As most Sun Elves, he has bronze skin, gold eyes, and black hair. He wears commoner’s clothes and a light brown cloak that betray his more noble composure. He carries with him a delicately carved and gold-laced wooden quarterstaff, a relic of his people. On the inside of his left wrist is a tattoo of the symbol of Boccob, the God of magic – a pentagon with an eye in the center.
He is a wizard who specializes in transmutations. Until he stumbled upon the magic door which took him to the Grey World he was a simple alchemical merchant in a non-elven town.
A page out of the journal of Tauresul
I think it is time now that you all should know, Baran is not my birth name. It is a name I was given by the various townspeople and simpler folk who wander into my shop. You see, I never offered a title with which they could refer to me, so they chose one for me. It quite literally translates to “golden brown” in the common tounge. I never before thought of it as my name, but under the circumstances I met you all, I found myself reluctant to reveal any true part of myself straight away. I am not ashamed of who I am. I have perhaps had my own hardships and I have not always been proud of everything I have done, but that would have nothing to do with my name. I have learned to be cautious by nature.
It really is just as well, Elven names sound terribly muddled from the mouths of lesser mortals. Though, I am not the first of my people to bear such a title, for I am of the Sun Elves and we are golden in skin and spirit alike. We are a proud people, beautiful and strong, royal within nature herself. Needless to say, I was born blessed by the Gods and with my place in this world assured, or so I thought. Fate can be cruel to one with so much.
For a short time in my youth, I was a member in a small sodality of Elven practioners of arcane magic. It was a distinct honor to merely share the company of some of masters involved. There, wizards and sorcerers alike could study together quietly or duel each other for the experience. Many improved their skills and became powerful in this way. It was an ideal way to learn amoungst friends, away from the risks of venturing out to find something threatening to practice upon. We all had our own mishaps at times, as well as our own injuries. There were dues everyone paid to call themselves a member and so the money went to a cleric anytime someone was hurt beyond our skill to heal. For the most part, everything ran smoothly and we remained relatively secret.
The day of my own disgrace is one none shall forget for many years to come, and I fear I shall never again be redeemed to my people. I would call it an accident if not for the sheer stupidity involved. I do not care to reflect upon the deed in great detail, but I will admit that a man, barely a man, a boy was greatly injured by my own hands. Injured… beyond our clerics’ skills to heal.
We buried one of our own that day. An unspeakable, unimaginable, and yet, undeniable truth. In my haste and excitement I somehow managed to murder an otherwise immortal elf. I was beside myself with grief. This kind of happenstance is a thing unheard of. So, I set out on foot. I knew not where to go, only too clearly that I could not stay.
I came through many villages and farmlands, over mountains and though great forests. Everytime I stopped I could feel my own guilt closing in around me and I knew I had not yet put enough distance in the way of my crime. Finally, I came to Spiria. It was nothing more than a large marketplace, a trader’s town. Though it was at all times very alive and busy, no one truly lived here, save perhaps the innkeeper. Small ships and great wagons full of various peoples and wares, here today and gone tomorrow. Apparently the town itself was named for it’s own spiritous nature. Everyday had a new look, with new shops and a hoard of new faces. It was a place I could settle down without the worry of becoming comfortable. No one would know me here.
After the day of my own disgrace I reserved my abilities for times of great need, save the potions I now create to earn a living. If the cretins in town knew who I was they would find it more a gracious offer to have me amongst their company, but they could not know. Some know not even what I am. My only true friend now being of course my beloved cat Jesul, who would not be parted from me… however far I fall.
At times I think back to where I was born, we lived among golden trees towering to the skies and great halls filled with peace and music. Now, or until I was taken from Spiria, I stay for as long as I can offer the small man who owns the building within I do my buisness a percentage of my gold. It is humiliating to say the least, but this is why I came. I need to learn that humility to better control my own power. If we ever find our way back, perhaps a day will come when I will feel ready to make the long walk home and rejoin my people. But I can only hope on that day my people will feel as so to receive me…