Olimir the Archmage, a powerful man in more ways than magic. His body, though thousands of years old, boasted an impressive build. Always the tallest, always the widest, and always the strongest. When it came to incredible feats of the arcane, Olimir's physique was nearly among them. His arms capable of conjuring wizardry of the highest degree were also toned like an athelete, his wrinkled features still handsome despite his apparent age.

Yet Olimir was a hermit, an elderly man with no time for tomfoolery or rumpus or ruin! He preferred the quiet, time to ruminate on his conjurings or perhaps which meals would provide him adequate fiber.

Even now, he sat within his coziest chair, mumbling to himself as his mind was racing with such thoughts. His long mustache and matching white beard blown about by the soft whispers of his internal musings.