Anyway, here it is. If I could put it in a hider I would. 

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Name: Gregory Maede

Age: 47

Occupation: Mercenary/ former Legionnaire in-training 

Race: Human/former member of Catolohne empire

Gender: Male

Appearance: 
[Gregory](https://www.flickr.com/photos/37698867@N04/3475115096/in/photostream/ "Gregory")
Gregory has been built by his lifestyle over the past decades. His mind affected his life, and his life affected his body. If he were still in the empire, with all it’s gruff and oppression, he’d be fully clad in armor, probably wield a halberd like his father. But, indeed, that was not to be. 

Instead he carries two war axes, and he used to carry a third battle axe, and wears leather armor with metal reinforcements. His hair is shoulder length, greying, and his eyes are a bold brown, mere hues away from his bronze-ish skin tone. He is taller than average at 6’5, and his body is proportionatly muscled with burn scars lining his arms and torso. An offset, broken nose clashes slightly with his handsome brow and eyes; his lips are rugged and chapped. His war axes are of highly tempered steel, tied with red sashes. Iron bandings protect his chest, shins, forearms, and right shoulder. His gloves have attached brass knuckles for use during more personal engagements. 

Skills: Gregory has been trained since he was very young, learning how to handle a vast array of weaponry before he was a teenager. His father wanted him to be a Catolohnian hero, the very thought of which would make Gregory chuckle today. He was trained for the battlefield, yet his mentality was vastly different than that. The boy liked stories, mostly Rodorian myths and legends. He was interested in learning, and he loved his mother. But, she was treated like trash, and he was nothing but a tool for his father. Gregory always knew that he didn’t fit in the empire, he knew that his way of thinking, of expression, and kindness, could not mesh with that of the world he lived in. His mother knew that as well. Gregory started showing signs of magical ability during his early adolescence, something which shocked and frightened him, but also provided a beacon of hope. He’d heard the rumors, and he knew that if he had the ability to shape the elements to his whim, mostly fire, there was only one place he could end up. His mother stole him away and had him transported Jevog Denûm, an infamous Catolohnian smuggler paid to provide him safe journey. Traveling with this smuggler, Gregory learned the most important rules of survival on Kirirak, easy ways to start fires and track animals, making traps and improvised weapons. 

After reaching the fire clan Gregory trained in the elemental arts for several years, learning as much as he could about his inherit abilities. As it is with most arts, and with the most talented of those who practice them, Gregory hit a wall. There came a time where he could learn nothing else from the clan, and he left. He knew nothing other than fighting and surviving when he finally set foot in Rodoria, so he made a perfect mercenary. He put himself to work finding criminals and protecting dignitaries. Eventually, by using his elemental abilities he was able to earn a name for himself among merc groups, and those who employed them. Here and there, in dark taverns, some people would murmur stupid stories about a Catalohnian expatriate who moved around the battlefield like a blur, fire trailing behind him as he glided past friends and foes; the Tempest, they called him. If you asked him about it now he would say you shouldn’t put too much stock in stories, but the child inside of him reels when he realizes his future recognition.