League of the Western Fall
His physical appearance is unassuming, but every closer inspection reveals a contradiction. An old face with young eyes. A worn expression carried with a lively step. He is a human, and plainly a wizard. A travel-notched rod is constantly in his hand and a meticulously maintained wand rests comfortably at his side. His medium-length beard still has most of it’s original color, but grey has begun to creep in. Robes the color of dust and the forest hide more secrets than scrolls.
A mysterious practitioner of many kinds of unfamiliar magics, Chronosophos is not talkative regarding his past. He is conversational and amiable, but politely firm in rebuffing probing questions. The unsettling scars on his arms, neck, and face tell a tale for him, and it is one of many hard days. When discussing his craft, his eyes light with a focussed fire. His mind is as sharp as a magical blade, and he enjoys new ideas and clever riddles. He meets new people with ease, but does not let down an inner guard – there is a level of closeness that he does not seem to allow anyone. He has a taste for all manner information, and there is a sense about him that he is always only moving through a place – never settled, still wandering. When performing magic, his concentration is absolute. Nothing exists in the world except the spell. Once each feat of arcane power is complete, his expression is that of a hungry traveler who has smelled a warm and savory meal; a yearning smile that is not yet satisfied.