While Zires refers to himself as "He", the cleric is actually a hermaphrodite/intersexual (including all internal and external pieces of the male and female sex). He's flat chested, yet narrow of shoulder and waist with roundish hips and thighs. Soulful, grey-green eyes sit gently upon angled cheekbones. His face is effeminate but with narrow curves and delicate angles, giving him an intriguing, androgynous countenance. His fiery amber hair is long and allowed to flow freely down to his waist. Though muscled as fitting his profession, his physique is softly defined, as a woman's would be. Very, very few people in the world know his physical nature, and he feels no need to reveal himself to others. Besides, most figure his feminine-grace is a product of an elvish heritage... and perhaps it is.

His slender hands are always gloved. If you asked why, he would simply smile and open his hands, palm-sides up, revealing delicate-stitched inlay of the symbol of Pelor on both palms. He wouldn't offer to show you the truth, however, that his hands are scarred to the wrists from acid burns. It's better to keep them gloved that have to answer uncomfortable questions.

Zires has always had a way with the people around him, with an endearing, unintentional charm. His voice is clear, musical, and strong, and carries itself over a crowd when necessary.

He wears pale leather armor consisting of a cuirass, gorget, and spaulders joined together by brass and straps. Vambraces etched with dancing rats cover his forearms. Leather breeches shield his hips and thighs, while greaves with metal poleyns on the knees covers the rest, right down to sturdy, steel-toed and heeled boots.


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Zires has never known his parents. Perhaps when they looked upon him, with his double... anatomy, they had determined he'd be an uncomfortable child to raise. Whatever the reason, he thanked them honestly for leaving him in the care of Pelor and his priests. They had found him tied to a tree by the roadside and immediately took him in. His anatomy caused some, shall we say, weirdness amongst the priests, but at least one never balked and remained the babe's faithful guardian. Zires became the priest's assistant, learning at the hem of his cassock, even as the priest wandered from village to village, spreading the word and will of Pelor to those that needed it, with a pretty little red-headed child at his heels. Village women would fuss over Zires, "What a pretty little child! Would she like some pretty ribbons to adorn her hair with?" Zires didn't mind their attention and didn't correct them.

In his travels, Zires met a scraggly, scrawny, knobby-kneed orphan who blandly said his name was Rothead when asked. The boy followed Zires everywhere as he did errands for the priest, which Zires didn't mind. But he didn't like the boy's scars, his healing bruises, the cuts where sticks had been whipped across his skin until he'd bled. One day, when the priest finally decided to wander again, Zires hid the boy in their cart, sneaking him scraps of food and water. While the priest slept, Zires helped the boy out of the cart and the pair would run off to stretch their legs. The priest often wondered why Zires was so tired in the morning when he snuck a nap during the day.

Eventually, the priest caught the pair trying to sneak away. He was disappointed in Zires, who sincerely appologized, admitting he shouldn't have been afraid that the priest would send his new friend back, but the priest truly relented when Rothead explained his horrible treatment at the orphanage. The priest meditated on the situation, eventually coming to the conclusion that a friend nearby might be able to help.

That friend was a local wizard, and a powerful one. It just so happened he needed a lad to do chores on the farmland surrounding his tower, and since it was his old good friend asking, he accepted Rothead and all responsibilities therein.

Zires and the priest left, but not before the fiery-haired child gave Rothead a new name: Rolfos, after a hero in a book he'd read.

Zires might have also given the knobby-kneed kid a kiss on the cheek as well. and shyly ran off before another word was said

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Zires grew up at the priest's side, learning how to use the divinity of Pelor to do Good on the material plane. Healing wounds, mending bones, curing ailments, disease, poison, all of these things Zires learned how to do and do well. But it wasn't just his healing that caught eyes, of course. Zires was strikingly handsome in an effeminate way that made everyone believe he was female.

The day came when the priest, now much older and decidedly determined to retire to a Pelorian monastery, told Zires it was time he struck out on his own, to take the reins of his own destiny, for himself, for Pelor, for goodness itself.

But there are other Gods besides Pelor, other priests, and not all of them are good. All alone now, proud and innocent and ready to take on anything, Zires was caught in a trap.

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The pain was immeasurable. By sheer force of will Zires grabbed the two silver keys from the acid pool and tossed them on the floor. He screamed, a blood-curling, high pitch shriek as he held his hands up, bloody and burned, acid still bubbling and eating away at what remained, melted bits of him dripping off the bones. He forced a healing spell on his hands with what remained of his strength. As he healed, the acid still ate away. He poured every ounce of himself into the healing.