Public Description

Mordred, while not of the Royal Blood, has been given leave, by the crown, to establish an academy for Blood Sorcerors on the coast. The Archetypal Magus in his Ivory Tower, surrounded by his students one moment; he is the consummate courtier and diplomat at a Court function the next, as well as an active patron of the Arts, Trade and Craftspeople. A proud practitioner of Blood Sorcery, he is not known to have ever used anything but himself as a source for his powers - and published a manifesto laying out a strict set of rules and strictures for the behavior of Magi. In fact he tracked down and utterly destroyed three former students who had gone rogue and were slaughtering Shadow folk, leaving nothing - not even their ashes - behind.

Trump Image

He stands outdoors; from the size of the Ivory Tower far off in the distance and the trees much closer yet still behind him, he is at the outskirts of his Vineyard. Further evidence of this can be seen in the small table to one side, upon it a bunch of deep red-purple grapes, a large wedge of cheese with a knife stuck into it, and of course, a glass of blood-red wine. Chances are very good it is of his own personal vintage, 'Sange Real', or 'Blood Royal', in the language of a province of Shadow Erde where fine wines are grown. The sky above appears cloudless and the day is bright, though the sun must be behind a cloud, for the quality of light upon him is 'shadowed' slightly.

His garb is that of the Court, his colors his own; soft boots and hose, a loose long-sleeved blouse with a high-collared button-down sleeveless over-tunic, all in red, crimson, yellow and gold – with a splash of deep sea-blue. One of his ubiquitous gloves has been removed, and the open palm of the bared hand has been slashed across with what is either an oversized dagger or an undersized short sword that he holds in the other hand. Its hilt is mainly of gold, with red and crimson inlay – again, his colors – yet there is a long central core of the handle that is ivory in color, matching almost exactly the Tower in the distance behind him. The blade itself is blacker than black, save for the fresh blood that stains the lower edge.

This is matched by the blood rising up in small droplets from his self-inflicted wound, to coalesce a few inches above his palm into a writhing moebius of flame. If it has a purpose other than to fascinate and perhaps awe the observer, it doesn't show. Pale, almost translucent skin is offset by penetrating emerald eyes and orange-red hair that is so bright it seems about to burst into flame. The man's features are chiseled, save for a somewhat broad and slightly snub nose, sporting a faint dusting of freckles, but the center-piece and focal point of his face is the twisted half-smile it bears.

Is he hiding something? Does he know something the viewer and his unseen but assumed audience are all unaware of? Is he about to do something unexpected? Amusing? Dangerous? All of the above? Or perhaps he just wants someone to think so. He does look the sort that would do that just to amuse himself at another's expense. His gaze is directly at the viewer, as if he can see them, seeing him, seeing them...

Miscellaneous Material

Unique Shadow Walkers