Personnages

Personnage

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Race / Ethnie / Sexe

Lalafelle
Peuple des Dunes / ♀

Date de naissance

22e soleil de la 1re lune astrale

Divinité

Nophica, la Mère

Cité de départ

Ul'dah

Grande compagnie

Les Immortels / Capitaine

Compagnie libre

Silence iz Mine

Caractéristiques

Force373
Dextérité6384
Vitalité7035
Intelligence288
Esprit333

Attributs offensifs

Critique2883
Détermination2263
Coups nets2714

Attributs défensifs

Défense4085
Défense magique4085

Attributs physiques

Attaque6384
Vivacité420

Attributs magiques

Magie offensive288
Magie curative333
Célérité420

Rôle

Ténacité420
Piété440

Niveau 100

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  • PV

    202829
  • PM

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Présentation

Name: Kaizul Blackflame
Age: Unknown (appears ageless, though whispers suggest centuries)
Race/Species: Lalafell (Dunefolk)

**Physical Appearance:**
Kaizul stands small even by Lalafell standards, a wisp of shadow wrapped in sun-bleached linen. Her skin carries the warm, golden hue of desert winds, untouched by scars despite her violent history. The most striking feature is her eyes—two chips of glacial blue, sharp enough to cut through lies. Her hair, a wild cascade of pale blonde, defies gravity in spikes reminiscent of storm-tossed wheat, a deliberate echo of a legendary warrior’s style. She moves like a dust devil: sudden, silent, and gone before you’ve blinked.

**Background:**
Born in the shifting dunes of Thanalan, Kaizul was raised by a secretive sect of flame-worshiping assassins who believed pain purified the soul. She escaped their pyres twice—once by burning her master alive in his sleep, and again by letting a rival faction believe her corpse fed the vultures. Now she drifts between cities, a blade-for-hire with a peculiar code: she never takes contracts on those who fight for others. Rumors cling to her like desert sand: that she dueled a Garlean magitek on foot and won, that she once traded her left lung for a spell to resurrect a fallen comrade (the lung grew back, unnervingly).

**Personality:**
Kaizul laughs like a crackling fire—too loud, too often, usually when someone’s about to die. She collects friendships like others collect weapons, hoarding them jealously; cross hers, and she’ll dismantle your life thread by thread. Her humor is dry as bone, her loyalty absolute.


I'm a slave, and I am a master
No restraints and unchecked collectors
I exist through my need, to self-oblige
She is something in me, that I despise
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
She isn't real
I can't make her real
She isn't real
I can't make her real
She isn't real
I can't make her real
She isn't real
I can't make her real

Mur de la communauté

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