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Full name and title:  Voltaire, Some call me...Tim
Hobbies:  Dying, leading mongbats into poison fields, burning everything in sight, and attempting to burn down Cain's log cabin
Turn ons:  Anything flamable, more sulphurous ash in his reg bag, torches, and pretty fire!!
Turn offs:  Water ellies, Arctic Isle, and nightshade that just won't turn into poison.
Favorite saying:  "Things burn so much better with a little BRANDY on them!!"
Favorite thing to slay:  Anything flamable
History:  Born into a poor serf family Voltaire knew only of serving his time on the farm and tending to the wheat field for which his family had been left to care for.  Voltaire was a mischevious child and was known to wander the farm eyeing the passing strangers from far off lands rather than doing his chores.  His father and mother saw something special in Voltaire, but knew that as serfs they could do nothing for him but teach him the ways of the soil and hope that someday someone might see these same things in him and take him on as an apprentice in some more skilled field of study.  At the age of 12 while Voltaire slept in his bed he had a great dream of an armored knight reading military reports from scrolls.  The old knight was war-weathered but somehow still kept the grace of a gentleman.  His hair was of a golden fading color like the wheat fields he and his family tended to, and he wore a beard of the same color.  Voltaire looked around him and noticed that he was within some sort of tower or castle seeing that the walls were all constructed from masonry and the window on the wall to the left of him overlooked the night-life of a sprawling city.  Such a city!  A city that is alive with people even in the darkest of hours.  While peering out the high window Voltaire noticed a rustling, and then a slight movement of something black through the window.  Before Voltaire could even blink his eyes the source of the movement was darting through the window.  The intruder had dark brown short-cropped hair and was donned in all black.  Voltaire expected the man to carry the same wore-torn features that come from experience in the mortal arts, just as the golden-haired knight had worn, but instead Voltaire saw only the face of a young man with dark eyes and even darker intentions.  The young intruder moved silently but quick all the way through the window then pulled a small piece of parchment from a belt loop.  The young man unraveled the piece of parchment and mumbled the words "In Flam Grav"...words that Voltaire had never heard before, but understood all too well.  Before the golden-haired knight could even turn around the young intruder waved an arm over the parchment and then towards his target.  Suddenly a wall of flame awoke from the ground consuming the fine red carpet and the golden-haired knights scrolls.  Even though the knight stood in the very center of the growing wall of fire he stood without movement, but only to draw his sword.  Quickly the young assailant drew his sword with lightning-fast reflexes and lunged for the Knight.  Obviously out-skilled and out-witted the young assailant was thrown to the floor by a well-placed backhand from the knight and was knocked unconcious.  After a few moments of glaring at his would-be assassin the knight slowly rolled his head up and looked directly into the eyes of Voltaire.  Voltaire bolted awake scared half out of his wits from the dream and found himself and his bed soaked with sweat.  The next day Voltaire was wandering through the fields and he thought of the words that the young man had read from the scroll and began reciting them in his head.  Before Voltaire realized what he was doing he began speaking them out loud..."In Flam Grav", and the fires awoke from the ground consuming the wheat in huge collumns of bright red flame and thick grey smoke.  The entire farm was consummed in flame, which went on to destroy the village in which he and his parents.  Voltaire, now feared by the townsfolk, was banished from the region given only a candle to light his way, a mortar and pestle which he had taken from his personal belongings and a dull red robe.  Voltaire made his way along the roads, a wandering piece of flotsam in the river of Sosaria.
     Voltaire while wandering these roads began to see pires in the distance and great buildings the likes of which he had previously only dreamed about...and little did he know he had dreamed about these very towers and buildings just weeks before.  Voltaire was drawn to the incoming town like an moth to a flame and as he approached the buildings grew to immeasurable heights.  He finally arrived at the outskirts of town and read the simple sign into town which read "Britain."  Voltaire didn't quite know what "Britain" meant, but he assumed it the name of the town and wandered on.  Along the road he noticed a small bustling blacksmith shoppe with a forge larger than he had seen in his village.  Was everything larger in the cities?  Voltaire approached the forge drawn by the warmth of the coals and he noticed a grey-haired blacksmith eyeing him from across the anvil.  This man, who Voltaire soon came to know, was Cain.  Cain listened to Voltaire's story and realized his great potential when Voltaire, with no magery training, was able to melt iron ore with but a few power words right before Cain's very eyes.  Cain took Voltaire in from the cold, and gave him a home...he also gave him a family and guild to call his new village.