Name: Mytchel Isth'stezia

Appearance: The people of the eastern deserts are known for their dark skin and their height, and Mytchel is no exception. Tall even among his people, he stands at 6’5, towering above everyone he’s met so far. His hair is pure black, shaggy and cut choppily, long enough to mostly cover his ears and come near to landing in his eyes in disorganized wavelets. His eyes are the colour of coal, and his skin the colour of dark, sun-baked bronze. He’s lanky and thin, reminiscent of a lifetime of underfeeding, though he does have wiry muscle from manual labour. Notable (clearly visible) features include a thin scar running diagonally through his left eyebrow, starting above his nose and ending below his eye, having very narrowly missed the eye itself. This is accompanied by various other small and inconsequential scars, mostly on his lower arms.
A natural feature is that Mytchel, in places, lacks pigment in his skin, birthmarks. There are various small spots of this along his arms and legs, like large and oddly shaped freckles. However he does have two large patches of discolouration: One spanning from his right collarbone, up his neck and ending on the lower right side of his jaw, near the joint and ear. The other finds itself on his left hip, extending onto the flat of his lower stomach. If described simply, they’re shaped like tattered cloth, with uneven edges as opposed to smooth ones.
On his back and shoulders, normally covered, are a patchwork of savage scars, long deep gashes, sloppily healed. He is very self-conscious about them.

Age: 20

Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Homosexual

Occupation: Servant

Weaponry: Mytchel knows how to wield a sickle, staff and dagger, but does not currently own any weapons.

Apparel: Currently, Mytchel wears a palace uniform: A long-sleeved tunic and trousers made from fine deep blue linen, trimmed in gold thread. The tunic is tied with a beaded gold belt. On his feet are sturdy leather shoes, suitable for spending long days on his feet. Around his neck is a wide necklace made of several gold panels, bearing the crown sigil, with matching cuff bracelets on each wrist. He is dressed more lavishly than most other servants because as personal servant to the king, he is seen more than they are and must look impressive for visiting nobles and the like.
On his journey, he will wear a simple brown mid-sleeved tunic and trousers of more durable material with a light linen undershirt, and leather boots.

Equipment: When they set off, Mytchel will carry with him a small pack containing a waterskin, a knife, bedroll a small flute, a cloak, some basic medicinal herbs, and will carry a wooden staff (a sanded and glorified tree branch, really.) Both the staff and knife will have been given to him by friends in the servant's quarters. The flute is of his own carving.

Skills: Mytchel is a better skilled pacifist than any other form of combat, though if forced to fight, he can definitely hold his own. He is quite calming and can usually break up a fight, or calm a furious/hysterical person. He knows some remedies for common ailments, such as how to stitch a wound, or how to deal with a fever. His main affinity, though, is his skill with animals: Animals practically gravitate to him, and take to him easily. He seems to have a calming effect on them, too.
He has no formal education and is unable to write and reads very little, but truly wants to learn.

Magical abilities: Mytchel was born with the ability to shapeshift, primarily into snakes, but other animals being possible as well. However, due to his family’s hatred of magic, he’s been too afraid to practice at it and thus has poor control over it.

Personality: Mytchel is a quiet, soft-spoken individual, with a tendency to do what he’s told without much fuss. He has an innate ability to sink into the background, even with his height. He’s kind and gentle, and incredible grateful for any good done for him. He greatly values life of any kind, and dislikes killing without reason. He loves animals, and has been known to feed stray cats and attract carrion birds with scraps.
Unfortunately, Mytchel has developed a somewhat fearful disposition. He becomes very apologetic and nervous if he does something wrong, fearing, often irrationally, what they may do to him. He tries his best to please people, to the point where he becomes anxious if he cannot. He’s not one to raise his voice in protest of anything, though he, like everyone, has his limits. Being reprimanded hurts him more than he should, but he is more likely to stand aside and take abuse in silence rather than fight back. He tends not to care what happens to him; it’s what happens to others that gets to him.

Backstory: Mytchel was the only child of a very poor family in the eastern desert. Mostly, his parents paid him little heed; as soon as he was strong enough, he was working - herding goats, repairing fences, cleaning, whatever work had to be done. His parents regarded him as little more than a farmhand, and neither were very loving people, to say the least. However, it wasn’t really too bad until Mytchel started showing signs of magic.
A late bloomer, Mytchel only started showing the signs when he was twelve. He’d been watching their small herd when he nearly stepped on a desert cobra, lurking under a rock. The boy wasn’t sure how to react; he knew there were snakes in the desert, but never had he come so close to one. It hadn’t bitten him, but he was too frightened to move, and suddenly scales grew from his skin in patches, and his eyes became slitted and sand-coloured. Terrified, he ran home as quickly as he could, hysterical with fear and confusion.
When his father saw what had become of him, he was furious. In a fit of fanatic fear and anger he lashed his son with a livestock whip until his back was gashed and bleeding. In their village, magic was the darkest of evils, the worst crime one could commit, and Mytchel’s father strictly forbade it, promising to answer any other sign of it with similar punishment. Over the next two years, a few similar incidents occurred with similar repercussions, until Mytchel, at the age of fourteen, was cast out of his home as a dishonour and disgrace to his family.
It wasn’t long before a noble from the kingdom’s capital passed through Mytchel’s village. Mytchel, young, impulsive and most predominantly hungry, stole from the caravan. He was caught by one of the noble’s personal guard, received a glancing swing of a blade to the face, and was carted back to the capital with the irate noble. The noble, a greedy man, brought the boy to the royal guard expecting serious punishment. The royal guard saw little reason for that, but to satisfy the noble, agreed to have him put to work in the palace until he paid off the value of what he stole.
It’s been five years since he officially earned his freedom, but Mytchel has stayed, having found a home in the servant’s quarters and worked his way up to personally serving the king.

Other: Mytchel sees his own magic as evil and is convinced everyone else does too, even having spent so much time away from his village and among more accepting people. As such, he hasn’t told the king, or anyone, that he bore witness to the Sounding. As of yet, he’s been too nervous to mention it, fearing that he’ll be cast out as a devil.

Description: Klaus is easily recognized by his shock of white hair, undoubtedly the result of some magical experiment gone awry. The rest of him is unremarkable. The image above is a portrait of Klaus during his university days. He's clearly aged since then, but is unable to sit still long enough for another portrait.

Name: Klaus Banning

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Occupation: Assistant Professor of Elemental Magic at the University of Ironwood

Weaponry: A heavily modified crossbow that definitely has more features than needed in battle (cup-holder? Really?), none of which seem to have improved Klaus's melee ability. It's uncertain whether Klaus is aware that crossbows are suppose to be used to vanquish enemies and not to capture interesting insect specimens. Ah, well, academia.

Apparel: Klaus wears a simple brown traveling cloak and boots. He'll occasionally don faculty robes when he's feeling up to it, but those days are getting rarer and rarer.

Equipment: Scrolls, quills, and a butter knife. Various knick knacks stowed away in the infinite pockets of his cloak.

Skills: Klaus is an exceptionally talented at his specific branch of elemental magic and exceptionally clumsy at almost every other activity, including walking.

Magical abilities: Klaus is trained in elemental magic and has a particular affinity for summoning lightning, although he's only ever done it to study electric charges. Despite the obvious offensive potential, he has yet to display any talent for fighting. Years in the ivory tower will do that to you.

Personality: For someone with a history of manic outbursts, Klaus is remarkably stable. He's affable enough, albeit mildly autistic. He's a little too quick to laugh, a little too slow to appreciate the gravity of a situation, and prone to spouting irrelevant trivia at inopportune moments. For the most part he's chatty, funny in an off-kilter way, and enthusiastically curious about everything. Has an uncomfortable tendency to treat acquaintances like interesting specimens. He's unfortunately prone to arrogance when it comes to academics, but that's to be expected.

Backstory:

Nine years ago, the future looked bright for a young Klaus Banning. He'd just graduated from the University of Highmont with a degree in elemental magic at the precocious age of seventeen. The university had offered him a job as a teaching assistant, which he'd accepted. He could continue his magical research with the university's vast resources at his disposal. He was going to publish groundbreaking tomes on the nature of elemental magic. He was going to get tenure.

The first few years went well. Klaus became assistant professor, then professor, then chair of his department. He was young, brilliant, and respected. He was a prodigy, damnit.

Then the trouble started. Klaus had always been interested in the bizarre and unexplainable, but the university became worried that his research was crossing the line into Black magic. He was summoned before the board more and more often, reprimanded for unacceptable experiments.

It's unclear what happened next. By some reports, he had a manic episode in the lab and went on some kind of magical acid trip, destroying half the basement floor and costing the university thousands in damages. A more sympathetic story holds that government officials approached him about developing his electrical magic for military purposes, and did not react favorably when he refused.

Others held that Klaus had been driven mad by his own research. Professor Banning had looked into the abyss, and the abyss had broken him.

In any case, Klaus was denied tenure, stripped of his position and research resources, and kicked out of Highmont to boot.

The details of the next two years are equally murky. Some former students believed that he'd set about traveling the kingdom. Some thought he'd taken up refuge in the Truesh Peaks. Others were convinced he'd been committed to a mental institution.

And then he was back, with no explanation as to where he'd gone. Highmont refused to allow him back onto the faculty, but the smaller institution at Ironwood eagerly offered him an assistant teaching position. This title is generous, as Klaus does very little teaching and very much jumping out at students from random corners on campus for fun.