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[color=ed1c24][b]Name:[/b][/color] Azerus

[color=ed1c24][b]Age:[/b][/color] 70

[color=ed1c24][b]Gender:[/b][/color] Male

[color=ed1c24][b]Species:[/b][/color] Elven Tiefling 

[color=ed1c24][b]Appearance:[/b][/color][hider=img][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/3b/b9/bc/3bb9bc8d32b09c3d23309bff5f5a5a17.jpg[/img][/hider]

[color=ed1c24][b]Equipment:[/b][/color]
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[i]Misc[/i][list]
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[color=ed1c24][b]Backstory:[/b][/color]
[indent]Azerus doesn't know his true parents, he was abandoned as a tiny child on the doorstep of a small town church. The church saw fit to try and raise this child but due to the disturbances of his appearance and the rumours it raised they found more then enough reason to send him out of town to a strict, labour intensive orphanage before his presence hindered their reputation. 
Even here amongst the cruel punishing work and long draining hours of slavery did the young Azerus still manage to create a ruckus. He developed a strong hate for authority and wouldn't let the other children or adults bully him.
It was harsh times, many skipped meals and beatings, but they couldn't break his spirit.
All alone he began speaking to invisible voices and imagining little pets, little did he know then that he was on the brink of summoning.

There were no question's when one day an offer was put on the boys head. Glad to rid themselves of him Azerus was sold off cheaply without concern.
It turned out to be to a small devil worshiping cult, due to his horns they decided they wanted his blood.
Azerus was kept alive as a prisoner, as a blood bag.
From his dark dirty cell he watched over and listened to their many rituals and spells. 
There was not a lot of magic or power between the lot of them, their pronunciations were poor and motions lacking. Azerus's voices told him this. He almost felt sorry for the cultist's. Each driven to darkness by sever desperation, lost loved ones, vengeance, hate, sorrow, pity. He overheard glimpses of each of their plights and could almost understand the drastic measures of the otherwise helpless.

During one of the many occasions were Azerus found himself teetering on the edge of consciousness after being bled, when the halls of the underground cavern were dimly lit by the dancing flame of flickering candles, Azerus sung along to their song, he repeated the foreign words but in the way the voices told him to.

Then he passed out to the screams that followed...
When he awoke his cell door was torn open and bloody bodies filled the halls. Azerus didn't stick around, he fled!
He ran as far and fast as he could. 
The next few years were difficult, finding food and work as a begger and theif. Azerus travelled around, avoiding overstaying his welcome, when he herd of the grand mission.
Azerus had seen first hand the greed of power and it's consequences but that didn't change his reasoning to peruse the sword. 
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