"How is one supposed to act when confronted with the fact the world is dominated by fledgling, stunted, and inept people that do not dare strike out to innovate new ideas. They are content to be as cattle, all too willing to march into the yoke that is bloody combat and die for kings who feast upon finest dining. No one tries to strive to be more, they're stagnant. The water of the lake that the gods created has grown a layer of filth that stifles down what could lead all races to become greater beings. Oligarch dynasties dominate creativity and hoard it to themselves like dragons hoarding treasures. Though I prefer dragons and their majesty and respect for their treasures, rather than fattened nobles who squander it away for greedy pleasures.
"My people once lead the charge towards asserting themselves as lord and master of this world, prepared with scholars and mages to enter unto the breach that might bring us closer to the gods, now so lay in ruin. A grand empire that swelled until it's body broke apart and it's people forgot what made them great. How dare anyone use the relics of old as baubles for their night stands, never caring to learn of the wonders of it's creation. The world is a dull, mentally degraded, and hedonistic beast. Creatures that only care for material wealth, would prefer to rut themselves into inbred stupor, and pay homage to themselves before considering the needs of the many. The races are sooner to kill off one another to the last bloodied person before daring to ascend to become more - to be great.
"This. This is my view of your world. Yet I hold hope for a brighter future still."
Appearing as a man bundled in scholarly, mage-like robes, Avaell'ead walks with a heavy oaken staff that is heat-cured to a blackened state. Carrying a large tome on his person that is covered in archaic scrawlings and filled with bizarre sketches, notes and arcane formulae, he looks as if he's bound to travel constantly. Muddy foot-wrappings made of very thick cloth give in towards a slightly hobo look, almost as if he is merely an oddity with his baubles and trinkets that dangle and clatter from the strings and straps upon his belt.
A silver mask conceals his face, though the mask itself is molded to look statuesque and noble. Fine etchings are drawn across the surface for a floral-looking design. The mouth of the mask is done into a serious expression and the brow furrowed.
As his robes are shed, his true bulk spills forth. A creature that could only be described as truly fiendish in description. Massive stone wings spread out and hurl themselves out as wide as they may. His mask now removed, a statuesque face much like the mask's shape is seen. A crown of horns spread wide with jagged edges upon them, a spring of magical energy swirls like a flaming nexus upon his scalp.His body is partly fleshy, dense and ripped with muscle, while the other portion of his body appears to be living stone, moving and articulating in ways that perfectly mimic living flesh. His eyes are now alight with the raw arcane energies he has long-since stored in vast quantities within his body. Now all too readily available to be let loose. Whether for ill or for good, remains to be seen.
Description of Attire
His robes are voluminous, and yet there seems to be space for unseemly things within. Almost as if bigger on the inside. They are made of thick, quality fabric that resists water and more harsh elements. Faded embroidery lends that his robes were once far more posh and regal, though in their state of constant use and repair have fallen into a hodge-podge look.
His robes are shed when he reveals his true self, wearing them about his waist like a mangled set of loincloth and pants. His clawed feet split out from the meager wrappings once covering them. He stands much, much taller than his disguised self. Therefore his already meagerly enchanted clothing fall away to allow this 'growth' in size.
A well-made staff. A dagger. A big book.
Various vials, baubles and trinkets of the scholarly sort. A sextant hung on his belt, along with a pack of playing cards, a bag of dice and his tome. Small parcels of trail rations and dried meat.
Avaell'ead is capable of storing vast 'quantities' of magical essence, beyond what might be considered possible.
When not 'peaked out' with magical essence, magic cast at him is partly and sometimes entirely absorbed into his own being.
Able to channel raw magical energy into objects and creatures to induce transformations.
If bombarded by magic, his body will begin to open fissure-like wounds that bleed arcane energies. Eventually, this will lead to him being forced to dump all of his arcane energy at once, usually as a fantastic explosion localized as a blastwave of rippling energy. Saturating the very earth with magical essence. This can obliterate mundane items, create an area of magic, and possibly mutate or kill living creatures around him. Sometimes all at once.
He is entirely unable to manipulate time. Chronomancy is able to affect him, halt or slow him, or speed him up, yet he is unable to manipulate it himself.
Avaell'ead was born into what could be considered upper class within the ancient empire of the Aevialim, and with the bulk of his people on the forefront of conquest, prestige and prowess in all fields; he chose to engage upon the field of the arcane. The raw fabric of magic, and how this elusive energy brings about life, death and creation in a myriad of ways. Animals mutate, people can draw upon it to conjure spells, and powerful beings either seep this energy freely or gobble it up like ravenous insects.
Such intense and focused study lead to his own body taking upon 'controlled' mutations. Avaell'ead begun to resemble his family members and people less and less, and resembled something new every day. Experiments that could go on for days lit up the skies around his once-magnificent tower. Tightly controlled storms of energy, a nexus of magic that drew attention more and more as the decline of the Aevialim empire begun around him. It could reasoned upon for decades if it were rival mages, cultists who saw his aims as an affront to the gods, or an experiment gone completely wrong. One day, Avaell'ead vanished entirely from existence after dark figures stormed into his tower. Weeks later, the tower itself erupted into energies and collapsed into ruins. Left for nature to reclaim as an assorted and jumbled pile of cut stones where many relics would be found over the ages by treasure-seekers.
A prison had been erected as a temporal stasis 'bubble' around the Archfiend of Magic, and for Avaell'ead it'd only been a mere blink of an eye that he was in his study and now stood within the ruins of his former laboratory. Time passed, took it's toll, and then Fate wove her plans, at least for this Aevialim. Magic ceased to exist, for whatever grand reason that sages still debate upon to this day, and it's absence around his bubble of a prison eroded at it's energies. This spared him from the ravages of time, and yet left him in Iendol, a place devoid of energies that Avaell'ead still stored within his body. With an eruption of energy to clear the rubble of his laboratory, Avaell'ead rose to greet a new world where superstitious people run amok and magic itself is a fairy tale.
Humans, of all things, now dominate the landscape in towns and walled cities. A pale shadow of the former glory of what Avaell'ead recalls of his own people. Drawing his energies inwards, he reforms and conforms to this new world. Taking up the life of a travelling oddity in order to explain this place. Should revenge be a goal? It's far from his thoughts, his foes unwittingly have either died to time or become lesser beings over whatever stretch of time he's been plucked from. Re-establishing the Aevialim would be an idea to pursue, but then so exists are his studies. If he might now thrust himself back into the work of the arcane, he might discover why magic is missing now. Perhaps, finally, he might transcend this mere mortal coil and establish a way for high-minded folk like himself to follow.
It all remains to be seen, after all, this world is strange and bizarre. Everything old is turned to dust, an echo of the Empire old now walks among these upstarts well disguised.