Nadir al'Asad is a male Human Spellthief. Originally from the Haladra region of Dunmaerik, his wanderings took him to the Unknown Lands of Ezir. Not much is known about him, as he keeps his past to himself. He appears to be self-conscious about his gift wtih magic, rarely openly speaking of it, though he shows no reluctance to use it when the situation is presented to him.
Nadir cultivates an image that he is simply a rogue of some talent at evading magic, earning him the street name of "Quicksilver."
Nadir is a dark-skinned man of average height and build. He has thick, black hair and dark brown eyes. His left arm and chest are marked by large scars. He speaks with a noticable accent of the people of the Dunmaerik steppes. He has been overheard using his native language when he curses, but otherwise sticks to the Common tongue.
Quicksilver Shadow (Tale of the Mist-Eater, as told by Nadir al'Asad)
I am Nadir al'Asad bin Haladra. I come from the steppes of Dunmaerik, from the horse people of the northern plains. My people are nomads, whose virtues are honor and strength. They are warriors and hunters, and I did not fit among them. I knew this at a young age, as I was not as strong or as concerned with honor as the others. There was also my gift.
I have had the gift for as long as I can remember. Among my people, there are few with the mystic touch. They are as revered as highly as the shamans and medicine men of our tribes, and often earn their place as chiefs or advisers. These men and women tell the stories of the mist-eaters, those who are able to breathe in the magic of others, to pull upon their gifts and to use those energies for their own means. I am a mist-eater; my gift is my curse.
I left my people at the age of fourteen, knowing that I would forever be on the edge of my tribe, in the place the eye does not see. I was not to be outcast, but I was not accepted; every step would be hard-fought. I knew that the world outside the plains would offer me opportunity and chance.
I made my way south, into the heartland of Dunmaerik. I did not expect the hardships and chaos that I found; even now, years after the legendary war that largely avoided my people, there was little rebuilding and growth. People here, in the capital, struggled daily to scratch out a living. Here, there was no chance. Here, the people were dead but did not know it.
I turned my horse east, passing over the border and down from the steppes into Falcrest. I had learned that there was little love for my countrymen, and so crossed in a wide swath of land, in the middle of the night, to avoid the border patrols. I lived off the land for over a year, amazed at the fertile soil and lush crops I could pull with minimum effort. This, however, was not my life. I was no farmer: I sought the cities and the people.
As I discovered, Falcrest is not a place for one of my bloodline to seek civilization. It was less than a month in one of the larger cities that I found myself the target of mob justice. I was fortunate to escape with my life, though I lost my horse.
I wandered the land for months, slowly finding my way east to the mountains. I lived off of what I could hunt and scavenge from farms, but eventually made my way into the pass between the great mountains. It was only my latent talent for stealth that allowed me to avoid the patrols that guarded the road, but soon I found myself entering what I later learned was the land of Ezir. For months, I moved between the cities and villages, learning of the new land. I was thankful for the lack of conflict, a chance for me to learn rather than to simply run.
((Information below this point is subject to change))
In time, I made my way to Sprawl. There, I learned that like my people, those with the gift ruled those without. Here, I thought, was my place. My own gift as a mist-eater would allow me a chance to earn a high place among those who could utilize it.
So it was I came to find my way into the Family.