CHAMPION, isaiah

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here is the boy: docile, dirty, small. apprentice is a glorified title for the real work; the gritty, stomach-churning stuff. sharp things feel foreign in his hands, and he spends the better part of the day with his head over a bucket. get up work work

he prayed, before he realized it was futile. if the goddess herself refused to spirit him to a warm hearth and home, then what hope was there for his family to take him away?

on this day, the day he picked up the knife willingly, he spat in the goddess’s face and turned a cold shoulder.

here is the boy, now a man. his hands no longer sweat and tremble, eyes confident and unflinching. his protection comes at a cost, but they know this well—the family. not his, no, but a family all the same. he doesn’t watch with envy anymore. all he needs is himself, after all. him and his weapons and his cool, calculated head.



isaiah is very good with his hands. swords and knives are an extension of his own body; he knows how to make iron sing for him. strength isn’t his strong suit, so he relies on speed and agility. as a champion, isaiah has a mind resistant to illusion, seeing right through magical disguises like glamours and such.

[attr="class","appname"]ISAIAH

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AGE: 18
SEX: M
RACE: HUMAN
HOMELAND: SHUL
CONTRACT: Y