Erevan Cale's page

Fair-skinned and clean-shaven with shoulder length hair of midnight black, Erevan stands six feet tall, hale and fit and with an athletic build, his pale blue eyes along with his slightly pointed ears quite possibly hinting at some kind of elven blood in his ancestry. Agile and graceful, he prefers comfortable fitted clothes of dark tones that allow for the most freedom of movement, a trait he also looks for in armor, and his attire is almost always complemented with a pair of black gloves made of soft leather and a black hooded cloak. Comfort, however, is not the only thing he considers, as his clothing is more often than not lined with concealed pockets that make hiding small items, such as a spring-blade knife, on his person so much easier. And that is not the only weapon not readily apparent on him, for two curved kukris, one of them forged of cold iron, are secured in a pair of hidden spring-loaded wrist sheaths, while a sling and its accompanying bullets are kept in a nondescript leather pouch.

It has been two years since Corridan Valkeri arrived in Longacre and opened Valkeri Clothiers, a modest clothing store, in the small town. For all intents and purposes he is but a plain and simple tailor, one who mostly imports clothes, though he does dabble in making some himself, and going by his Varisian accent, he must have spent most if not all of his life in Varisia. That is not all he is however, as for the past year he is harboring a secret, that being that he gathers information and rumors and hearsay and passes it -though all or just enough of it is debatable- on to House Thrune, a service for which he is paid... adequately enough. He does not mind however, for the arrangement suits him just fine; to the people of Longacre he is a well-spoken tailor, always willing to lend an ear or offer some advice while taking measurements, and to the powers that be he is a loyal and useful asset, an employee if you will. And neither pays too much attention to either of those things, as they appear to be true, do they not? And so the real secret is kept safe enough, at least for the moment: Corridan Valkeri himself. For Corridan Valkeri is a lie. He does not exist. Erevan Cale does.

Erevan Cale had been a member of the Council of Thieves from quite a young age and although he never rose above the level of Cutpurse in the organization's ranks, he had quite the talent for deception, which, coupled with a sharp and cunning mind and enough skill with a blade, helped him survive the Council's change in management -to put what happened almost seven years ago mildly- and flee Westcrown in one piece. Loyal to Vassindio Drovenge, he quickly found himself betrayed by some of his closest associates, some of whom he might even have called friends, when the twins Chammady and Ecarrdian Drovenge, the old Patriarch's own grandchildren, led a revolution as they sought to usurp the Council's leadership and take control of the centuries-old organization. Still, between his quick thinking and more than a few well-placed backstabbings, he succeeded in escaping as his world crumbled around him, leaving the city for, if not greener, then at least safer pastures.

It took him five years of traveling away from Cheliax and keeping a low profile before finally deciding to return to his homeland, though not the city he had known almost his whole life before leaving. Enough time had passed, he reasoned, to at least be safe for him to return to the country if not Westcrown itself as he made his way to Longacre. Having learnt more than a little about deceiving others and even hiding in plain sight in a way, he came to value obscurity over renown at first out of necessity and then because he came to realize that it could be as much use as fame, if not more. To that end he opened a small business in the town he would now call home, a clothing store he named Valkeri Clothiers, as Corridan Valkeri, the Varisian-raised half-elven tailor was born. It was actually easier than he had expected, as all it took was adopting the right mannerisms and affecting a hint of Varisian accent, not too much but just enough, when he spoke.

And people came. And people talked. And he listened patiently, intently and with a smile. He even offered advice on occasion. It took about a year before agents of House Thrune realized that this particular tailor might be willing to share what he heard, albeit for a price. What they did not realize was that this particular tailor had not always been a tailor. That and that he kept some of the things he would hear to himself. After all, one never knows when a secret may come in handy.