Tales of The Revenge
A pompous Frenchman with porté magic and panache.
Dax Severin is the bastard son of a noble, his father who is less a parental figure than a symbol of steely contempt. His mother is an innkeeper, dutiful and warm like the shelter she ran to house the bustling populace of Charouse. Most of Dax’s childhood was painted with memories in the woods, of the flickering shadow dance of canopy leaves against sunshine, and the blinking signals of fireflies as he tried to decode their muted messages. That is not to say Dax was solely a humble observer though he educated himself in the natural processes of the world; he was no stranger to picking a street fight for the sake of feeling his fist against someone’s nose. Friendships did not come as easy as the blunt words that rolled off his curt tongue. In the alleyways of Charouse, he was known as elusive troublemaker.
Entering the latter end of his teen years, he replaced the childlike curiosity for the world around him with an introspection on his own character. He was aloof from his father who was constantly away at covert soirees lasting into the young morning. Dax’s attempt to understand and become closer to his father was through mimicry from a far distance, though the sentiment was hollow. He believed in fine arts and fine wine. He built up his philosophy around such, surrounding his shelves and wardrobe with leather-backed tomes and fine leather apparel, personally-fitted to his fastidious eye. Though he sculpted himself a caricature out of his father, Dax learned less of who the man was behind the velvet coats than the extravagant palate for shellfish he had grown to like.