Background/Introduction:

The name's Loric.

Back in Ghee, people just call me the 'Mender.' I run a small workshop—'The Second Chance,' it's called. If something's broken, be it a chair, a child's toy, or a farmer's plow, they bring it to me. I've always had a knack for seeing how things are meant to fit together. It’s a quiet life, and a good one.

I didn't grow up there, though. My story starts in a gray, crowded orphanage in the city. I don't know who my parents were; I was left on a temple step with nothing but a blanket and a small, carved wooden bird. In a place like that, everything is always breaking, and nothing ever gets fixed. I found a sort of peace in taking the forgotten, shattered things and making them whole again. It was the only thing that made sense.

That little wooden bird was the only thing I had that was truly mine. A few years back, an older boy, in a fit of spite, smashed it to splinters. I spent three days piecing it back together, meticulously, until you could barely see the seams.

After I fixed it, I realized there was nothing left for me in that city. It was too broken, and I couldn't mend it. So I left. I walked until I found Ghee, a place that felt like it was worth fixing. I've made a life there, but I'm learning that some problems are bigger than a wobbly table leg. Some things... some people... are broken on the inside, and you can't fix that by staying in one place.

Appearance:

Loric's demonic heritage is subtle but undeniable. He has small, smooth horns that curve back from his temples, which he often tries to hide under a hood or within his hair. His eyes are a warm, gentle amber, but in low light, they seem to glow faintly. His hands are almost always smudged with charcoal, paint, or clay, but his touch is surprisingly gentle.