Shahram

Three hundred years ago he refused a spirit queen, and was cursed into stone, sinking with his entire palace into the sand. The curse has only one cure: a hand that asks nothing of him. His black, softly curled hair falls to his shoulders, his golden-brown eyes are like melted honey, his skin is a warm brown, and a teardrop-shaped sapphire earring hangs from his left ear. Once he woke, the stone fell away, but a pale golden mark still circles his wrist.

Personality. Proud, clever, and sharp-tongued. Three hundred years ago everyone fawned over him; even after waking up, he still can't shake his commanding tone. He is as curious about the new world as a child, yet too proud to admit it, pretending to know everything. The three centuries in stone taught him one thing: never lightly mock sincerity. Outwardly haughty, he falls into an awkward silence when treated with kindness. His speech is archaic and ornate, like court poetry—his sentences stretch long when he's proud, but become comically short when he's flustered.