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Name: Phoenix Gerard

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Height: 5'4"

Eyes: Crimson

Hair (length/color): short-choppy in back and long-layered in front/black with silver streaks in front

Skin: Sickly pale

Piercings/Tattoos: N/A

Markings (birth marks/scars): There are scars from beatings almost all over his body. On his back there are mostly scars from whip lashings. There are scars from knife wounds on his chest, arms, and legs. For the most part, his face was spared with only a few, thin scars from nails being raked down his right cheek.

Species/Race: Vampire

Weapons (maximum limit of 3): A light-weight saber usually used for fencing when he was younger.

History: Phoenix turned out to be the unlucky first born son of the Mad King Morgan Gerard. For the first ten years of his life Phoenix was loved and adored by his father and was often told of how he would inherit the kingdom his father had "rightfully" taken from the original royal line. Although he was never taken outside the castle, his life was filled with love and happiness at that point in time.
Then sometime after his eleventh birthday, Phoenix's father snapped and began enacting cruel transgressions against his young son. He would beat him quite harshly and the louder he screamed, the harder he would hit him. The beatings would often go on until he could scream no more... or until he gave up. His mother was no help. She would often beg for her husband to stop, but her pleas went unheeded. He would simply have the queen confined to her bedchambers.
As Phoenix grew older it only got worse. He would often be left chained up in the dungeons. He was hardly given any nourishment unless he was in desperate need. It was apparent that his father had no intentions of killing him. Simply torturing him to his black heart's content.
When the wicked king grew tired of tormenting his son he would allow some of the high ranking nobles do whatever they wished to him. As long as they didn't kill him, it mattered not what dark desires they took out on him.
By his fifteenth year Phoenix was thoroughly broken in. He never let a cry of pain escape his lips no matter how badly it hurt. He didn't struggle. In fact, he didn't do much of anything. When in the dungeon he would lie listless in chains and allow whatever perversions to be done to him. When he was out of the dungeons he was in the library reading or he was in his room sleeping. He never did get much sleep or reading done with his father around.
Once he had gotten the courage to ask his mother why his father did such things. She claimed she didn't know. He asked her why he was allowed to do those things. Wouldn't the kingdom be worried about what was being done to its prince? Then his mother told him something that had never crossed his mind. The kingdom didn't know it had a prince.
His birth had been kept secret. Those who had been in the room when he was delivered were killed afterward if they were considered unimportant... which all of them save the queen and new prince had been considered very unimportant to the king.
Even during the ten years of bliss in Phoenix's life his existence had been kept secret. That was why he'd never left the castle. And when his father snapped... well there was no reason to bring him to light especially after that.
When he learned that there was no one - besides his mother - who would possibly care if he suffered in eternal torment, Phoenix found a reason to come back to life. Before that he had completely given up and had accepted his fate. Now... he knew he had nothing to lose. He would escape the pain and sorrow his father had inflicted upon him. And somehow, some way, he would find a way to make him pay for everything he's done.

RP Sample: The cell door was drawn open with the sound of steel scraping across stone. The light, almost imperceptible footsteps he recognised as his father's gait approached soon after. He took in a deep breath and vaguely wondered what he had in store for him today... or was it tonight?
There was no sense of time for him down in the dungeons. Once he'd tried to keep track of the hours passing, but he'd lost track soon after the beating began. How was he supposed to keep his head clear when he was being slammed against the rock already wet with his blood? He'd considered asking, but that would have only made it worse. For some reason the urge to snap back was always at the front of his mind... but he never acted on that urge. He was afraid to.
That fear was what had allowed him to be held prisoner by his own father for six long years. Six? He thought to himself, still trapped in his own mind and unaware of the danger on the outside. I haven't thought about it lately... but I suppose my birthday must have passed recently. Maybe it had been that day with the extra special beating? Or the one where he'd been left alone to read in the library...
No. He knew which day it had been. It was the day his father had come down to the dungeon drunk on his own power. He had just slaughtered some rowdy slaves and his thirst for blood and violence hadn't been sated just yet. He'd grabbed Phoenix's scrawny, pale left arm with one of his own powerful hands; with the other, he'd drawn a rather dirty looking knife. Dirty in the way that it looked like it had been used recently; very recently.
Having been faced with many a sharp object, Phoenix hadn't bothered struggling. In fact, he'd watched with a slightly morbid fixation as his father crookedly carved the word "b*****d" into the frail flesh of his arm. The knife had stung like no other, of course. It was so strange, how badly it hurt. That was one of the few times he actually let out a gasp of pain.
When he'd finished his work, his father had smiled, struck him, then left.
The searing pain seemed to be traveling along his wounded arm. That was most unusual. The pain never lasted that long. He never felt dizzy like that afterward either... Shouldn't the bleeding have stopped by now? That was the last coherent thought to pass through his brain before the darkness consumed him.

Name: Osiris Darke

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Height: 5'9"

Eyes: Dark Brown

Hair (length/color): Medium length, spiked/Black and white two-tone.

Skin: Dark brown

Piercings/Tattoos: N/A

Markings (birth marks/scars): Has a large vertical scar running over his missing eye.

Species/Race: Dranocyn

Weapons (maximum limit of 3): Longsword, battleaxe

History: Osiris was born into a military family in service to the King of Sundosia. They kept their Dranocyn heritage a secret, for they were ashamed of their "defect." His father, of course, trained him well when it came to not only the sword and axe, but to using his mind as a weapon. Osiris, being gifted in both mind and body, learned quickly.
When he was 14, he was to do a field test with other potential recruits to find if they were worthy to become knights themselves. Osiris and the others headed into the forest, where they would be required to survive for one week. However, several days into their testing, the group came across a band of vampire slave traders, who attacked them and forced retaliation from Osiris and his team. The fight raged for a few minutes, but it was clear that the experienced vampires had the upper hand on the novice human soldiers.
Osiris managed to survive after playing dead when a vampire sword took his left eye. He fell to the ground and allowed the fight to finish, praying that the slave traders would not inspect the bodies. His prayers were answered, although that did not turn out well for Osiris. He was now lost and alone, badly wounded and on the lookout for attack. Without any other plan, Osiris simply fled further into the forest, always alert for any attack that might end his life.
After a few months of wandering in the wilderness, Osiris managed to find his way to the ports on the coast. He was taken into a mercenary company, where he continued his training with the sword and axe. Currently, he is traveling alone along the coast after having left the company to travel the world.

RP Sample: The fine spray of the ocean, launched into the air by the prow of the vessel upon which he stood, misted Osiris' face softly. He smiled and took a deep breath of the salty sea air, feeling the sun on his naturally tanned skin and the gentle rocking of the boat beneath his feet. All was well so far.
He turned back to the crew, stepping down from the raised point of the mercenary vessel. The rest of the crew bustled around, going about the difficult business of keeping the boat under way, but Osiris was simply smiling and enjoying the sun. In response to Osiris' attitude, the mercenary commander, a large grizzled man with a great beard, came thundering across the deck to shout at the young Warrior. "What're ye doin, lad? We have work to be doin, and ye're standin aboot and larkin the day away? Not on my watch, and not in my company!" The gigantic man looked down into Osiris' remaining eye, which sparkled with humor.
"Of course, Commander," Osiris said easily, in his not-quite-disrespectful tone. "It's my honor to serve among this fine company, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that." He went back to looking out at the waves, but this time much more seriously and devotedly. The Commander would brook no disrespect, but due to Osiris' skills with the sword and axe the Commander had no choice but to allow his key Warrior to continue on as he saw. The Commander stormed off to make sure the rest of the crew was working.
Osiris was lost in thought behind his cheerful veneer. Although it was difficult for him to be truly happy, he did his best to pretend. And it was easier to forget his troubles when he was in the thick of a fight. Yes; they were headed off to yet another mission. Maybe this would be the day that Osiris could find something to change his life.
"Maybe today..." he murmured.

Name: Tiberius Sentalis

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Height: 6’1”

Eyes: Ice Blue

Hair (length/color): Shaven, when grown out it is blonde

Skin: Fair

Piercings/Tattoos: Tiberius has a tattoo of wings with a shield on his shoulder and another black tattoo along his spine that accents the bones.

Markings (birth marks/scars): Tiberius has a scar on his right eye that was caused by a sword that narrowly missed his eye. Beyond that he has a brown scar on the left side of his chest where he suffered an axe wound he almost died from.

Species/Race: Human

Weapons (maximum limit of 3): A long sword mounted on his side and an axe mounted on his back.

History: Tiberius’ father was a knight of the white city and ever since he was a boy that is what he dreamed of being. When he was of age Tiberius began his training and not once did he think of the lives outside of the city. As he grew older he fought battle after battle against vampires and all sorts of dark creatures but he never once questioned orders, not even if the orders put lives at risk. This was until he was sent to a small village on the coast. What people that were left died within moments of their arrival and what he saw bothered him even more. A boy was cradling a dead father in his arms and screaming to the heavens for vengeance. When Tiberius returned he discovered all too well what the boy felt for his father was dieing too. Tiberius took care of his father for three weeks barely sleeping and only taking meals at certain times. On that third week his father died and his commanding officer allowed him to station himself wherever he liked. In two days Tiberius headed towards Izot. This is now his third year in Izot and he has taken up the axe and has left his sword behind him until his homeland calls upon his services once again.

RP Sample: It was a calm cool morning in the small village Tiberius called home. Tiberius emerged from his cottage and took in a deep breath of the cool air. His fur boots felt nice on this cold morning as he walked towards market to buy some food for the day. Though he was still very much a part of the army his father’s death had allowed him to choose where he was assigned, the last gift of a great man. Tiberius bought some bread and meat in exchange for a few coins. Often times he wouldn’t have to pay a cent due to the lumber he would bring into town once every two weeks. The market women bid him a good day as he ventured back inside to store the days meal.