Name: Kasander

Age: Well, his body's currently seventeen. Before that, he was alive for 47 years, and in between his death and rebirth about a millenium passed.

Appearance: The Dragon Key does not recognize himself in a mirror, on the best of days. Those are the days he can forget the scrawny, pale, scarred body that he inhabits now, and believe himself to be the tall, strong warrior with scars honourably earned, the King who no man dared touch for fear that he would rend them apart with his bare hands.

Kasander is tall, though not the towering presence of ancient days, and his bones are straight despite the number of times they have been broken and mended. His skin is as white as a sheltered maiden's, for he is not allowed the sun. His eyes are still the eerie amber gold that had songs of its own, but the fire that burned within them and threatened to scorch the world has turned inward, roasting him inside. Sharp cheeks and visible ribs seem to have no room for a man inside them, and truly, Kasander wonders if there is even one there any more. History: Kasander is the re-incarnation of Great King Zoreem Atulan Fetim (zoh-REEM ah-TU-lan feh-TIERN) , Lord of the Seven Tribes, Weilder of Foeslayer, Guardian of the Blood. A thousand years ago, his kingdom was the mightiest in the world, grown to great heights under his fearless leadership. It stretched from sea to sea, and those who did not pay it honour and tribute soon wished that they had.

The King was mighty, the King was wealthy, and the King was cruel. He showed no mercy to his enemies, even those who attempted surrender, and showed no hesitation in naming subjects enemies with the slightest provocation. His thoughts did not go beyond his empire, his power, his happiness, and he could not be happy without more and more and more. A cold killer in battle, his blood-fire burned in 'justice' and 'entertainment,' and the two were often mixed. A man who questioned the King's taxes would see himself castrated while his mother, wife, and children of both sexes were raped in the arena. His word was life and death, and he came to to think that made him the equal of the gods, and soon, their better.

It was at this point that the gods said, "Wait just a bloody minute." In the tradition of such presumptuous men, Zoreem was brought to ruin. Disasters struck his people time and again, and the god-king proved himself impotent in their wake. Armies deserted, slaves revolted, and one by one the provinces slipped out of his grasp. In a last, desperate, and ultimately successful attempt to save what was left of the kingdom, his own royal guard dragged him to the altar of the high temple and cut his heart out as an offering of penitence.

Cut to the present day. The Great King Zoreem Atulan Fetirn has been erased from the memory of the world. His statues are smashed, his monuments defaced, his records burned. A school child could not draw even the vaguest boundaries of his empire on a map. His legend has blended with that of a hundred other men brought low by their own hubris and cruelty, told as a cautionary tale to youngsters at bedtime. And he is a Key. Born to parents unknown, left on the steps of the Palace, he has lived his life here and will see his death here, and that mercy cannot come soon enough.

Personality: Kasander knows precisely who and what he once was, and why he is here. He knows it is no coincidence that the dragon theme which decorates his rooms is a mockery of the helm he once wore into battle. He has known this his entire life, from his first fuzzy memories, and he has spent that life praying to be allowed to forget.

His prayers have yet to be answered, for why should the gods cater to he who is supposedly greater than they? Though he asks forgiveness, at times it comes closer to commands. He has not yet learned to truly repent his pride and selfishness, and, though he experiences pain comparable to that which he inflicted upon others, he cannot yet empathize with them. Until he does, he will continue to suffer, and to wish for a death that will not come.

He's not immortal, precisely. He can age and he can, theoretically, die. So far, he has healed treatment that would have killed most people, but no one has yet tried slitting his throat (at least not deeply) or stabbing him in the heart (close, yes, but not directly in the heart). He cannot test the theory himself, for every time he thinks of suicide, _something_ prevents him from carrying through.

No matter how often he fantansizes about killing himself, he cannot move his hands to do so. Perhaps it is an injunction by the gods that prevents him, or perhaps it is just the unconscious knowledge that death would be only a brief reprieve before he was again born to something as bad or worse.

Life has left him sullen, angry, hating and not knowing precisely what it is that he hates. He attempts to be as unresponsive as possible to anything, but pride regularly drives him to loud, ineffectual rage. The humiliation that always follows that is often compounded by weeping, huddling fear, a voice inside him screaming for him to do anything, ANYTHING, even admit that he was wrong.

And he cannot. So here he lives, yet another bondage slave for the more sadistic patrons of the Palace.

Rooms: Kasander is condemned to a 'playroom' designed by a master sadist. It is but one large chamber, and there is no where he can hide to forget where he is. The "furniture" consists mostly of a stunning array of torture devices and restraining structures, altered just enough from their original form to be "toys" rather than automatically lethal.

There is but one real chair, one that does not double as a place for bondage, and that is the Master's throne. Kasander is forbidden to sit there, ever. Again, there is little coincedence in its resemblance to his high throne, with its clawed feet and arms, the fearsome teeth decorating its backpiece seeming ready to rend the slave's flesh.

The bed is a place also forbidden to Kasander except in his current Master's company, and it too is more a place of torment than of rest. Five of the six walls are mirrored. The sixth is smoothly polished stone, sporting a huge rack of lovingly tended 'tools' and 'toys.' Knives mock him with their exquisite sharpness-- the staff has long since learned that he cannot harm himself. Royal crimson barding decorates the mirrors and stone, draping in velvet and silk folds over the bed and throne. The furniture itself is black, wood and leather, iron forged dark and cold. There are no windows, and only one door.