Name Pronunciation: Tzar-thos Kree-gar.

Rough Age: 195 - 208.

Race: Half-Giant (Fire).

Place of Origin: Unknown.

Profession: Mercenary/bodyguard.

Theme: Currently none.

Towering over most denizens of the isle, this gigantic creature clearly traces its roots back to some giant-sired lineage. With dark red skin, pitch black hair, and a glorious beard, this monstrous brute strides imperiously amongst the populace with an indifferent look upon his features, seldom noticing the insects that scurry about beneath his gaze. Rarely does this behemoth approach those tinier than himself, and more often than not his attentions seem to wander far off into the distance unless persistently sought. At a casual glance, Sarthos seems caught in a perpetual state of anger, that frightening expression purposely twisted to be unwelcoming - his visage likely meant to scare away pests or unwanted visitors. A bright, burning fire blazes within that single visible ocular, complimented in full by a jet of hot, steamy breath that occasionally slipped between his lips. In short, he didn't seem approachable, and if any situation could be considered a risk to those inquisitive few, this was one of them.

From a physical perspective he is not horrifically ugly, and that being the case as it is, hints that perhaps his bloodline was not so pure. Standing at roughly ten feet with strong, chiseled features, Sarthos is a naturally intimidating fellow - his height and near constant scowl providing a certain 'tension' in even the most civil of circumstances. Thick, veiny muscles are prominently displayed on his form, but most notably his chest and bicep regions. Strong legs, wide shoulders, and a massive frame lent the giant a certain gravitas, unspoken and ever present despite his abysmal social grace. Of all the interesting little details however, one battle scar stands out more than any other, though it is covered by an eye patch. Whether the result of a pitched battle with another colossal creature or some bold party of adventurers, Sarthos is missing his left eye. This stroke of misfortune has impacted his depth perception and thus crippled his ability to use any sort of ranged weaponry to some degree; a giant-sized, fiery sword the size of two grown men more than compensates for this in most instances.

When he spoke, a loud, baritone voice threatened to shake the very ground he stood upon, as if the air itself cried out in protest at the abuse inflicted upon it. He couldn't help it, and even a whisper from this creature alerted all within a small vicinity as to his business; stealth, guile, and subterfuge were not his strong suits.

Those who approach the half-giant too closely will find that it's unbearably hot near him, especially given prolonged exposure. These gradual yet dramatic temperature shifts can feel especially smothering to some creatures, and in severe cases could potentially induce heat stroke. Given his ancestry, Sarthos radiates far more body heat than normal, and while harmless to him, may cause discomfort to to any not inclined toward such conditions.

As a closing note, those that are even somewhat attentive may notice him fiddling with an object dangling from his belt, an act that's nearly impossible to miss given his size. The possession in question was a tiny ruby, lined with a polished, cared for silver that complimented it well. Occasionally, a small glimmer in the middle of the gem could be seen winking in and out, as if struggling to retain some consistency. Given the gentle care Sarthos treats this little bauble with, its personal value to him is very obvious.

What of his personality? That is for the brave few to know.