Name: Oldus Vul, Boros Convert
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Colors: R/G/W
Appearance: Oldus' varied past allegiances are obvious in his appearance. He is tall and well built, and his skin is crawling all over with geometrical tattoos. His hair is dark, and though he has allowed it to grow quite long like a Gruul, he keeps it well controlled out of habit from his Boros days. His clothes are mostly civilized, but with a wild touch that would let anyone take a guess at his parentage. 
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Personality: Oldus has a very interesting history that has left him with equal parts fierceness and inquisitiveness. Both wildness, and a sense of justice. He is quick to defend the weak, and equally quick to punish the wicked. He relishes combat, but also conversation. His thirst for knowledge is unfortunately often overridden by his impulsive nature. Though he desires to know about the world around him, he'll often take action before considering the possible outcomes. This leaves him with a lot of missed opportunities and a fear of regretting his actions.
Though he has been in the "civilized" world for over ten years, he still lacks any sense of modesty or decorum. He is often berated for his habit of nonchalantly stripping naked regardless of who is in the room, and will leave his home in various states of undress. 

History: Oldus is the son of Burning Tree Clan's emissary to the other Guilds. His father is unknown. His mother carried him in her travels until he was four years old, and he saw more in his formative years than most children who are reared in the Gruul clans.
"Survival of the fittest" holds true, even for the youngest of the clans, and Oldus was one of the fittest indeed. He had something that many Gruul lack. A potential for intellect. He may not have been the biggest or the fastest or the strongest, but he outsmarted those who were, and grew into his strength and speed and size in his own time. 
By the time he was sixteen, still a child by many culture's standards, he was already an accomplished shaman and warrior. And it was during this year that everything changed for him. A raiding party from his clan clashed with a Boros regiment defending the crumbling edge of one of the districts. Though the Boros were much fewer in number, they slaughtered the Gruul warriors by the tens. Most of his comrades cursed and grew angrier, but Oldus alone paused to think why they fought so. Were they stronger? No. They were mostly men, and in fact the Gruul had many larger beings with them. He saw, from a distance, the reason for their overwhelming victory. High above the battle, there flew an angel. Some would get superstitious and think that they were blessed, but Oldus again differed. He listened, and he heard that she was calling commands down at them. He realized that she saw the battle from a different perspective. One that the Gruul lacked completely. Oldus waited until she directed her gaze to a different part of the battlefield, and then hefted his spear, and lunged it with a spell to strengthen and guide it. It struck and injured her in the wing, and he rushed to where she plummeted. 

Instead of striking a killing blow, Oldus spoke to the angel, as the battle raged on nearby. He asked her questions, and the two spoke until the sound of swords axes and spells halted. She told him about the white magic that she knew, and he was curious. Neither knew what would become of the battle, until a Boros search party came to find her. She celebrated their victory while Oldus was taken as a prisoner, destined, it would seem, to an Azorious trial. But it was the angel who intervened. She offered him a place under her in the Boros Legion, and he happily accepted that in lieu of interrogation and ultimate execution. 

And so he was trained in the fighting tactics and battle magic used by the Boros, and soon fought beside them as a battlemage. His comrades soon forgot where he came from, and he was accepted into their ranks as if he had always been there. He fought beside them for the ten years that the Boros require of any recruit, and then left with the wages he had earned. Though he had grown to love and respect his comrades, his wild upbringing was always at odds with the strict discipline of the Boros. Still, the Legion had instilled in him a desire to protect the people of Ravnica's districts, and he continued to fight for them when necessary. 

It was this that drew the Transguild Promenade to him. 

Other:
Artifacts in his possession: A Beastcaller's Horn, which attracts wild creatures of any description to the noise. And a crude iron helm, with the antlers of a great elk he hunted. It is enchanted so that whoever wears it has an affinity with beasts. Weaker willed ones will obey his commands, stronger willed ones will at the very least refrain from attacking him.
The helmet is a full faced, the antlers are attached to the back and wrap around so that they face forward. 

He carries a khopesh sword on his person at all times, and also has a spear and shield that he will use when heading to a fight.