"Don't worry! It's friendly fire!"
- Name: Nehir Rasim
- Age: 19
- Gender: Male
- Race: Nem
- Rank: 5 of Wands
At a standing height of 3'3, Nehir is actually on the shorter side of most Nem. He is often somewhat underkempt, clothes somewhat threadbare and cheaply made. He hates most shoes and would prefer to be bare foot when possible. However, the life of an adventurer often requires proper footwear, sadly all he can afford are sandals.
- Personality: Nehir is an ambitious and inquisitive mind, often sporadically hopping from topic to topic excitedly. He loves to speak and is always eager to waggle the ear of any soul kind enough to listen (or unfortunately trapped in the same space as him, depending on how you feel), especially those who, like himself, specialize in area of effect spells. Outside of work he is quiet the social butterfly, always happen to lend a hand or spare some coin to fix whatever broken odds or ends around the guild. He is also known for having a...unique presence in battle. Laughing with a mad giddiness as he rains down a veritable blizzard on the battle field. Given this record, it is common knowledge in the guild to never /ever/ allow Nehir to drink alcohol.
- Brief Backstory: Nehir was born in Estival and has lived within its boarders for all of his life. Initially his family (mother, two elder brothers and sister) made their home in a medium sized logging town two days west of Venne, his mother plying her trade as a merchant for a sizable paper mill in the area, traveling into and out of the capital on an almost monthly basis.
Nehir never really had any interest in following his mother's footsteps, finding the idea of sales meetings to be deathly boring. In what few times he ventured to the capital with her for work, it was often a struggle to stay awake during most of her meetings. But there was a bright spot. The Mage's College of Venne was a long standing client of the mill and, to Nehir at least, the single most beautiful place in the world. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything and start the first time he laid eyes on its halls.
His mother refused, neither wanting her child to enter what she saw as such a dangerous field of study and adamant that he should follow in the family business.
Magic infatuated Nehir, far more than the idea of selling paper ever could. Over a few years he managed to cobble together the basics of the art through a combination of sneakily buying books whenever he went to Venne (a task easier said than done...) and his own experimentation by a creek near his home. By age 16 he had the basics down, if heavily unrefined. He knew it wasn't by any means prodigious progress. But he had hoped it was enough to worm his way into the college, running away from home in the dead of night, intent on only returning when he was an accomplished mage.
It...it didn't work out. For a number of reasons. While they appreciated his enthusiasm for the craft they found his methods...lacking for a better term. To the point that what few teachers who would even look his way suggested (albiet kindly) suggested he perhaps give up entirely. What teachers didn't say that knew who his mother was and knew of her objections to his attendance and refused flatly on those grounds instead.
Embarrassed at his failure and too stubborn to return home, Nehir spent the next few months idling in the capital, practically burning through what little money he'd managed to save in that time. One day, wallowing in his new poverty and long standing embarrassment, he accidentally wandered near the grounds of the Guild hall, the air suddenly rocked by an explosion.
At first he thought it was an attack of some sort, but the thunderous laughter that followed quickly broke that illusion. Peeking through the iron bars he saw of the wisp of ozone and wavering air indicative a strong fire spell and the mage who casted it.
That explosion probably saved his life. He practically begged the guild to give him a job, starting as a lowly scribe. For the next three years he spent much of his daylight hours doing the accounting work he spent the bulk of his childhood avoiding and at night he spent his time on the training field. Honing whatever limited talent he had, not into the refined elegant tapestry of the arcane that was taught in the college. Instead he trade elegance for raw, devastating power.
When he finally asked for field duty, he was warmly welcomed to it.
- Equipment: As a mage, Nehir keeps his equipment load fairly light. He carries some modest camping equipment (Nem sized unfortunately for you taller sorts.) as a small assortment of pots and pans for cooking on the road.
His most prized possession is his wand. A scepter of heavy brass intricately etched with runes and topped with a dendrite quartz sphere. The scepter was built to reduce incantation times for his spells enough to make them usable in combat while still being able to handle the strain of it's users rather....bombastic spell choices. Sadly, there was little room for any augments for accuracy.
In combat Nehir is a dedicated mage of Ice and Wind magic. With wind magic he summons cutting gales of wind, tearing bloodied swaths through enemy lines. Or, if allies are in the way, howling torrents to simply barrel through, tossing whatever is in its path to the side.
With ice magic he tries (and often fails) to be a little more precise, using it to summon walls for cover for backline fighters like himself to hide behind. Or simply sending a vast bulwark of frost to lock down an area (and anyone in it).
While he lacks much in the way of variety, its hard to say that it can't be terrifyingly effective when it does work.