Human old crone Warlock


Medea’s appearance can only be described as… memorable.

An approximately 50 year old woman who has lived a hard life, she has a sickly complexion and dry wrinkled skin, her chin has sprouted several whiskers and a scaly wart adorns her hatchet like nose. Her teeth are crooked and black at the roots with gaps where several have fallen out.

She wears a dusty and torn cloak and covers her straggly grey hair with the hood more often than not. Leather armor can be glimpsed between its folds and when threatened she can instantly produce a wand from one sleeve and a dagger from the other. She doesn’t use a walking stick yet, but compensates for her lack of agility with an ability to teleport around a battlefield and is very rarely in one place long enough to be hit.

With a razor sharp tongue that is always ready with an insult, curse or the kind of lewd suggestion that would make a sailor blush, she is not one to shy away from an argument. But she can regularly be found, withdrawn and muttering, perhaps even conversing with herself in several of the languages that she knows.

But her most remarkable feature is her eyes, they have a depth like the deepest ocean, a fire like the breath of a dragon, a vitality like a young bull and a youth that contradicts everything else about her.
An unlucky few who have really earned her wrath have also seen every ounce of her hatred, malice and implacable will, focused and fired from those eyes like a ray of destruction. None have survived…


There comes no warning from a spy
Your last breath and last day
Sudden death by bluff or stealth
Your life is whisked away

I look in the mirror and understand
There are people looking back at me.
People living one life;
Separate yet equal.
Those I show the world
And the one who I really am.
The mirror will splinter until we can all
Meld together into a happy whole.
I have an on/off switch
That works very effectively.
They are on;
I am off.
We are ME.


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