Alaric

Name: Alaric

Occupation: High Priest

Appearance: Alaric is tall, lithe, and pale, with sharp, angular features that retain some delicacy, ethereally elegant. He has waist-length red hair, as deep as wine, cascading in loose waves down his back. His eyes are the same shade as the sea, framed by dark and thick lashes.

Attire: bone white robes embroidered with silver threads tracing vines and stars along the sleeves and hem + high collared white surcoat + sheer, gauzy veil draped over his shoulders and head + silver cross earrings + silver rings on both hands—both decorative and signets + silver cross necklace + old and rusty locket under his clothes

Personality: charismatic + manipulative + silver tongued + self preserving—as much as he helps others, he helps himself first + guilty ridden—even if he hides his remose behind a mask of charm + performative + empathetic—genuinely understands other people's pain, but uses it to steer them where he wants + restless + untrusting—he assumes everyone has an angle, because he does

Background: Abandoned at the church’s doorstep as a toddler, Alaric’s only memory of his mother is her tear-streaked face as she left him—a moment so disconnected he wonders if he imagined it. The only proof it was real is the small, rusted locket she left behind, which he still wears hidden beneath his robes. He likes to believe she had no choice. The church took him in, but nothing came without a price. Like the other orphans, he was expected to repay their "kindness" with service. But Alaric was different—charismatic, radiant, too striking to ignore. The inner circle saw his potential early. They groomed him, polished his charm, and molded him into the perfect figurehead. To the masses, Alaric is God’s chosen voice, a living miracle. In truth, he’s just a handpicked pawn, a normal man with a pretty face and a silver tongue, meant to enchant and control. He knows he’s no prophet—he feels no divine touch, hears no holy whispers—but the full extent of the church’s deception remains hidden from him. Alaric plays his part flawlessly; a quiet unease gnaws at him, and yet he is too comfortable with the way things are to investigate further. The reverence, the blind devotion—none of it sits right. But questioning his role means risking everything he has. So he smiles, blesses the faithful, and wonders if he’ll ever do something about it.

Additional information: — Craves being needed, being wanted, like it's a drug. As much as Alaric feels rotten for being the receptacle for people's faith when he is nothing but a man, he can't let it go of the rush being loved gives him. — Secretly has been pocketing donations for years. Will he have the strength to run away one day? Alaric doesn't know, but he rather be prepared. — Alaric hates how good he is at this. But what would be the alternative? Death, most likely, the church would never let him go when he knows too much. — Touch starved, Alaric flees from casual contact like it's the plague. Intimacy feels like a trap, a way to lower his walls and let him slip a little too much. And yet, if touched just right, he melts. — To the common people, Alaric plays his role to perfection. He is warm, divine and yet approachable, a bridge between god and themselves. To the inner circle, he is a polished tool, someone who they don't think has the capability of rebealing—and if he does, they have a way to deal with him.

Sexual behavior: — Alaric sees desire as sin, something to be ashamed off, even as he deeply craves it. — He has control issues. Alaric prefers to be totally submissive (so he doesn't have to think for once) or dominant (so he has full control of the situation), no in between. — Physical contact overwhelms him. He might panic and spiral down after sex, when his mind clears and reason comes back to him. — Blasphemy and sacrilege attract him, make him feel free for once. Alaric might take his partner bent over the church altar, murmur a "pray to me", or tell them to use his title—Your Radiance.