[Malkadocian]

Name: Taharial (or whispered under breaths as "the Cursed One")

Age: 36 years

Weapon(s): He carries a pair of mundane daggers upon his person, but his real weapon comes from the curse that he carries.

Race: He used to be human, and is still human in form.

Battlefield Specialization: Taharial is excellent at single target combat, so that he can focus the entirety of his curse upon a single body. However, he is also fairly competent at controlling the area of combat. Crowd Control. Only if there is vegetation, however. One on One, he melee poisons his targets until they are too debilitized to move or speak, or at dire times.... breathe.

Abilities: Toxic Attack - Taharial is a living conduit for poison. He _is_ poison. Even contact with his skin can be lethal, depending on circumstances. He has the ability to sprout a poisonous thorn from the middle of his palm to fight with, and as it digs into the flesh of his foes, it also fills their body with a virulent toxin. Each successive attack only makes it worse and worse. Undead and constructs are completely immune to his poison, as they don't have the same parts as living creatures do. At his most powerful, a grizzly bear would take around 3-4 stabs before it finally succumbed to the toxin.

Barkskin - Taharial has begun to take on some characteristics of a plant, though he is still a human, for all intents and purposes. His skin is greenish, with the occasional yellow tinge. His blood is thick and has consistency of sap, and any "bleeding" effect on him is largely negated, nor can he bleed out. He can die, sure, but not from blood loss, unless the damage is too massive. ( But then thats not really bleeding out, as much as being legless or whatnot ). If he has four hours a day in daylight, he can survive off of actual photosynthesis. No need for food or rest. Water, however, is a must. His flesh has become tougher and slightly woodlike, and he has a greater ability to soak and take damage then a normal human.

Natural Camouflage - Due to his strange markings and his ability to craft nature to his desire, Taharial is very adept at hiding in natural surroundings, as the very earth seeks to conceal him as well, bending plants to obscure the vision of hunters and other predators. Pointing him out in a forest is a very impressive feat, indeed.

Call of Nature - Taharial also has command over plantlife and non-magical flora. He never leaves trails in the wood, as the plants themselves cover his movements. He can aid or diminish their health, as he sees fit or needs, along with magically empowering their growth to amazing speeds and mutate them into needs that only he can imagine. While he cannot turn a blade of grass into a wall of wood... he could turn a venus flytrap into the horrible creature from "Little Shop of Horrors", and it be under his command. The change wouldn't last longer then a few hours, however, in its mutated state.

Appearance: As mentioned above, Taharial is a human, around 36 years of age. He is around six feet tall, and is of average build. His skin is greenish, and his eyes are a solid oaken brown. His hair has long since fallen out, and he actually has no hair on his entire body. He dresses in wraps, however, to conceal and protect himself and others. He uses earthen tones in the wraps, but they are not a singular color. Browns, blacks, greens and tans are all in their. Curled around his body loosely. The only visible part of him are his eyes, and the greenish skin that lingers around them. Anything else would be dangerous. Accidental contact with humans might actually poison them, and so the wraps are necessary to keep them safe. Over the wraps, he wears a cloak with hood, leather boots, a leather belt, and leather vembraces. Society seems like appreciate garb.

Personality: Taharial is a cautious man, above all, and makes sure he knows where everybody is around him, for fear of their deaths being on his head. His voice is even and firm, when he does talk to others. He is a kind individual, seeking to aid people however he can, even in mundane ways. Offering aid to a fallen mother, or recovering a toy for a child. He keeps his physical distance from people quite noticeably, though rarely speaks of the reason. Apart from his generous nature and his unwillingness to touch others, however briefly, it is his desire to cure his condition that drives him.

Backstory: Taharial (then called Liam) was the child of a farmer out in the boonies of the Mirthholme Kingdom. His father was a decent enough father, and from a young age, taught him the ways of the wild. How to sense changes in weather before it showed in the sky, how to feed and care for the animals in their care, how to rotate the fields each season to keep the soil fresh, along with many other activities that keep a farm running. Without a mother to raise him, it was tough, but they got by, the two of them. Life was good.

It wasn't until his 17th birthday that everything changed.

A few weeks prior to the event, while chasing a rogue animal into the nearby woods, lLiam came across a small band of nature worshipping mages (druids). They exchanged nervous greetings, and before Liam knew it, the entire night had been spent in conversation with these leaf adorned strangers. His father had spoken of these figures on rare occasions. "Walker of the Woods" and "Bringers of the Harvest" were some of the more colorful descriptors that were used. Night after night, Liam kept going out into the woods to continue the talk that had been abandoned the morning prior. He found his calling. He would join these workers of balance and be a druid. All that remained, was to pass their initiation rites. On the night of his seventeenth birthday.

Liam went out to the woods after everybody had passed out that evening... he was full of excitement and a sense of contentment he had never known before. He found a purpose he believed in. The Balance. The cycle of eternity. What happened that night, was never supposed to happen. To this day... Taharial doesn't recall the specifics. He does remember imbibing the specially prepared draught they made for him to drink. That he closed his eyes... but that is all. The rest is filled with pain. Screams. Blood. What Taharial does remember... was waking up in the morning, and being surrounded by a briar filled with thorns that seemed to drip with blood.

He voluntarily exiled himself that day to the far reaches of the wild. He knows... he feels that this is wrong. His poisonous skin, and how plants respond to his will without spells or incantations used, as the druids did. He seeks to cure his curse, and avoid humanity until then, as he is nothing but a danger.

A few years ago, some adventurers came tromping through his area blindly, and he watched them silently for a few days, until finally showing himself to them, and when they told him what their task was... how dire the circumstances was... he offered to join them. The battle was more then he'd ever thought, and several of the team died horrible deaths... but the land was saved, and in thanks, the survivors promised to never speak of where they found Taharial.

And assuredly that had been the case... until Taharial woke up with a female assassin looming over him. Now he is on the move. Heading on back to civilization. Somebody talked... and he doubts it was voluntarily. He wants answers.