Name: Cyrus Valtore

Species: Fae

Gender: Male

Age: approx. 38, appears around 25

Would be considered a child to other fae, due to being rather young compared to other which may be well into their centuries

Appearance:

Cyrus is a tall individual at 6’4”, with a lean build some would consider to be fairly muscled though most would still consider him to be tall and somewhat skinny, unlikely to possess any special physical strength but not lacking in it. His skin is a tanned tone almost like honey, marred only by smaller scars from various sources. His hair is black and nearly straight, long enough to reach midway down his back and often worn in various braided ponytail styles which keep it free from his face. He has a couple freckles scattered across his cheeks, below his sage green eyes framed by short lashes and softly arched eyebrows. Like most fae he has pointed ears and slightly sharper canines, as well as his appearance often giving off the feeling it is not real even with no glamor present.

Cyrus’s clothing style often consists of items which portray elegance with an aspect of simplicity. No complex patterns or decorative elements, but clearly made of materials most common folk could not afford. Rarely does his attire consist of colorful elements, usually consisting of various black and white items, as well as many shades of gray, occasionally with an accent of color. He wears some jewelry, usually simple earrings and perhaps a ring or two. Often a near perfect combination of standing out but not enough to be remembered as anyone remotely remarkable or in need of being remembered.

Personality:

Describing Cyrus is a task that not even his closest friends would try to tackle. Many would simply consider him to just be a wildcard, someone nearly unpredictable. A great deal of his behavior is an act, him simply pretending to play the role of the outcast younger prince who has no responsibilities to uphold. Therefore he is fairly charismatic and can be relatively flirtatious, whatever it takes to get what he wants. He has a hot temper that is easily set off by the wrong remark, and holds grudges that’ll last a lifetime. Most of the time he seems to give off a false confidence, seemingly so sure of himself yet always is awfully indecisive. Oddly enough he has been noted to have a compassionate side, a side which sometimes shows through his more irritating nature, and thus it is seldom realized.

He is a horiddly insecure individual, despite also having a tendency to act vain on occasion. He has a strong desire to prove himself to his “family”, even if it could mean his own death, which is often taken advantage of. He is simply too blind to notice this truth, or simply chooses to ignore it out of some misguided hope.

Notes:

• Cyrus technically doesn’t have a surname, due to being born out of wedlock. He was only granted one to hide the fact the Queen had an affair from all but the royal family.
• His desire to prove himself is his fatal flaw

The fae studied his reflection in the fountain, though his reflection was not quite his own. An unfamiliar face stared back, with short golden hair and warm brown eyes, three jagged scars cutting across one side. It was a face which was not his own, and he was oh so proud of it for the lack of effort he put into it. The glamor held strong, a mask placed over his true face to make him a stranger. It was all for the best, for his face was everywhere. Plastered to every business and notice board the town had.

What had he even done to earn such attention? Perhaps there had been a fight with a knight, a rather brutal one at that, but he had not been the one to throw the first punch so surely they were taking things too far. Least that was what Cyrus told himself, though he was certain there was more to it than just one fight with a particularly obnoxious knight. Afterall he had come here to find proof that this kingdom was starting a war no one knew was happening, it seemed like he had drawn too close. Perhaps after the heat died down a little he could return. First it was best to decide if this little border town had anything to offer.

He drew away from the fountain, smoothing out the long black waistcoat he donned over a white shirt gray vest. All of which once looked to be something of value, now dulled in tones or stained by dirt, seams coming loose at their ends. Normally he would be particularly displeased, but somehow it made him blend in more so instead he was grateful. Mostly as it saved him the hassle of finding suitable clothing which he figured would not match his preferences well enough.

Quickly Cyrus left the town center, walking along cobbled roads lined with businesses and homes, market stall setup wherever they may fit. When he had first arrived, he’d attempted to ask questions of the merchants. Surely they had to know something. However he was always met with the same answer. No one knew about the fae because their borders had been closed to outside merchants for over a decade, and thus they had no way of knowing what was wrong. They were also rather avoidant of the question, but then again most humans seemed far from eager to speak with a tall stranger asking strange questions about strange races.

He paused by a tavern, eyeing the door as he debated whether he should eat. He ended up venturing in even if it was simply to find out what was offered, greeted with a warm environment full of conversation. It was familiar in a way, a feeling he wasn’t sure what to do with. After pausing in the doorway for several seconds he moved to an empty table towards the edge of the room, seating himself down comfortably and allowing his eyes to travel across the faces in the room. Perhaps he could find his answers here where the townspeople seemed to gather, whether through question or by overhearing the talk of another.