Arthe

Name: Arthe Frustrae
~Nickname: N/A
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Breed: Vampire
Alliance:Neither
Ranking:Ryoushi
Warrior Class:Spellcaster; Ninja
~Sub-Class:Sage; Martial Artist
Elemental Affinity:Void (a.k.a Aether)
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Homeland: Arthe was born in the realm of the Ascended Miltis. This realm is a very disturbing place. The land appears barren and foreboding that nothing can exist here successfully and through the middle of the landscape is river, glowing brightly as if to contrast all the surrounding area. But this river is different and is in fact reminiscent of the River Styx, as its contents are the souls of the eternally tormented. The glow is the collected natural light of the specters as they flow through the channel. It was on the banks of this river that Arthe was born and on the banks of this river that he was raised. Upstream of the dwelling which Arthe called home, plainly in sight, is the castle manor of Militis. This massive work combining beauty and terror, is made completely of black marble polished until it shines with the same radiance of nearby river.

Physical Description: Arthe is a very young man and appears as such. He is very skinny with his bones showing under his musculature. His skin is beyond pale, holding absolutely no color to it but not yet at the point of pure white. His hair is pure white like a blanket of snow freshly fallen upon the land. His clothes to the contrast are pitch black. The outfit starts with his shirt being a black tank top which illustrates his skinniness by showing his clavicle in addition to his form fitting black jeans, just baggy enough to not be considered skinny jeans. He doesn't wear shoes or any accessories, his choice of the bare minimum is only used because of his aversion to indecency. His eyes are just are as crimson as the blood that courses through his body or that of the beings he feeds on.

Personality:Like other void users before him, Arthe has no emotions: no love, no admiration, no sadness or anger. At times he can seem like nothing more than an shell of a person without the parts of the personality that represent humanity. This representation of himself to others is not helped by the fact that he has no physical sensations in order to pull forth emotions such as pain or surprise. When confined to words his personality or lack there of can be considered cold, calculating, without love, without loyalty and without remorse.
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History/Background: Arthe's history before his training is best considered as boring. He was born into a family where his presence went unnoticed from the time he first reached his home up to the time when he left it. When he reached the age of 16, he left home to find a place in the world. He had no wish to make his mark, or become noticed by those around him as if unfulfilled at home. His desire to leave was just that a desire to leave. His parents never fought him on the idea, making the process that much smoother. When he left home he simply wondered the plain on which he was born. Despite the lack of "beautiful" scenery, he found some solace in the exploration and discovery of various places on the plain. But the solace quickly faded as he began to rediscover specific areas, each return gave him much less enjoyment then the last time he had been there. By his 17th birthday, he felt no enjoyment, but rather a great emptiness from his returns. At one point during his return the river of souls present in the middle of the plain, he was found sleeping at the river's banks by a man whose hair and bread were as pure white as his. The old man held an air about him that was unlike anyone or anything, it was nothing and this nothing drew Arthe in. The man's name was Dagomis and he became master to Arthe training him in the form of Void training, an element befitting the white haired youth. For a year, they trained in the way most native to the void element: seclusion and meditation. But this wasn't all of the training; in order to give Arthe his own style and use of the Void he was also trained in the use of a halberd. His style loose and free-flowing just like the tendrils of the dragon, creator of the Void, in order to fully initiate his actions into the void style. But as soon as Arthe had a style completely fleshed out, Dagomis disappeared and without Dagomis' guidance Arthe was quickly forced to continue his training on his own in the real world.

RP Sample: The moans of the river broke the sleep of Arthe just as quickly as they had put him there. The glow hit his face as he stirred and sat upright, his crimson eyes shown as they moved along the river, stopping at his kwan dao. his hand clasped the staff as he slowly lifted into his second hand. His head bowed and eyes closed as he moved as if praying to the weapon. But it was not the weapon he was praying to, it was his adopted guardian goddess, Aventa, the goddess of his master and a goddess among the Frustrae. He was now a member of the clan as his master stated and he was actively showing it. The prayer was short and to the point. Once it was over, he swiftly rose and lifted the weapon to the sky. Stretching changed to jabs and short slashes, short slashes changed into long, intricate motions resembling a form. Screams erupted from his mouth, as feral as any beast could emit, though hollow beyond reasonable measures. "Ahhh!" There was no rage to add fear, no intensity to add strength; it was a scream made simply out of emulation, emulation of the great warriors that came before him as master of the kwan dao. His simple and intricate movements continued for quite some time before fading into nothing. His body was covered in sweat from the exertion he had been going through for hours. The sweat trickled, hitting the dirt and creating tiny pools. As the sweat dripped off, his body became cooler and his thoughts became more clear. His mind pushed toward a singular subject, a single image that had come to him in a dream the night after his master left. The image was simple and straight-forward. It was a beautiful women with the wings of an angel spread widely and backed by some heavenly source of light, the face was not clear nor were any other features but the words nothing but. "Know not fear but strike it into your opponent's heart. Know not anger but attack as if it consumes you." The words were poetic but truly meant nothing. They were much like a child's poem for a parent to celebrate a birthday, pretty but lacking all substance. They faded from his mind as seamlessly as they came in. The sweat was gone and the salty residue was all that was left. He crouched near the river and washed it from his face. His crimson eyes glinted in his watery reflection, as his focused faded into them. Crimson consumed the scene.

Finished. Ready for approval or comments.

Everything looks good besides the RP Sample. You don't have enough lines of dialogue in your RP Sample.