Maestre Romulus Secundas

Sat in a corner, with a seemingly never-ending line of artefacts, is a dark-haired elven individual, sharp features, prominent cheekbones and glistening azure eyes, he wears a white scarf around his mouth, as though breathing this air is disdainful to him. This gentleman, looks thoroughly bored with his life as he mumbles something, sparking a faint blue light around an artifact, before placing it to his right or left.

Born and raised in Bastion to the Secundas family, with such a fabled lineage of magic users and ley-line wielders Romulus and his brother were destined for greatness, or so the family felt. Where his brother disappointed, Romulus did not, he passed with the highest honours from Bastion becoming a Maestre. His specialty, uncovering magical and fabled objects from times long past. His ability to look upon and study an object brought more than just its mundane qualities to surface, it was though Romulus was able to connect with the item on a preturnatural level, its history coming to him in flashes and dreams.
Recieving an invitation from one Strom Valus to travel to Zir and aid him in the uncovering of ancient Nurian artifacts, Romulus was ethused with the notion. So many work on recovering Elvhenan items that the field was somehwat... Saturated. Very few, if any, were so inclined to put in the same effort and financial backing into the Nurians, mostly due to how the Dragonmen did their best to be uninviting. Packing his bags and gathering his servitors and apprentices he set off for lands anew, all the while, dreaming of the secrets and puzzles that would be uncovered.
The reality never does live up to the dreams we fabricate. Romulus' new and exciting position at the forefront of Nurian expeditions involved sitting at a desk, in a chair that made his rear numb, casting detect magic and identify on a never-ending stream of mundane items. Even with Romulus' gifts, there is only so much to be gleaned from the 100th urn, no matter how prettily it's dressed.
Bored.
Stagnating.
If it were not for the arrival of a band of adventurers that brought to him a myriad of items, each with a delightful and rivetting history, poor Romulus feared he would have gone comatose. With this new lease of life, Romulus with invigorated, filled with that passion and zeal that carried him forward in his days at Bastion. Until an encounter with a Shabura left him a withered husk.

What's all that noise? He thought, the cacophonous sound of a solid door being crushed to oblivion managed to drown out the roaring of the Shabura outside. He feared the worst, had the denizens of Usiria finally had enough of GFAs antics? He had warned Strom about the water situation, that they wouldn't be placated by coin for long. A strong gust scattered scrolls and notes all over his floor and it took a second before the panic set in. The door was broken, if the folks who hadn't broken it down didn't kill them, the Shabura would. Romulus thought of Ash, the sweet young thing at the front desk whom he had been doting on. He rushed down the sandstone stairs, tapestries and banners billowing around him, Ash curled behind the reception desk, documents whirling in the air, threatening to drown him in a whirlpool of history. Glancing at the door he saw a large hole, jagged, a toothy maw heralding the life-sapping winds of the Shabura. Romulus didn't think, he didn't need to, he reacted purely on impulse. He rushed towards the door, erecting an arcane barrier mere moments before the Shabura hit with all the force of a great typhoon. Spectral forms swirled in the dust storm outside, clawing at his barrier, reaching for him.

As the Shabura lashed against his wards, Romulus felt his strength waning, he knew not how long he could maintain the barrier and just at the point of hopelessness and collapse. The storm was over. They had survived. Now to check on A-- Romlus caught sight of himself in the mirror as he turned. No longer were his sharp, youthful features staring back at him, no longer was his hair a midnight black. The stranger staring back at him was creased, heavy set wrinkles covered every inch of the face, the hair, dirty grey mixed with stark white. And with that, blackness took him.