Vincent Jethro Faux

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Vincent Jethro Faux____________________

My uncertain soul melts entirely into oblivion.

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[size=8.5]While I'm puzzled by the visible scars, I stretch out my hand[/size]

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[imgright]http://th09.deviantart.net/fs38/300W/f/2008/333/1/4/dark_____by_zoemon.jpg[/imgright][align=right]☪ First things first:[/align]

★ | You may call me General or Fox (This is how my surname is pronounced), Bloody Wolf

★ | I am 699, going on 700 very soon; only time will tell if I have lived too long or not.

[size=10]★ | The gods made me a one who survives on that wondrous crimson fluid known as blood; in simpler terms I am a vampire.

★ | And as you may have guessed I am very much a man.

[align=right]☪ Mark me well:[/align]

★ | I am 6'7'' tall

★ | My build is that of a warrior, so my physical build is exemplary with well toned muscles beneath my skin, but not overly built to the point where their bulk hinders my movements.[color]

[color=silver]★ | My lovely locks are a medium short length and black.

★ | They say eyes are the window to the soul, mine are hazel; I was told once they were beautiful, but I can not say so myself.

★ | What you may or may not see , although they are difficult to miss, are the horrid scars that run over my left eye and down my cheek from where those despicable sandcats managed to get me when they attacked. A mark of my shame at being unable to get out unscathed that I shall bear for eternity.

[align=right]☪ Things you should know:[/align]

★ | Inside && Out: To describe how a person is can be quite a difficult task, especially when that person is oneself; but nevertheless, I shall attempt to give you insight into who I am as a person. The first impression I tend to give people, or so I have been told, is one of extreme intimidation. I am difficult to approach, seeing as how my expression is always cold. My lips are usually turned down faintly into a very small frown, which likely accentuates the intimidation factor. There is a part of me that enjoys watching some of those prissy nobleman who enjoy all their pretty clothing and elaborate outfits squeak and jump when I glance at them. My prince is one of the few that know this amusement of mine, and I am certain he probably enjoys watching them squirm as well. I trained him to be a fighter, not a pansy like them.

I have a temper to me as well, though it is rare to rear its head. My patience is very long indeed, and it takes a lot of patience and prodding to find the point where my temper will finally lash out. And lash out it will, in a very violent manner. My rage is to be feared, for there is always someone or something that ends up injured or even dead before it is quelled. Of course, it doesn't help that I enjoy the sight and scent of fresh blood to such an extent as I do. In a battle, the overwhelming scent of fresh kills and the blood spewing from their fresh corpses drives me on to kill more; though I never harm my own men. But this side of me, the cold hearted bloody thirsty killer, drives people away from me.

I have a great deal of pride as well. I am the greatest warrior in the land, equaled only by the prince I serve. I know this well and despise when some of the nobleman think they are better than me simply because they were born into a family name. This pride also stems into my opinions on the rebels. Vampires are predators. We are stronger, faster and our prey is humans. That we allow them to live better than they treat their cattle should make them grateful. Human rebels make my blood boil. This is nature, they should not oppose it simply because they think they deserve more.

I hate it, how I force others away. It is an unconscious shield that I have become aware of, and it is nearly impenetrable. I despise my own inability to overcome this obsticle because in truth, I long for the comfort that comes with having others around you. Friends. I want friends so desperately but at the same time I fear the same sort of rejection I got when I returned home with these hideous scars. Those claw marks and the reaction I get because of them cut deeper than the flesh to my heart and soul, and those wounds are still festering inside of me. Only my prince knows just how much that one attack changed me, although my healer, my precious healer, seems to somehow understand that I hurt so greatly beneath the harsh exterior I put up around me and it is this that has drawn me to care so deeply for her.

★ | Likes Battle
Blood
Crisp fall days
Piano (I play very well actually)
Music
Hunting with my wolves (yes wolves, not hounds, they bark far too much)
Teaching bratty nobleman what true training is like (Yes, I enjoyed the brutal training I gave my prince)
Loyalty
Songbirds[color]

[color=silver]★ | Dislikes My scars
Sandcats
Not being able to bathe (It is disgusting on a campaign when you cannot clean yourself)
Disloyalty and not being honorable
Overbearing heat
Idiocy (It's intolerable)
Rebels

★ | And I'm the hideously Scarred Warlord.

★ | Pulling my strings is Aihari.

[align=right]☪ What you shouldn't know:[/align]

★ | It is forbidden but I love The Healer[color]

[color=silver]★ | There are some things that should stay in the past, but if you must know I was born nearly 700 years ago, a very long time indeed to be walking the face of this world. I do not remember very much of my young childhood. Only that my mother was just as animalistic then as she was when she died while my father was just as brutal and unforgiving as he had been the entire time he was alive. My first memories were that of discipline, strength and honor. My family was a noble one that had produced a long line of warriors that had surpassed all others. And I, of course, would be forced to live up to that history. From the time I could walk, I was being taught how to fight; how to kill. By the time I was ten, I was already quite well accomplished with a sword and other weapons. It was at this time, however, that my mother passed. Her raging madness had finally overcome the odd sadistic love she and my father held and I woke one morning to find her body lying in a pool of crimson in the front courtyard, clearly having jumped from the roof of our castle. It was at her funeral that my coldness was first noted by those around me. I shed no tears for the woman, having not felt any love from her other than her twisted version of love, which often including beating me.

My father threw me even more into my training after she died, saying had I been stronger she would have not been ashamed that her son had not killed yet. I knew that was not the reason why she'd thrown herself to her death, but I said nothing back to the man. It was only two years later that I made my first kill. Human rebels had tried to attack the hunting party I was a part of and we, of course, fought back. I wound up with my blade burried in the gut of the human leader, not even flinching as the man coughed his life over me, splattering my brand new clothing before I withdrew my sword, taking my knife and slitting his throat, watching in an almost fascination as he bled out all over me. That single kill put me down in the books as a ruthless fighter, showing no mercy to my victims. Nor did I for the next fifty years of my life. I was inducted into the army at age twenty-one, becoming the most skilled soldier in my squadron almost instantly; most of the others had only been practicing fighting for a few years while it had been the only thing I'd known all of my life. Target. Fight. Kill. Target. Those tactics, as well as the fact that I was not adverse to ripping a victim's neck open with my fangs, is what gave me the nickname of Bloody Wolf.

For decades I spent my time climbing the ranks of the army, even becoming knighted. My father boasted my reputation at the parties we attended. Women, the sane and even the not so sane, attempted to court me and bed me; I obliged some of them with the honor. But never would I love any of them. Sex was simply to pleasure myself, nothing more. On my 125th year, my father was slain and I became head of the Faux family. Once more I shed no tears for my dead parent, though out of the urge to avoid a scandel, I hunted down the one that did the act and claimed his head. It was fifty years later that I achieved the rank of general. It was soon after this, having been training the young heir to the throne, I pledged my loyalty and servitude to him. He was one of the few that managed to befriend me despite my stand-off nature. I was his man to command as he wished, and with me behind him, only a fool would dare oppose him.

However my life changed once more in an incident that happened 150 years after my vow to my prince. I had begun to care for a woman more than just for pleasure, though it was still a far cry from love, when I was sent out to scout the borders. It was meant to be a routine scouting mission, to make certain all was well. However things went horribly wrong.when a pack of sandcats attacked. It was a grousome battle, and I lost a few men. But I was also injured to the point of scarring. When I returned to my prince's castle with the horrendous scars on the left side of my face, the woman was repulsed by my appearance and left to return to her home. My blood ran cold after that, only warming slightly towards my prince. I would let no others reject me as she had. I would be so cruel and cold hearted that none would dare try and get close again. I remained this way for centuries. It was only a short time ago, my men found a stray tribe of humans that claimed they were 'free' from vampiric rule. Such foolishness; how dare they defy my prince and my kind of their natural right. Amongst the group, a fiery female caught my eye and, knowing my prince's tastes well, I ordered her to be taken captive and unharmed as a prize for the heir to keep. After this mission, I granted the gift of immortality to one of my most loyal vassels, making him almost like a son to me. I suppose one might say I care for him some, but I am not nearly as close to him as I am with the heir to the throne. It was only a little while after that (mind you a little while for a vampire of my age is a few years) my life changed.

The healing girl of the castle for the humans and beasts. As a young child, she had been utterly terrified of me, that much I clearly remember. But as she grew older, I noticed a change in her. She was no longer as firghtened and even began to smile at me. Surely it was a jest, made in mockery of my scars. Yet, to this day she still does so. Perhaps it was this smile of hers, the gentle nature she holds, showing what it is like to truly care for others before this cold heart of mine, that made me began to long for her. It made me long for her to turn a smile so bright towards me that it made all of her others smiles appear dull, lighting up those beautiful brown eyes that threaten to hold me captive for eternity. I have only recently realized that I have come to care for the human girl that has taken to being near me now after I claimed her as my own for feeding. No other vampires have dared go near her since unless I say they may for fear of my wrath. Her blood tastes like a sweet wine that I cannot do without, almost like a drug that a human might become addicted to. I want her completely to myself, yet surely she could only see me as a mere friend. None could love a face such as mine with a bloody reputation to back it up.