Prince Gideon Thrax
You can die on the battlefield, or survive enough of them to create your own.
Description: At first glance one might not notice that the 6'5 man is of his family, as he takes after his mother. His jaw is strong and refined, his skin pale and the thick locks that are strewn over his head are black. He holds the shimmering blue eyes of his father, his structure being that of the Thrax's. He is lined with muscle and his skin in many areas is more scar tissue than anything. Across his toned form are scars from every wound imaginable as well as those one would rather not. He is missing his right eye, and has a long scar down the right side of his face. Despite all of the damage he looks becoming with his particular gruffness and jagged ways. His handsome face accommodates each scar and he wears them proudly.
Personality: Controlling, Manipulative, Honorable, Honest, Sarcastic, Dangerous, and Mysterious.
Background: Gideon claims to be the bastard son of the last highlord of house Thrax, Prince Donrai Thrax, and a cousin of the current highlord. His father toyed with him, never formally legitimizing him or bothering to explain the reasons for his parentage (and sometimes said he was an adopted ward, casting doubt on his parentage), treating him with callous indifference. He was not often associated with the Thrax family, despite holding the name over his head. Prince Donrai, his possible father, never had him killed, but made it clear he had no interest in the child and that he had no place among trueborn children, supporting him in a minimal way to avoid the condemnation of his enemies among the Faith, and few wanted to associate with him for fear of being in disfavor with the highlord. Finding no place among the people, his journey into knighthood was a long and lonely one. He was persistent in his raising, knowing that, in his position, he had the entire world to prove wrong. On the battlefield he was a monster in his own right, furthering the path of the sword through experience, his destruction only limited by his sense of honor as he waited for each opponent to die before moving to the next. Garrisons and camps became the half-bloods home in the coming days. From an early life he raised his blade to other men, from one battlefield to the next. He adjusted little, having no rights as a young lord, and no experience as the common folk, though this was skin deep. The boy kept expectations low, he drank each night until he fell into slumber, and fought by day if there was a war to be fought. Once he was called to the table he excelled, be it a battle of brain or brawn the low expectations always helped him overcome the obstacles. He was often hateful, and discreet, but always came to be what he needed when times became serious. He had been away long now, returning home after what may have been a horrific event. The man had disappeared on the open battlefield, a crushing defeat rendering him useless with a stray arrow and numerous wounds, initially being presumed dead. Instead, months later the man came back to camp, scars lining nearly every inch of him, and his right eye missing. To this day he hasn't spoken of what had happened to him, a popular story among the men saying he had went off into the woods to find a worthy opponent and gotten into it with a bear. When he came back, in the one battle afterwards he'd fought like a beast, beyond what he had before, his sense of honor slightly diminished. A trail of near fatal wounds were left as he'd carried through, and realizing what had happened he left the advancing army. Knowing that standings within his family had changed and may allow him to return, as well as the cities siege. Be it a sense of duty, or the internal need to assert himself as one of the family, he rode home to find his place.