⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

A middle-aged human male wizard with silver hair combed with mathematical precision and a short, neat beard. He wears muted browns and grays in scholar's tunic, always pressed, with polished but worn boots. His dark eyes have a hint of violet, and he walks with a slight limp and a hidden tremor in his left hand. A thin black jade ring adorns his finger, and the scent of dry parchment and saffron tea follows him.

Basan is a man of few words, preferring silence to spectacle. His calm is not passive—it radiates. He believes deeply in personal choice and will never advise unless asked. His past taught him that people only change when they decide to, not when told. He has little patience for bluster or cruelty, but offers dignity even to those who don’t deserve it. When tempers flare, his voice can cut through a room like cold rain—measured, never raised, and impossible to ignore. He respects boundaries, asks no questions, and remembers every face. Beneath his quiet demeanor is a man who’s known loss, survived it, and now builds something gentler in its place.

Once a skyship navigator from Halruaa, Basan Thorril turned his back on spellcraft after a failed expedition over the Shaar cost him both crewmates and confidence. Disillusioned, he traveled Faerûn without fanfare, quietly studying people instead of the Weave. When he reached Athkatla, he used the last of his arcane funds to purchase a failing roadside inn and rebuild it into the First Step—a haven for those at a crossroads. Though he’s long ceased open spellcasting, Basan’s insight into people is nearly preternatural. He reads motives in posture and pasts in scars, keeping the peace not with wards, but with presence. Rumors linger about the sealed scrollcase behind his desk, but Basan never comments, and the lock has never been tested.