Paranoid, given to fantastic delusions, and gripped by fear, Daskinor is as dangerous as he is mad. The seeds of his insanity were present long ago, but it has grown in intensity over the centuries so that now, his terror is broken only by random outrage and accusations. Daskinor’s diseased mind invents enemies where none exist, and they change all the time. Some new threat swims up through his mind’s fog, and once he puts a name to it, he expends every resource at his disposal to destroy it. His recent targets include the Veiled Alliance, the tanning industry, three clueless slaves, nobles, templars, ordinary citizens, colors, and whatever else catches his attention in a negative way. Daskinor does experience rare, fleeting periods when he is nearly lucid, or at least, when he is less dangerous to others than he normally is. He is experiencing one such period now. No one believes that it will last, and all wait resignedly for the next threat to assail their eccentric king
The years weigh heavily on the sorcerer-king. Once a thin, vibrant man, Daskinor is frail, sallow, and wrinkled. His eyes are wide and overlarge, flicking back and forth as he rocks on his throne. Daskinor hoards everything in the belief that his enemies can use anything he discards against him. He never cuts his hair or fingernails, and he never bathes out of fear that an assassin might extract some essence from the dirtied water and render it into a poison that can kill even a sorcerer-king.
Currently, Daskinor frets about those who possess psionic power. His templars scour the city for anyone displaying talent with the Way, and those discovered are executed with no recourse. That Daskinor also has great psionic power is not lost on the sorcererking and, in darker moments, he suspects even himself of evil plotting; thus, he permits no mirrors in his quarters, lest he catch himself in his own gaze and fall prey to an attack from his subconscious.