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Prince Tyrus Thrax

All stars must die. When the last light fades, will you have left something worth mourning?

Social Rank: 3
Concept: Companion of Woe
Fealty: Thrax
Family: Thrax
Gender: male
Marital Status: single
Age: 40
Birthday: 9/13
Religion: Faith of the Pantheon
Vocation: Occultist
Height: tall
Hair Color: black
Eye Color: black
Skintone: fair

Description: At first glance, there is little difference between the man Tyrus was, and the one that he is now. Older, of course, with a beard now trimmed when it is not entirely shaved, but otherwise, very similar. His tall and athletic frame remains unchanged, his hair is still black as jet as it reaches his broad shoulders, and the same eyes, dark as night and veiling depths rather than emptiness. He retains the same easy smile, the warmth and charisma that made him such a popular young prince. In appearance, he seems the same man... or so he tries to maintain. Keen observers, however, may be able to glimpse at the truth in unguarded moments, when the black, enticing eyes grow haunted, when his smile withers and dies. When the mask of comfortable familiarity falls, the true man stands with the scars of hard choices writ in his gaze along with the unyielding will to see them through.

Personality: Tyrus has always preferred the study of the esoteric than either sword or politics. While a lover of philosophy, he is by no means a distant recluse. Warm and charismatic, with a sense of humour as befits the occasion, he never shied from the company of others, seeking it as much as he was sought in turn. A most charming man... up to a point. The cruel lessons learnt during his years of slavery remain, a constant drain that would see the facade undone and reveal the hardened core that remains, when all the rules and finery of society have been removed. It is that core that those who follow him see, the implacable will they know will see them victorious, or give meaning to their deaths.

Background: Tyrus' childhood was rather typical, for any son of Thrax. Educated within the home of Prince Donrai Thrax, the younger son of Tyrgar Thrax proved to be more interested in his studies than his older brother, swiftly exhibiting an ability to read, and understand, works far beyond his age. Indeed, it wouldn't be rare for Tyrus to spend most of his free time in the company of books, happy to learn and open his mind to other ways to think and see the world around him. He did so because he enjoyed it, rather than any political need, though it would serve to sharpen his mind and instill habits that would prove lifesaving in the years ahead.

That is not to say, however, that all of Tyrus' time was spent holed up in a library. He followed military training, like most sons his age, though he did not possess any particular skill for it. What he did have, however, was a way with words, and the ability to not only command, but make others choose to follow him. The other boys knew better than to provoke that particular Thrax, for if his finely chosen threats failed to hit their mark, Tyrus could count upon his friends to fight with him, as they could count on the prince to protect them in turn. This loyalty would be the basis for his own command when came the time to command his own ship and answer the call to war against Tyde.

The rebellion saw its share of butchers reach heights of infamy, though Tyrus was not one of them. He joined the war effort a year before its bloody end, too young until then to participate with his own ship. Though he commanded his ship and crew admirably, given this was to be his first experience with war, he had no taste for it. He did his duty, striking at the enemy and ensuring that more loyalist lives survived than rebels. He and his men were called upon to avenge the lives Thrax lost and punish those who would betray their oaths to their liege, nothing more, and nothing less.

Thrax proved to be victorious, and with duty's call answered and seen to, Tyrus returned to his studies. He did not become entirely inactive, however, often sailing away to hunt down pirates troubling the Isles, rather than reaving the local Abandoned tribes. It was during such an expedition, five years after the Rebellion's end, that Tyrus' ship was lost in a sudden storm, and all lives aboard reported lost. Though efforts were made to find the lost prince, they uncovered only shipwreck and bloated corpses, none of them matching him. He was mourned by friends and family, and added to the list of deaths the Thrax had suffered in recent memory.

Tyrus, however, had survived. Adrift at sea, it was only through the Gods' grace that he was found... by slavers from Eurus. They brought him aboard their black ship, and no sooner had they done so that they put him in chains, as yet another soul to be sold on the markets, an unexpected bounty from their gods on their journey home, after raiding Arvum's abandoned tribes and unprotected villages. Thus was Tyrus taken to the foreign shores of Eurus, to live, and die, serving its cruel masters.

Or so he initially thought. Yet rather than the Dune Kingdoms, Tyrus was taken to a pirate base, in the Darkwater between the Mourning Isles and the west coast of Eurus. His 'saviours', the enslaved prince would come to learn, were rebels who had taken to piracy, forced into exile by the troubles that afflicted their homelands. They spoke not of their homes, of what had forced them to such desolate shores, save for the rare mention of Glor'Ruus. Whatever it was, they couldn't return. In this, they were as trapped as their captives.

Of the years that followed, little good can be said. Even in the Abyss, men will try to find some measure, some glimpse, of happiness, and Tyrus was no different. Yet they always came with deeper tragedy, and for every high point, the following dive was all the deeper. For thirteen years, he remained in the pirates' stronghold, his sanity frayed with the passing of time and the company of these strange Eurusi, whose own grasp over reality proved less secure with the passing of every day, every month and every year. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and it would come to the fore on the thirteenth year of Tyrus' captivity.

What finally changed to give him the opportunity, he doesn't like to speak about. Even when he entertains others with the tales, the details are always few, if not outright changed to suit his audience's sensibilities. Yet with enough ale, the story can be pried from the survivours he led to freedom. They share tales of a madness overwhelming pirates and slaves, of a storm that flayed flesh and mind, of men and women gouging out their own eyes and tearing themselves apart in the vain hopes of escaping whatever they saw or heard. And of Tyrus, no longer slave but prince, leading them to safety, taking over one of the pirate's ships and sailing away, to Arvum and the Mourning Isles.

Thus did a prince thought dead return home with a crew of escaped slaves and mysterious rumours. He set the ship ablaze and took another to Arx, where he intends to uncover what has occured to have cost the lives of his siblings, and find meaning in the horror he escaped.

Name Summary
Ariella He gets it. It's refreshing - the same can't be said for every royal in this city.
Mailys Unexpectedly gracious about his basket weaving talent. Nothing short of entrancing. I can only hope to impress him with my carved skull collection.