Height: 6'11' Weight: 230 lbs Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Brown Hair Style: Cropped short with a knife Complexion: Rudy Body Shape: Long and lanky, but athletic Clothing: Monk's robs Distinguishing Marks: cauliflower ears, a flat nose, knuckles with huge callouses, battered but strengthened shins Merits: Steadfast, dedicated, focused, reliable. Flaws: Deep seated anger that can turn to violence in an instant. Inability to walk away from a bully. Likes: Good wine, preferably from the Jagged Cliffs region, and women with red hair. Dislikes: Negligent gods, meddlesome priests, the weak-willed. Peeves: Coffee brewed like water. Phobias: Being swallowed by a gelationous cube. Goals: Find the culprits who murdered the family of his master. Family: None Friends: A aging mentor in his monastery who embodies the weapons adept archetype that Crixicus hopes to perfect. Enemies: The unnamed murderers Crushes: A fiery haired trollope from Urik named Zenobia who always carries two knifes, even into bed, and who is a specialist in more ways than one.
Crixicus is a reliable, dedicated, honorable person who will often choose paths counter to his own self interest, if it's the right thing to do. He carries a heavy burden, though, after seeing the family of his master murdered. The fun loving boy, given to jokes and laughter, turned him into a hardened man at an early age. His time in the monastery hardened him even more, awakening in him a hatred for the gods, and a wariness that the path to the Ascended is fraught with danger. Today, he no longer believes he will find justice for the murdered family. He now wanders the land, teaching those who will listen about marital perfection, or working as a hired hand, often as a body guard. His one major vice is wine and women. Okay, two, but they usually happen at the same time, so he thinks of them as one.
Crixicus was born a servant into a wealthy family dedicated to pious belief in their gods. This family was murdered before his eyes by brigands, except for a young child he'd helped raise. His last sight before being bludgeoned unconscious was her frightened face before a burlap bag enveloped her. As a young man he wandered from place to place, searching for this child, but in vain. In time, he entered a monastery deep in the wilderness dedicated to the undermining of the gods through achieving the path to ascendency. He learned to curse negligent divinities whenever their names arose, vowing never to give them credence. The pain of his former life eventually faded, and he now lives for the virtues of martial perfection, the graces of the occasional free-thinking woman, and the spiritual excesses of wine and justice.