General Appearance

Caius Thelas stands tall with the upright bearing of a disciplined soldier, yet every motion carries the fluid economy of a duelist rather than a brute. Broad-shouldered but not bulky, his frame has been shaped by years of relentless conditioning — lean muscle bound tightly beneath skin that bears the pallor of someone who spends more time in shadow than sunlight.

His presence exudes quiet confidence rather than arrogance, a poise tempered by hardship. To the casual observer, he appears collected — almost too controlled, as though he measures each breath before taking it. Yet beneath that restraint, there is an undeniable volatility: the tension of a coiled storm.

Face & Features

Sharp elven cheekbones meet the softer, human fullness of his jawline, creating a balance that hints at both elegance and defiance. His skin bears the faint shimmer of Quel’dorei ancestry — not radiant, but with that almost ethereal clarity common to the highborne line.

A dark scar slices diagonally across his left eye, a mark of an old sword duel that just missed blinding him. The wound healed clean but imperfectly, leaving a faint silver ridge that deepens when caught in certain light.

His eyes are his most striking feature: deep violet, alive with the subtle, rhythmic pulse of arcane energy. At rest, they seem calm — soft light pooling behind the iris — but when emotion flares, they ignite, casting a faint glow that lingers even after he looks away.

His hair is the hue of polished blue steel, with an almost draconic luster — short at the sides, longer at the top, often slicked back or tousled from battle. In dim lighting it takes on a midnight tone, but in sunlight it gleams faintly like blue dragon-scale.

When he smiles, rare though it is, the expression softens his entire face. Fine lines form at the corners of his eyes — not from age, but from long-forgotten laughter.

Scars & Markings

Caius’s body tells the story of his life through its scars:

A broad, diagonal slash runs from beneath his left collarbone down across his torso, ending above the right hip — the remnant of a near-fatal wound he keeps covered beneath armor.

Several faint, silvery scars lace his arms and ribs, subtle evidence of countless battles.

Upon his right wrist, partly concealed by leather wrappings, rests the faded tattoo of a black rose — the sigil of the mercenary order he once served.

If ever seen without armor, the faint glimmer of ley-burns can be traced across his shoulders and forearms — markings left from years of channeling raw arcane power through his body instead of a focus.

Body Adornments & Tattoos

Up close, Caius bears the unmistakable hallmarks of someone who carries his history in quiet, deliberate symbols — each mark a story, each piercing a remnant of choice or memory.

Piercings

Several silver rings adorn the length of his sharply pointed ears — subtle but well-placed, glinting whenever his head turns. They aren’t ostentatious, but purposeful, their placement suggesting ritual rather than vanity. A thin stud through the left side of his nose catches the light only when he speaks, a faint shimmer that draws the eye briefly before vanishing again.

Those who know the older traditions of Quel’Thalas might recognize the meaning: silver rings once marked stages of discipline and magical mastery — though Caius’ adornments are arranged in no known order. Perhaps he wears them simply as remnants of a life divided between worlds, or perhaps they are reminders of vows once broken.

Tattoos & Markings

Across his back, winding from one shoulder blade to the other, lies the image of a silver dragon — inked in cool tones that shimmer faintly beneath light. The dragon coils as though in flight, wings stretched in elegant arcs that trace the musculature of his back. The detail is exquisite: scales etched in thin strokes of pale grey and white, the eyes a subtle violet — mirroring Caius’ own.

To those who see it, the meaning varies. Some say it represents resilience and rebirth; others whisper it’s an homage to an ancient draconic lineage whose magic once brushed his bloodline. Caius himself never speaks of it.

Encircling both forearms are intricate tattoos resembling arcane sigils intertwined with flowering vines. The lines shimmer faintly when struck by light — not through enchantment, but through the artistry of the ink itself. Each design spirals and flows like a living current of magic, the flowers blooming outward as though drawn mid-incantation.

They are not magical in function, though many mistake them as such. To the untrained eye, they appear as protective runes — sigils warding against corruption or chaos. To Caius, they are something quieter: an act of remembrance, the beauty of order etched into the very limbs that once dealt death.

Clothing & Armor

He wears fitted leathers reinforced with hidden chain-voiders, dyed deep violet fading into black. His cuirass bears the stylized sigil of the Order of Champions, though the design is deliberately understated — a small inlay at the heart rather than a full crest.

Around his neck hangs a simple silver chain holding a single ring — well-worn, polished smooth by restless fingers.

When relaxed, he drapes a tattered black cloak lined in dark amethyst silk — the only indulgence he allows himself. It moves almost weightlessly, faintly static in the presence of magic.

Movement & Bearing

Every step Caius takes is measured, each motion grounded in deliberate control. His balance is impeccable — a trait of both martial training and magical focus. Even while standing still, he seems ready: the stance of someone who never fully lays down his weapon.

When he draws his sword, violet energy crackles softly along its edge — not explosive, but alive, whispering in harmonic resonance with his pulse. Those attuned to magic can sense the faint hum of ley energy that follows his movements, as if the world itself shifts slightly around his will.

Presence & Aura

To most, Caius feels contained — like a man holding back something immense. Those sensitive to magic feel a steady rhythm beneath his surface, like a ley current compressed within mortal flesh. It’s not malignant, merely immense and disciplined — a controlled tempest.

In moments of anger or heightened emotion, the air around him subtly changes: the smell of ozone, a faint vibration in the floorboards, and the whisper of unseen energy eager to be unleashed.

Voice & Demeanor

His voice carries a calm baritone — deliberate, clear, and edged with the refined cadence of Quel’dorei speech softened by human warmth. When angered, it deepens, resonating like the growl of steel scraping stone.

He rarely raises it. He doesn’t need to. When Caius speaks, people tend to listen.