Social Rank: 9
Concept: Horrible Druggist
Fealty: Valardin
Family: Lacerhaft
Gender: male
Marital Status: single
Age: 31
Birthday: 04/13
Religion: Pantheon
Vocation: Apothecary
Height: tall
Hair Color: greasy black
Eye Color: brown disaster
Skintone: waxy pale

Description: The waxy skin and weak chin of this face gives the impression of a candle left out in the sun a bit too long. Greasy black hair recedes from a sharp widow's peak into a messy coxcomb at the back, as if every strand were trying to flee the horrible features below. The eyes of an indeterminate color (they might be brown, or they might be what happens when you mix a rainbow together and forget that the result is likely going to be brown) have bags under them so dark and deep that they look like he was punched in the face repeatedly, and really, who could blame the assailant? That's a face even a mother could punch repeatedly. The nose is a raw red as if it has been rubbed too often.

He stands with a slight vulturish stoop, with long arms, bandy legs, and a small torso with a build that could be described as 'got all the necessary organs in and then gave up.'

Personality: He rarely has an unkind word for anyone, this is because he lacks the strength of personality to deal with the consequences of unkind words. He has plenty of obsequious words, and wheedling words, and even a few solicitous words. The rest of his words are either incoherent, unprintable, or said behind someone's back.

He is unashamed of who he is, or rather, he seems to be incapable of shame. He suffers fools gladly in the hopes they may have money. He finds it very easy to stick to his convictions no matter what, as he has none.

Background: At an early age Wrakjon Lacerhaft fell in with a bad crowd with such velocity that he left a crater, and he has been digging into it ever since. He is most notorious in gambling circles, where he owes so many debts that he mostly keeps his fingers by dint of too many people arguing with each other over who gets to cut them off.

He is also kept alive by being a surprisingly reliable source of salves and a decent sawbones, skills he's picked up in a curious sort of natural selection where he managed to undergo all the experimentation that was dangerous enough to learn from but not dangerous enough to kill him. Anyone he's stitched up reports never feeling any pain after he gave them a bracing drink, although it took several days for the walls to stop crawling with pixies.