Feyrin Raventalon

=Physical Description=A golden and silver scabbard lay cross-ways under his lance at his back, exquisitely decorated with High Elven designs which give off a soft white glow. Inside lay an ancient and powerful blade which seems to draw in energy, elegantly fashioned with a smooth razor edge. He stands tall, obviously Half-Elven given his height and slightly tipped ears, with a haughty look about him. Arms crossed over his chest usualy, he glances with aged hazle eyes, to each individual with a arroggant, mild grin. Carrying an arsenol of weaponry, it's not difficult to tell Feyrin's had his fair share of adventures, as well as battles. Usualy garbed in exquisite High-Elven robes, afilliated with Silvermoon, that roll down the length of his body. Massive plated spaulders sit on his shoulders, large jagged razors standing upright on each. Chained around his belt sits a thick and well aged leather tome. Slung over his shoulder, a long and fairly well crafted flame-tipped halberd. Slipped under his belt, a jagged, gruesome looking dagger that would reek of fel magic. And at his hip sits sheathed an elegantly fashioned High-Elven rapier. A golden and silver scabbard lay cross-ways under his halberd at his back, exquisitely decorated with High Elven designs which give off a soft white glow. Inside lay an ancient and powerful blade which seems to draw in energy, elegantly fashioned with a smooth razor edge.

=Personality= A showboat of superiority, would best describe how he appears to most. Sadist, hypocrit and consumed in his own illusion of honor. Though he hides a deeper side to him, drowning it out to the public with his rude, and occasionaly drunken behavior. To the few that know him, he would seem surprisingly wise, and philosophical. Though his age often would appear to dull his sharp mind. Usualy masking his magical prowess and strength, he'd most likely appear to be just another pompous mage who can't get off his high horse.

=History=