He's a human wizard who is a pretty good guy and wizzards stuff.
Prepare yourself for the legend of Norian Chorster… Norian was born to two human parents in the Elvish village of Marakuan, and being one of the only 3 humans in the village, spent most of his life living amongst the Elves. He fought with them, he played with them; he laughed with them, he cried with them… One day, a mere week before his 19th birthday, Marakuan fell under attack from Goblins. Since the elves did not consider him old enough to fight, they forbid him to enter the battle. But Norian knew what had to be done, and it would be a matter of honour if he did not fight… Norian knew it would be foolish to attempt to rush out into the fray, he wished to be honourable, not stupid. He laid his plans that very afternoon in the small one room basement of his parent’s house: he would wait until the Elvish retaliation force had begun fighting and then sneak into the armoury to prepare himself, grab whatever he could, and join the fight against the goblins. So this is what he did. It did not take long for the Elf army to push the invaders back to the outer walls of the settlement, and Norian was able to slip into the armoury easily enough. He armed himself with armour and sword and shield. The helmet was slightly too large for him, but he would have to make do… He arrived at the outer walls to find the battle raging wildly, the elves were skilled, but their enemy was many. Many of the warriors had fallen, and their lieutenants roared new commands to the surviving defenders. Norian watched in horror as Elf after Elf fell. It seemed that with every goblin that fell, a new one rose to take its place, but there was something even worse mixed in with the onslaught of goblins: it was their Orc commanders. He realized that perhaps this fight would be too much for him after all… But as he turned to flee, he found himself face-to-chest with a massive Orc… He couldn’t remember much of the ensuing battle in the days that followed, only fragments, here and there… The glint of a sword, the searing pain of a slash across his face… But most prominently he remembered the feeling of regret, and fear when with a single blow from the Orc knocked his helmet sideways, blinding him. He swung his sword wildly in front of him only making contact once in a while. Then there was a flash of light visible under the lip of the helmet and his whole body tingled; he threw off his helmet and brought his sword to bare against… Nothing. The Orc lay dead on the wall where he once stood. He stepped backward away from it, one step, two steps, three- he lost his footing and felt the unmistakeable feeling of falling. A hand reached out and grabbed him, pulling him back up onto the wall. It was a man, not one he had ever seen before, but he had a look about him that told Norian that he could be trusted… 3 years later, Norian stood atop that same ruined wall from all that time ago and stared out at the vast expanse of the once inhabited village’s farmland, now seared and scorched from fire in the long days of fighting that took place there. Norian’s parents had died in that attack, and were eventually joined by most of the rest of the elves from the village. Jorant – the man who had rescued Norian from the Orc – was a wizard, and had taken him as his apprentice. Since that day, Norian had devoted his time to learning the ways of magic and spells. But a wizard’s skills are not only shown through magic, but wisdom. Jorant taught him most elegant forms of speech and twists of language. Soon, he was a diplomat through and through as well as a wizard. He had proved his leadership abilities time and again leading villagers in the defence of their towns and cities, and diffusing volatile situations that could have ended violently otherwise. During his study of language, it was discovered that he had a rare skill in his ability to learn new tongues, including one of the most illusive of languages, Draconic, the tongue of the dragons… Steel and force were no longer his ways… And he knew he may very well never wear a helmet again. Jorant approached, snapping him out of his memory. It was time for his first quest, his final test. He boarded the wagon and greeted the driver before tucking his staff into the rear compartment. The driver was a merchant, a funny little man who didn’t say much but seemed more focused on getting to their destination than having any sort of conversation. It was shortly there-after that he discovered that the man was a dwarf. Norian had never met a dwarf before but decided to keep that to himself. The merchant would probably just grunt anyways. He thought that this was the start of all his adventures to come, and he was right…