Description: Thrust into a diurnal world, Maddoch's mortal form is by and large what people see the most. He is an average height human, lean with clean cut muscles. His hair is a dark, nearly black chocolate, and his skin is tan with an olive undertone. He is perpetually clean without any facial hair to glisten his soft child-like facial complexion. His skin is far from unmarred in this form. He has scars all along his back, thighs and arms, though these he has since covered up with a myriad of tattoos all over his body. Maddoch's blue eyes and footloose demeanor can be attributed to his human half heritage. On the corner of his eye, marring his temple, is a tattoo in the shape of the Radacke hammer. This tattoo persists through even when using his illusion spell to appear human.

Additional Info: Once, in years past, Maddoch had been a brighter soul, illuminated from within by his faith and his devotion to the gods. Subsequent years of slavery under the Radacke Dynasty has molded and forged Maddoch into a morbid comedian. He emerged a Forsaken; broken in faith to his god who remained silent throughout his ordeals. Maddoch adheres to the mantra of the Chaotic Neutral. He is utterly self-preserving and selfish, and somewhat of a narcissist. He presents himself as if he is of noble birth, though his tendencies to resort to sadistic humor would dispel such notions quickly. Maddoch longs for personal gain; be it material wealth or physical and magical prowess, largely due to his history of utter dependency and subservience to others. He has a lack of respect for authorities and rules, though he will begrudgingly follow them, at least as much as will keep the guardsmen off his tail.

Maddoch emerged from the waters of the great sea, tangled in the net of a fisherman. In the beginning he knew to call himself Achenar, and though he suffered confusion at his fall and longing to return to his god's side, he was not steeled from life hardships. The fisherman proved to be a friendly face; a God fearing man named Rhythern who enjoyed the life of the wilds more than the confines of the city. He was stubborn and largely aggressive, but his passion was one lent by generosity. He took the tiefling in, gave him food, mead and clothes, and traveled between Silvya and Leera, citing the man's ranger blood and thirst for the next catch.

It was on a leisure excursion to the next fishing spot along a river to the south of Silvya, that the two were assaulted by a well-armed group of men. With his inexperience, Achenar was easily captured and bound by manacles and chains. The last he saw of Rhythern was the glint of the blades he wielded and the spray of blood. Blindfolded on the long journey, the image of Leera was the first sight the tiefling absorbed. But it was short lived. His world became brick and wooden walls, cold chains and damp floorboards. He was taken to the Auction Hall and heavily advertised for his beauty and the rarity by which an tiefling was seen. It was not long before a scion of a Dynasty came along and subsequently purchased him. The years that followed under slavery and servitude brought nothing but pain. Physical and emotional pain, and pain in areas he would have never imagined. He was the play thing of many masters under the Caged Sun, and a canvas for his own master's sadistic propensity. Achenar was quickly becoming a repository of contempt. Not only to these people who kept him captive, but to his own god. His years of suffering were met only in silence.

His faith was severed during a fateful night, and a session of torture that broke his voice. Walls built up around his mind, walls that sought to protect and preserve. He had to notice things to do so, to perceive, to listen. For years he had drawn the eye of a girl who was madly in love with him. For his own purposes, he used her, just as they used him. Weeks and months of careful planning, prodding and positioning brought his position up from a common house slave to personal slave.