For an elf, this young wizard is quick to distract and even quicker to choose, almost impetuous.
A loose worshipper of Sehaine, Tarin wears no robe but rather a bright-braided tunic and vest, vaguely Puckish in appearance.
While Tarin’s evident interest in magic could not be turned to other pursuits, his father would not relent for many years. Though elves respected magic, Tarin’s noble family viewed it as a skill practiced for them rather than by them. They would have preferred a scholar of theory, another military leader, or if he must follow practical magic, a druid. They even encouraged him in hunting, and though the boy was agile, he lacked concentration for anything other than arcane arts.
So upon his maturity, Tarin went to study with an aged wizard once possessed of great power. He completed three years of study in relative calm, until one month ago.
Tarin woke to find a stranger at the door, speaking with Tarin’s master. A visitor was rare in any circumstance, and doubly so at night. This one wore a cloak with a deep hood, and though Tarin could not see his face, he felt the man was looking down the hall, searching.
Tarin drew back into his room. His master appeared moments later with great agitation. “You must go,” he said, looking Tarin in the eye. Usually he spoke without direct contact, as if making general pronouncements. “Go to the inn at this address, in Yggsburgh.” He handed Tarin a small parchment. “You will be safe there, and I will join you in a fortnight.”
Tarin did as agreed, but his master did not.