A u r i n
Details
Name: Aurin Kavafis
Player: Antinoös/Hekatos
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 31
Birthdate: 61 Glade 93
Birthplace: Cathena City
Profession: Owner of Portions for Foxes, a keiretsu, made successful by his information brokering. Managing Director of the Golden Peacock Theater.
Housing: A small house that was once an outbuilding of the Velvet Cabaret.
Partners: Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron; Torin Kilvin; Ashoka Lomri; Elwes Anizhe, etc.
Titles: None
Factions: The Golden Peacock; Portions for Foxes; Whispers; Covens of Zaichaer; nominally Sol'Zalkyrion
Fluencies: Common, Synskrit
Conversationals: None
Ineptitudes: None
Appearance
Height: 189 cm (6'2")
Weight: 80 kg (176 lb)
Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Red/Auburn
Rune of Masquerade: inner right bicep
Rune of Negation: right shoulder
Rune of Semblance: inner left bicep
Rune of Traversion: left shoulder
When Aurin walks into a room, he draws stares — at least, if that's his intention. When he doesn't want to be noticed, he tends to blend right in. Tall and lanky, he came to Kalzasi half-starved. Years of regular meals have helped him put muscle back on, but only the bare minimum of weight seems to stick. He is always moving, it seems. Even when holding still, there is an element of a coiled spring — or, perhaps, a coiled serpent. His coloring is rarer, fair skin smattered with freckles. When he spends time in the sun, he gets rosy, but most of his time is spent indoors these days.
Personality
While not technically one of the performers and courtesans of the Velvet Cabaret, enough of their charms have rubbed off on him. Charm's the word, though his humor is often self-deprecating enough that he doesn't come across as smarmy. Almost always on, he keeps people happy. A free drink here, a winning hand there, and always there with a joke or a witticism or just a friendly ear and shoulder to cry upon. Some might call him two-faced; after all, he works as a fixer in a cabaret that sometimes sells the same thing as a brothel. He's just adept at finding common ground with people and leaning into it, his personality mutable around the edges enough to get along with people.
Anyone who knows him better — and they are few — know there is a steady flame burning underneath the razzle dazzle.
What Dreams May Come: After a successful, albeit traumatic, rescue of his fellow Myshalarai, Aurin's soul was pierced by Dread Mists even as he overstepped with several Cardinal Runes. While Eshar took him to their realm to heal, Eshar too was weakened and could only do so much, even sacrificing a part of their power to contain the Mists that had attacked them. As such, while Aurin's cautious bravery and calculated bravado remain, now even the barest hint of the Dread Mists' presence will invoke an atavistic fear within him.
History
If one were to ask him his story, he would spin one. It would be a lie. If one were to ask someone else his story, they might offer any number of narratives. They might even believe them. They would be clever constructions or seeds planted with an errant-seeming word here or there and watered by imagination. He certainly seems able to alter his accents and dialects in Common to support any backstory, though he tends to sound like a native of Kalzasi most of the time.
Working at the Velvet Cabaret as he does, developing an air of mystique is key. Few go there for the truth. Some do, however, and various information brokers in the city know how to inconspicuously ask him questions and get themselves answers. Nobody really knows what he does. He has assisted the overworked Madame Lunaria for years now, being where she can't be, playing a hand of cards here, appeasing a disgruntled patron there. Some claim to have bedded him for money or for free; he neither confirms nor denies any stories. Stories are entertaining.
The real story, insofar as Madame Lunaria knows, is that he was born in Cathena City and ran afoul of the wrong people. A meandering life led him to Kalzasi and he had a habit of being where he needed to be at the right time, both when she realized she needed help in the larger sense, and on a smaller scale, being where he needed to be to keep things rolling and gold coming into her business.
Pascal had immediately butted her head against his ankle until he picked her up — this before Madame Lunaria could stop — and the cat had purred like a feline whore in his arms. But if she trusted the man, far be it from Lunaria not to. So far, her trust and Pascal's discernment had not proven unfounded.
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