Description:
Sarajen is an old man, easily having seen more than sixty summers in his life. His face is tanned dark and deeply wrinkled from travelling under the sun for many years. His hair is almost all white, kept long, tied with a leather strap. A equally bleached poorly groomed beard adorns his chin, and a pair of twinkling mischievous eyes peer under the bushy white eyebrows that adorn his wrinkled forehead.

He dresses in older clothes, nothing fine, but everything practical: worn breeches and boots, held up by cracked leather belts from which hang a few pouches. A loose, somewhat stained shirt and a vest jacket on top of it. A pack on his back, a strong bow in his hand, and several dozen arrows neatly stacked in a quiver, roped over his shoulder.

But aside from his face and hair, and the wrinkles on his skin, you'd swear you were looking at a man in his late twenties: strong, healthy, toned, quick of body and mind. Not to mention the reflexes of a panther. Yes, he had seen many summers, but there was no way in the abyss he would let that slow him down.

Demeanor:
Sarajen has seen many things in his life, and has watched many people die, for many different reasons. He understands that life can be short, so he has vowed to live it to the fullest, no matter what anyone might think of him.

Hence, he doesn't really care what you say or think of him, he will have his say (and often his way) anywhere without reservation. Social decorum and polite society can go sheck a donkey. But he is not entirely without self-reservation. He knows the value of silence (having kept him out of the axe-man's block more than once), and he knows the games of power people play in order to get what they want. But he also knows how to have fun and enjoy himself.

History:
Sarajen grew up in a large family... of adopted orphans picked up by a calculating street charlatan. He was trained in sneaking and thieving, specially as a team, in order to fleece the purses and metals of wealthy city dwellers. His adoptive father was cruel and punishing with all his children, and only valued them when they could get him coins or jewels. When he came into his manhood, he decided he loved wine and women. Nothing better than having both, in any order. The more, the merrier. That was until his "father" was picked up by the local constabulary and hung for his trespasses against the daughter of a visiting ambassador. Sarajen and his many brothers scattered like rats out of the city and never returned.

On his own, he learned how to use a knife for practical purposes, and a bow for lethal ones. The bow he took to like a fish to water. He spent hours practicing, watching the arrows snake their way through the distance, calculating speed, angles, weight, and motion, until it all became a game to him. His mastery of the bow was a bit rough, like his soul, but the results could not be questioned. He could easily dispatch half a dozen men by himself, given enough time to aim and fire.

Over the years Sarajen has been a mercenary, a killer-for-hire, a professional burglar, a local man-at-arms, a keeper of brothels (and a vivacious patron, too), a bounty-hunter, and a treasure seeker.

And so the years passed, summer after summer, enjoying himself with wine and women, until the money ran out. Then he would ply his trade yet again. It was on his 63rd summer that he was seduced into a woman's chambers (into which he went quite willingly), put to sleep with poisons, and sold as a slave to the Red Pit. He swore he would find that woman and pay her back. But first, he needed to get out of there.