Iris's small frame and effeminate features belie an unrepentant courtesan whose only pleasure is in the sensually depraved. With careful application of makeup and jewelry, the Aasimar finds a plethora of ways to enhance the exotic appearance of his heritage, easily catching eyes wherever he goes. He's used to servicing the obscenely wealthy and has become spoiled on the decadence of his clients, exchanging physical pleasantries for perfumes, clothes, and jewelry worth more than the lives of most.

Shorter in height than most of his customers, Iris stands at a waifish 5' 2", a trait that most of his guests enjoy, especially when coupled with his limber body and light weight. Hardly heavier than two sacks of grain and far more entertaining as company, those who purchase Iris's services are graced with the Aasimar's delicate charms, refined to perfection in precisely contoured eyeliner emphasizing the courtesan's coquettish blinks and large blue eyes while subtle brushes of mica and black gloss decorate his lips, always ready to purse for a kiss and slick in preparation for other nightly activities.

Where his fellow "entertainers" often required the defined shading of rouge to trick the eyes of customers, Iris's dainty face starts round near his cheeks and slims down to a soft chin, leaving him looking far more innocent than anyone in his profession should.



A mixture of spoiled and cynical, Iris enjoys what he does and is a firm believer that while his youth and beauty lasts, he should burn himself out doing what he enjoys until the prime of his life passes him by. Carpe diem is the Aasimar's calling and for all his unsavory business, the relative "boy" would like to leave the mortal coil with as few regrets as possible.

But living every day as if it were your last has its consequences, especially in the social strata of a brothel where Iris is known for his promiscuity even among the other courtesans. Customers may flock to him, but friends certainly do not. All connections with Iris are strictly cordial, and the Aasimar prefers it that way. Having seen far more heartbreaks than love stories come true, he takes a very cynical view on romance, especially when he finds himself pleasuring a man who had married his wife only a fortnight ago, both swearing undying devotion and love 'til the grave.

And apparently that grave was Iris Elcot.



As a child Iris had always possessed a natural's gift for the bardic arts, with every song and music piece he performed evoking spells and effects that placed him soundly in the category of a future bard. It interested him, to a certain degree, since the mysteries of the arcane promised far more revelations and secrets than the boring gossip of mundane life and Iris spent much of his life practicing privately, his family more concerned with promoting their liquor business than promoting their son's talents. He didn't hold that against them, but he also never tried his hardest for them, preferring to sing alone and play the piano than attend social events to build connections.

His family lived lavishly for upper middle-class merchants, always pushing their budgets to the limit, even during the hard times. They had only themselves to blame when the old business of brewing and distillation was overshadowed by a much larger provider to whom most of the city turned for purchases of liquor. But they were eternal optimists, his parents, and loan after loan were taken to compete--in vain--against far larger guilds of merchants. Products failed to sell adequately and customers lost interest in the paltry offerings of a small family business compared to the variety that the larger guilds could offer at a discounted rate.

And so it didn't surprise the younger Iris Elcot in the least when the collectors finally came for their money and his parents had none to give. Their house and possessions were taken away, leaving the entire family of three on the streets where they found shelter in shared housing within the slums of the city, leaving an old life behind with tears and wailing that the soon-to-be-courtesan found, at best, hypocritical.

When the opportunity presented itself in the form of a brothel owner's offer to join the Violet Widow, the Aasimar was quick to accept, knowing physical appeal was all he had now that there was nothing of the family business to attend to. Even that, he had learned little, the trade of crafting alcohol from start to finish not something he had ever cared for throughout his life. Nightly pleasures seemed a far more enticing prospect, and his tastes had always aligned with the more deviant side of life.

Years of nightly courting eventually built Iris a large base of connections, though only on an illicit level. Most of his clients preferred to keep it between themselves that they frequented a male courtesan's brothel room more than they cared for their arranged marriages and groomed-to-fit wives. It was with one such client that Iris encountered Professor Lorrimor who noticed the latent bard's talents going to waste. When the client excused himself to greet an unexpected guest, the professor spoke with Iris alone, unfazed by the naked Aasimar's less than dignified posture across the customer's writing desk.

The small chats were mere curiosity at first and glancing conversations, but as the client called for Iris's services more often and the professor found himself mired in research papers at the nobleman's home, the two struck up a casual friendliness with one another, bolstered greatly by the professor's complete immunity to anything sexual and his vast knowledge of the supernatural, particularly the details of a bard's songs and performances, the minutiae of which fascinated Iris to no end. And perhaps the professor, too, saw something like potential in the night worker.

Before long, the old sage had summoned Iris, much to the courtesan's surprise, for a quest that would be more than anyone had bargained for. The decision only took several nights and several customers to make and before long Iris had agreed to the professor's request, packing his belongings and traveling to the specified trainer who would prepare him more for the rigors of adventuring.

Iris Elcot's Character Sheet

"Don't say 'love.' You'll regret it in the morning."

"I'm content. I wonder if that means I'm happy, though?"