafted. One may assume it was built by his talon-like hands alone, sharpened at the tip by a rather large rock, enough of an edge to wretch into a roar of rage and into a saddened creature. The only other objects of note was the thick, scaley tail that squirmed around from side to side, to help not only balance Zissren, but has been learned to be quite a weapon in his time of need, and speaking of weaponry, the tool in which he likes to carry in both hands, the raw might of that large hammer of a maul grasped against those talons of fingers.

Now with a strength like Zissren, there has to be some flaws to his prowess and that came to his speech, always rolling the S sound more then once in a while. Zissren also had a nasty habit, and tendency to dive into battle even if the odds look bleak, solely on the case of letting that adrenaline, the intoxication of it flowing through your veins while the honor of the Bakali still rain supreme in his mind! Their courage was measured in battle, and no matter if they lost or won, a battle was courageous and honorable in their eyes. Do not get too close to Zissren however, because he also had a habit of biting those that get close.

Mental Description:

Zissren is not quite as promising on a mental side while his physical side is impressive. He is wise, filled to the brim with the knowledge his father had given him, and yet, he cannot decipher the script of his mind to bring it out into words. He is a pretty serious individual, hardly one to make a snicker, or a laugh, and will without a doubt snap at anyone who gets close, or gets in his way. He follows the same morals and beliefs of his Bakali brethren of his time, and of his tribe. Honor was something that dwelled deep into his mind, knowing both what has happened, and the ill that are reminded by them. Zissren does not trust easily, especially when it comes to humans in particular, but if one does gain his trust, they gain an ally until they do something to temper the "dragonman"


His short term, and long term goals can be translated together for they are almost one and the same. Short term is to travel by any means necessary, wheither it be through battle, or walking... and venture forth into the land of unknown to finish the ideals and tradition passed on by the tribe, and his long term goals is to fully be accepted by the Swamprunners when he returns, and continue the circle of like that the tribe live by, returning once more to the Glade.

Ability scores for reference:

STR: 18
CON: 17
DEX: 13
INT: 8
WIS: 12
CHA: 14

[Demogorgon]

Ylric Silverfoot

Ylric Silverfoot of the boar clan stands 6 feet tall and is considered freakishly tall for a Tamire elf. Ridiculed as child not only for being tall but for his light complexion, green eyes, and silvery hair, Ylric felt like an outcast from the very beginning. He looked nothing like his parents. The clan elders would tell him that the blood of the ancients ran strong through his veins but that didn’t make him feel any better growing up. It wasn’t until he came into his young adulthood that he began to feel somewhat accepted. His prowess as a hunter was unmatched. He was quick, nimble and deadly accurate with a great bow. However it was his ferocity in spear combat that earned him the respect of his clansmen. During one of his training sessions he was pitted against an older more experience warrior name Darok. Darok, was physically superior in almost every way to Ylric’s frail looking body. He was stronger, tougher, and he was an accomplished spearman. Everyone expected Darok to wipe the floor with the less experienced Ylric but this was not to be. Ylric dodged Darok’s first spear thrust, moved in quickly and kicked Darok right in the jaw, knocking him flat on his back for 10 minutes. The elder’s were so impressed by this pale-footed hunter’s victory, that on the night of his coming of age ritual, he was given the clan name Silverfoot. His resemblance to the Sylvan elves of old was no longer a faux pas; it was a mark of strength and a badge of honor.

Ylric is a man of little words that prefers to let his actions speak for themselves. However he is not the bashful type either. In fact he is quite opinionated and will speak his mind when he needs to. He is blunt and to the point. He is a warrior first and foremost. If you are his friend, he will risk his life for you without hesitation. If you are his foe he will seek to destroy you with the same amount of determination. He cares little of the history of things or of the past and prefers to focus on the present. For Ylric, the battlefield is the only history book he will ever need. His love for the fey is insurmountable and nothing disturbs him more than those that disrespect the great spirit of the wild. He his tolerates most people and races but those that harm nature are to be run through with out mercy.

Eventually Ylric grew tired of the constant clan fighting and beast tending and decided to go adventuring on his own. His only friend is a bard, named (Mick Jaguar), he met several years ago in Kristophan, the apex of the minotaur empire. They have been making a decent living entertaining people throughout the land. Ylric stuns the crowd with his acrobatic feats, while the bard charms them with his music and song. They’d take turns pickpocketing unsuspecting patrons, although Ylric was obviously much better at it. It was only a matter of time till the bard was caught and spent 30 days in the Kristophan jail. They were about to ship him off to a mining camp when Ylric worked out a deal to secure his freedom. They were to perform their show for the king himself. If they gained his fancy they were free men, if not, both of them would suffer a life of slavery in the Mines of Murglemouth. Luckily, their performance was top notch and Emperor Ambeoutin XI was quite pleased. It is doubtful Mick would ever forget what his elven friend had done for him. Ylric, however, simply said, “You would have done the same, speak of it no more”. The two vowed to never speak of it again and if there was any purse snatching to be done, it would be done by Ylric.

Ylric is an archer ranger and kind of a barbarian. Actually I picture him more like a native american type. Like a Navajo warrior of the fey.

[Kett]

EDIT: Rewritten for brevity and changes due to adventuring.

Kett "Sangrias" St. Cyr
Half-elf Bard

Date and Place of Birth - Unknown.
Family - Unknown.
Caretaker - Father Tohl
Homeland - Unknown

History
Found on February 3^rd seventeen years ago on the doorstep of a dilapidated church in Armach (Named for a disciple of the Highlord), Kett St. Cyr was raised by Father Tohl, a merciful and kindly priest. As the years passed, Kett soon became a boy full of idealism. Throughout his daily lessons, he became enamored with the vast histories of the world, grand stories of legend and myth, and wondrous tales of heroism and faith. Alas, he also learned of his station; a half-elf orphan. Forsaken by his parents, barely tolerated by others of the church, and shunned by the world at large.

Not wanting to burden his caretaker any longer, Kett left on the eve of his 10^th birthday. Taking only the barest of essentials, he scratched out a living by honing his art, forever traveling the roads alone as "Sangrias", a young and humble troubadour. Through seven long years alone on the road, he has performed from humble villages to grand cities, worked menial labor and endured both scorching summers and frozen winters. Occasionally he has partnered with other traveling performers, yet not even Sangrias could fit in, eventually parting ways. One eventful night, after a regrettable performance, he rested under the eaves of a dense forest. His only take for the night was from the only patron who didn't balk at his songs, an exiled Glass Sailor. Instead of money, she had gifted Sangrias her glass blade and cryptic words of prophecies yet to be fulfilled. Initially skeptical of the woman, it wasn't long until his neck was suddenly stabbed with pain. Awaking someplace far different than before, feeling like days have passed without rest, Sangrias never could have prepared himself for the coming days...

Physical Description
Short and slight of build, even for a half-elf, Sangrias has survived on meager means. A single long braid of his blue-black hair fall past his shoulders. His left eye is a somber jade, his right a luminous violet. His skin is a white pallor, from long nights of earning his keep in taverns. His peculiar countenance and demeanor often make others mistake him for a young girl, to his chagrin.

Sangrias wears an over-sized dark blue mantle with an ornate clasp, the very cloak he was swaddled in when he was found at St. Cyr. The worn leather boots, gloves, and bulging knapsack mark him an experienced traveler and collector. His hide armor has saved his skin on more than one occasion, as has his wooden buckler. Wielding a bow and a strange glass sword, he dabbles in various skills, drawing power from the arcane, the divine, and from within.

Sangrias speaks softly with clarity and fair timbre, having honed his voice for performance, able to sing at incredible range. When not performing, he tends to ramble or talk to himself, absentmindedly play his lyre, hum, or whistle. He also has a fondness for books, jewelry, and other curios.

Mental Description
A great musician and singer onstage, Sangrias is actually very meek. His cloistered background as an unwanted orphan has made him quiet, using his art as an outlet of expression. His curiosity has made him bright beyond his years, dabbling in several fields of practice and study.

Raised by followers of the Highlord, Sangrias has a deep respect for those of the cloth. A bleeding heart to a fault, he aids the poor and weak as best as he can. He often follows the 'Golden Rule' and believes a little in Karma.

Sangrias lives on his whims, and love the feeling of being free. However, he often wonders of his lost life, his parents, and of finding a place he can truly call home. Perhaps one day he can find out his past...


Ability Scores:

• STR: Good
  
• CON: Good
  
• DEX: Great
  
• INT: Great
  
• WIS: Average
  
• CHA: Excellent

[cordus]

History

Place of Birth: Small out post near Darcika Woods
Family: Kuonu (mother), Minron (father), Asteron (brother) by 3 years
Homeland: Imperial league


Cordus's first memory was of his mother mixing her dies in front of him painting murals on the stones with him while his father and older brother went to collect the traps laid for the rabbits and venture out to the creek to catch fish. Soon after his 4th birthday Cordus was take n by his father and shown the how to trap forage and fish to help the family collect supplies and food to last through winter, at 13 he was given his own section of land to watch over empty traps forage and fish in, and taught by his father on minotaur honor and that every action he takes he must take responsibility for and for every mistake there is a lesson learned within it, these lessons and talks with his father would go on every day, though he knew they were important to his father, he didn't react to them the way he saw his brother react, Asteron would always talk to him of there people's pride and how the other races were nothing but runts that needed guidance by the minotaurs for only the strong should govern and be respected, for some reason he understood why his brother felt this way but couldn't agree with, though he knew minotaurs to be leaders among the imperial lands he did not see the reason for such a statement for respect is earned through work not just given or forced he. His talks would continue with his father as he grew but what he truly enjoyed was when his mother and him would venture into town to collect the ingredients for he dye's that they could not forage for in the wild he would see the small wonders of the town all the people moving around always so busy even a little town was over whelming in his eyes but he enjoyed the life of a small town, though he never felt at home in the towns they traveled too.

The only times he felt at home was out in the wild or when he would steal his mothers dies and paint murals on rocks of animals he had seen running on the edge of the forest darting in and out of the forests that he and his brother were not allowed to enter. That was his escape from his fathers discipline talks of honor and bravery of minotaurs where it was just him and the voices....


At 20 his brother Asteron left for the cities to join the legion like there father had once done, he had trained them both in basic hand to hand and spear combat, by this time Cordus had another quirk along with being able to mix dyes properly now he had also begun carving things from wood his favorite a wooden wolf dyed white hung form his belt, his father was growing increasingly agitated by these traits he did not deem fit for a minotaur of the Empire and scolded his mother for encouraging it. The arguments kept getting more and more heated and when ever Cordus would mention voices his father would only get worse, until one night where it came to a head. It began as any other night cordus venture to a cloistered cave only a few miles into the wood he knew the area well the voices told him where to step what areas to avoid which plants to touch and not to touch, only this time something had followed him. As Cordus was painting the walls of the cave with his dye he heard a rustling in the bushes he stood up slowly grabbing his long spear he began to prod the bush something grabbed a hold of his spear wrenching it from his grasp, taking a step back he lowered himself horns to the front ready to face what ever creature merged from the bush. As he stand ready a large white wolf emerged from the bush staring into Corvus's eyes a cold chill filled the air as if a winter breeze had blown bye, the wolf growled once and ran to him Cordus releasing a primal yell ran to meet the charge ready to gore the wolf, but instead of colliding in the middle the wolf faded through him he turned to see the wolf facing him with his deep red eyes looking at him over looking the wolf closely he could see snow flakes falling around the animal, not wanting to drop his guard Cordus held his ground and watched as the wolf walked into a tree and faded from view he turned looking for the creature but saw nothing. Taking a deep breath he headed home.

Once Cordus turned 20 it was his turn to leave the home, but unlike his brother he told his parents he was not joining the legion army much to the disappointment of his father but rather travel the lands or the empire and possibly beyond, they protested about him traveling alone but it was his time he said and he set out knowing full well he was not alone, once he was out of sight of there homestead he stole into the wood and with but a thought the wolf appeared in front of him this time gleaming green with thorns growing from its hide made of green vines eyes still red as ever it padded along side Cordus reaching his mid section as Cordus stopped for the night he began to paint his Dark black fur with the red dye his mother had given him as he slept he felt finally at home in the wood and wondered where this path would take him.


Physical Traits

Cordus stand at the larger scale of height for minotaurs standing at 7'4 few other minotaurs would look down to him, though he is not overly muscular you can tell by looking at his broad shoulders and taught legs that he is quite sturdy on his feet, his hide is one of pitch black, his eyes a deep brown. His horns are average size among minotaurs tipped black covered in markings of red dye following the lengths of his horns. His leather created from various animals covers his black hide around his waist various pouches are attached, along with his favorite carving of his white wolf, he carries his backpack rather easily and in his right hand holds a particularly large spear that towers over Cordus himself, his tail hangs out the back of his armor coal black as the rest of Cordus's hide, his face holds lines running along the side of them of red dye two across his eyes the third down his forehead meeting in the center just below his eyes.

Mental Traits

Cordus is wise beyond his years knowing patience, when to act and when to restrain one's self is something he prides himself in as well, he is also fairly intelligent, he can speak clearly and has a well developed vocabulary for a minotaur raised away form the city thank to his Constant visits to towns while younger and listening to other people conversation as well as there action he has learned much. Even with his wisdom and intelligence does not necessarily means he knows how to use them, though he has very good intuition he is terrible at lying or bullying others to get his way, he knows words but does not know how to use them to get his way in fact he is quite bad at it. He is also pron to fits of rage when provoked, harming those he cares for or something he cares deeply for are things he does not tolerate he is slow to make friends especially other minotaurs only because most do not understand why he is so attached to the natural world, but he is still minotaur by blood loyalty, honor, and respect are things very important to Cordus deep down just the things he seems to respect and honor seem different to what most minotaurs would normally think

May Cordus Walk with the Spirits in the next life....