Name: Mathias Maxwell

Race: Mystic Breed Catfolk

Class: Sorcerer/Natural 1 of a person

From: Catskill, NY

Height: 6'2 but like grossly lanky

Weight: Thin, but like disappointingly thin.

Hair color: Black with a streak of white on the right side

Office Look: That perfect office drone look: a polka dotted red tie connected to a tight buttoned white dress shirt with a collar a bit too stiff. Black slacks tapering off into shiny, polished dress shoes. They're Clarks, which are always excellent for support.

Outside the office look: The most neon windbreaker you could imagine over a pair of salmon colored shorts that connect his skinny, skinny legs to black dress socks and sandals.

Favorite Possession: An old, beat up pen complete with a chewed end given to him by his brother

Maxwell is many things; devious, self serving, cunning, but most of all, very lonely and confused. Ever since an encounter at the Courthouse with the Bulldogs and a kind act from Hobe, Maxwell's world view has been shattered. Does he have friends? Can he make friends? Are friends friends? At an early age, he was plucked and groomed by his family to be the ultimate middle manager and carry on the traditional Maxwell clan creed of unbiased bureaucracy. Mathias has done little on his conquest of pure micro-management to make friends and lasting connections with others. Now after witnessing  true friendship blossom before his eyes with the bulldog crew's constant antics, he wants to offer an olive branch and see what these "hi-fives with your bros" are all about. Of course if his unfeeling family of calculating assistant supervisors get wind of this, who knows what might be in store for Maxwell's future.