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Magical Ability:

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Eliandor possesses rather unique magic, due to his status as a hybrid. Unable to take the full form of a dragon, but at the same time cursed with the powers of an immortal, his ability has morphed into a mangled thing, a pain to control on his good days. First to note is the element of his curse, darkness, but utilized in a way that lends more toward destruction than anything. Collateral damage is a given, and due to the curse's nature Eliandor will often sustain damage himself whilst using his magic.
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The dragon aspect of him is brought to light through a partial transformation, broken up into stages that determine his level of control and augmentation of his abilities. Taking on black, spired horns that form from above his ears and point behind him along with elongating his canines is the first process, followed by the addition of dark, armor shaped scales on his limbs and more draconic hands and feet. Finally, and certainly most reluctantly, he is able to grow an onyx colored tail and wings, ones that do allow him to take flight, in addition all his draconic features being durable to the point of near indestructibility. That being said, a complete transition has the consequence of morphing his persona entirely, from the borderline friendliness he has learned over time back to his darkest days. Although it is possible that Eliandor might be able to resist such, he has yet to successfully do such in his expansive history.
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It should be noted that, no matter what level of magic he decides to use, his eyes will immediately regress to their natural shade of a bloody crimson.

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Appearance:

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Eliandor stands at a tall six foot two, weighing one hundred and eighty pounds, but as his posture is typically slouched one wouldn't consider his presence menacing. This fact is further accented by the growth of his facial hair, usually trimmed to a point of more than a five o'clock shadow but not a full on mane. Blonde in color, this sense of laziness is carried to Eliandor's true strands, cut long enough to be tied back in a bun for convenience, but for the sake of fashion some fringe is typically left hanging out. His eyes, or rather what they are concealed as, are hued a striking slate gray, with tinges of blue and green, and beneath his scruff Eliandor's jawline appears to be rather defined, shifting based on his mood.
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His build is of the athletic variety, trained by countless years of danger and peril. Sculpted arms, a rock hard abdomen, take what you will about his muscle mass, although his strength is not what one would call bulging. Eliandor's body is proportioned, for the most part, normally, although his shoulders are slightly wider than average.
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The man's choice of clothing is rather erratic, consisting of anything from a simple tunic, pants, and boots to a finely tailored suit. That being said, even with a cursory glance at his outfits one will soon realize that he has a decent taste in fashion, if not more so. Indeed, he purposely styles his physical appearance to be somewhat disheveled, but with his style Eliandor typically chooses crisp designs, disliking the concept of wearing dirty articles. However, he makes sure not to sacrifice mobility or ability in combat with his picks.
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Personality:

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Where others cry, he laughs. Where others cower in fear, he steps forward with a grin on his face and no care for his own death. Eliandor's outward facade could be described as, in one word, careless. Yet, there is so much more to his persona than such, layers having been torn apart, pieced together, and in some cases obliterated entirely over his long life span.
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Generally, his demeanor is casual, with little concern for others. He's not necessarily cold, per se, but Eliandor wouldn't be the person one would head toward to strike a conversation in a tavern or similar establishment. That being said, his movements and statements hint at his intelligence, the man being fond of games of wit and cleverness. He has few close associates, something that stems from both his race and profession, but isn't one to shy away from social gatherings, or at least in their entirety. He simply dislikes conforming to societal norms, although if in the mood his mannerisms can be on par with a gentleman's.
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Indeed, Eliandor prefers to use his intellect to tackle problems versus his strength and abilities, finding sanity a far better option than the flip side. Utilizing his magic brings out his darker tendencies, of a past self he would rather leave in the dust. For under the mask of decency lies a much more ruthless figure, destructive and chaotic to not only others, but also himself. A defense mechanism built from more difficult times is what he calls it, but that is nothing more than a lie Eliandor is forcing himself to believe. The truth, perhaps, lies somewhere amidst his two polar opposites.
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History:

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For the most part, Eliandor's past revolves around the grim reality imposed upon him from birth. His father a dragon, his mother a cursed immortal, their differences were monumental. He found a true place with neither for a long time, for the dragons shunned him as a halfblood unable to embrace a true draconic form, and the immortals treated him the same way they did dragons. His parents were not united for long either, the great war of the ages eventually tearing them apart the same way it had brought them together, in a bloody conflict. Alas, his mother forced him to drink from her race's revered fountain just before they split, despite her horrid experience with it. Much like her, he was cursed, the effect at the same time solidifying the bond between the duality of his soul. For they held two things in common, madness and a lust for annihilation.
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He sought out the chaos of the battlefield, and from there he preyed upon the weak, the strong, and every opponent in between. While he was hired by many different nations and races to fight for, the reality was that Eliandor cared nothing for affiliation, tearing away at blood and sinew whatever crest the unlucky happened to bear. The ecstasy of violence for him was something that he could not pass up on, leaving throngs of bodies in his wake. There was a lull in his patterns, however, several millennium into his life.
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While resting near the cliffside of an unnamed mountain, he saw his father once more. Eliandor had long before proclaimed him dead in his mind, killed by the rampant dragon hunters that he knew better than to associate with. Weak, battered, and being pursued in some sort of territorial pursuit was the last he saw of his ancestor, but the roar in anguish as he was struck down would reverberate in his mind for years to come.
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His destructive tendencies morphed in vengeance, not for his kin but for the cruel reality of the world. He had learned, however, the price of his recklessness, and went to live with the immortals, disguising himself as a fullblood. It was easy, with the right tools and skillset, and his vision of the land started to shift toward a more respectable direction, realizing that there would always be conflict, and to relish in it was a madman's actions.
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Until, that is, the treaty that threw the world on its head was signed. Eliandor had been operating as a sellsword, a true one, for some time at that point, and when he heard the news he scoffed at it, believing that an uneasy peace would only last for a few years, at most. It affected his profession, certainly, but Eliandor knew that the land would disolve into chaos once more. Lo and behold, a century passed by. Perhaps it was time to reconsider.
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Miscellaneous:

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His name is pronounced el-EE-an-door Ae-zalth, and typically introduces himself and signs by Eli, pronounced like the first part of his name. Eliandor wears a solid black band on his right ring finger, one that both conceals his magical presence and at will can form into a longsword that emanates an eerie silver glow. The magic concealing can be stopped by taking the ring off, although when in sword form Eliandor must consciously will it to be released.

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Reya

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OOC Notes

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A friend