|Hometown||Unknown location in Antiva|
|Gear||He wears only the finest silk robes that you can find in Tevinter. Besides that, he carries around his staff like it’s some prize winning child. He also has a flaying knife, but he keeps that for activities outside being a magister…like cutting up unsuspecting Templar recruits when no one is looking|
|Behind the Mask|
Sirav likes to think that he looks pretty damn good for his age, but that’s just his ego talking. He keeps himself toned because he does not like to be viewed as fragile. Despite that, he enjoys keeping his hair long and his clothing ridiculously fancy. He dresses in a fruity manner, which probably accentuates his eccentricity and ego quite horribly.
- Strengths: Intellectual, philosophizer, affectionate, quick witted, polite
- Weaknesses: Manipulative, pathological liar, impatient, jaded, loner, kinda nutters
“So, remember when I told you that I was from Denerim? That was a lie. Remember when I told you that I thought you were a beautiful woman? Another lie. The only kind of person that gets me all hot and bothered? Men. Men with nice arses. Oh! Do you remember when I told you my favorite color was blue? That wasn’t entirely a lie, but I prefer red to blue—oh.” Sirav sighed as the woman’s heart stopped beating. They all died so fast when he decided to play rough. “What a shame. And here I was going to ask her if she had any last wishes.” That was also a lie.
A dramatic sigh escaped his lips as he contemplated how he should be rid of the body. Chopping it up into little bits and sending a package to Meredith’s quarters would be funny, but it would most certainly blow his cover. “Balls to it, I’ll just incinerate you and be done with it. Filthy fucking wench you are, you don’t deserve a fun send off, now do you?” A twisted smile marred his doll like face as he grabbed his staff. Only a fraction of a second passed before the body was set aflame, burning and burning until the body was nothing but ashes and bones.
He fetched the buckets of water he was going to use to wash himself to put the fire out, not wanting to attract the attention of any locals. Sirav threw the bones into one of the empty buckets and grinned. The mabaris running about would take care of this mess, now wouldn’t they? It wasn’t that hard to get rid of evidence if one decided to think about things for a moment. Mabaris wouldn’t ask questions. They were an intelligent breed, but they were still dogs. His robes brushed against the ashes as he turned and they flew about in the air. Sirav sneezed loudly before he rolled his eyes. “Is this what they call karma?” He shrugged a bit as he meandered about the room, mind wandering from one subject to another.
The adrenaline rush from watching the girl die was wearing off. Sirav’s shoulders slumped as he marched up the stairs of his basement. He locked the door behind him, not wanting to deal with the girl any further at the moment. For some reason his head was pounding—it always happened when he wanted to feel at peace. There was someone trying to tell him something important, but he could never quite hear. In his dreams he would see his brother with blank eyes and a dead smile. A dead smile that used to be so bright.
Sirav’s shoulders trembled as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes it felt as if someone was punishing him for what he was doing, what he was trying to accomplish. The demons that whispered in his mind taunted him, willing to go further into the void. He would not amuse them any further than he already had. There was much to be done and if he was to succeed, he could not break. Not yet. “Brother, why did you leave me, brother?” His words wouldn’t have been audible if anyone was in the hallway, but there was no one to be found.
Not a soul ever heard the words of a rambling fool.
There was a time when Sirav was a good boy that believed in following the path of the Maker. When he had his brother, morals were something he believed that every man should have them. From time to time people asked him where his parents were. Sirav only explained that his mother had died while giving birth to Marik. However, he never explained that his father became a child beater after his wife died. That was what ran them out of their home initially.
Despite everything, he never stole a copper from a coin purse. Instead, he worked long days in fields to earn his coin. He did all of that to protect his brother, who was an apostate just like he was. His younger brother, Marik, was his pride and joy up until the day he disappeared.
In despair, Sirav searched far and wide for his missing brother. Years later he found him in a Chantry, but there was something horribly wrong with Marik. His brother’s clouded eyes and dead to the world smile would haunt him for years on end. Marik explained to him that he couldn’t take the demons in the fade whispering to him, so he went to the Circle to find answers. He found them in the form of Tranquility, which he had opted for instead of the Harrowing. Then, he called upon the Templars to doom his brother to the same fate.
Sirav saw red.
By the time he could comprehend his actions, everyone was dead, including his brother. He had no time to scream, no time to even grieve, as he knew that more Templars would come and they would certainly kill him. So Sirav ran. When the Templars cornered him inside of a cafe, Sirav believed himself to be doomed. However, it was at that point in time that he realized the voices in the fade Marik feared could save him. Forsaking pure magic, Sirav made a deal with a demon of Rage. Ultimately, Sirav wanted to be assured that he would make it out alive so he could get his vengeance. During that night he slaughtered the Templars when they believed they had him caught red handed.
He ran until he reached the Tevinter Imperium, which became a safe house for him until he grew older. For many years he practiced blood magic until he was an expert in the art.In Marik’s memory he climbed the Imperium’s political ladder until he was at the top—Well, not the tip-top, but he was close enough to be considered a force to be reckoned with.