Name: Samael Lexuor

Age: 317

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Archetype: Vampire/Transfigurist

Skin Tone: Pale

Eye Color: Deep purple-Usual wears dark brown contacts.

Hair Color: Raven Black

Hair Length: Approximately six inches past shoulder length.

Height: 6'5"

Weight: 207 Lbs

Body Type: Tall and thin, very compact. Weighs more than his frame would suggest.

Mother: Cecilia Linnaeus-Lexuor

Father: Damaen Lexuor

Siblings (if any): None

Profession: Antiquities Dealer, specializing in Purge Era weapons and art.

Talents: Fluent in the various human dialects and Elven. Speaks a little Dwarf and Orc. Great swordsman,  decent marksmanship with both bows and most contemporary firearms,  though he prefers 18-1900's pistols.  Has a near perfect accuracy with his preferred weapon of choice (See Below). As it has been his job to study art, he has become quite proficient at making it himself.

Abilities: As a Transfigurist,  Samael possesses the ability to transform into other beings,  specifically that of land dwelling animals (Has never attempted another person,  as it does not appeal to him, and his attempts at fish or birds usually end up with only vestigial gills or half-formed wings). Can usually hold the form for five-six hours, maximum.
Strengths: Has the usual vampiric enhanced strength,  speed and senses, but beyond that (and his abilities as a Transfigurist) he is fairly average physically. Sharp wit and mind, but nothing out of this world.

Weaknesses: Sunlight and silver,  as per norm.

Flaws: Has been known to be ruthless in carrying out his mission,  whatever it may be, and occasionally people get hurt in the way.

Is a severe alcoholic,  and can usually be seen with his flask on his hip (there may occasionally be blood mixed with the alcohol).

Has an intense anger that is easily triggered.

Holds grudges for an insanely long time (Some date back to his turning).

Has a fear of being buried alive,  and therefore would rather take a bullet to the knee than approach a funeral or casket.

Weapon (if any): An antique revolver,  identical to (in our Universe) the 1851 Colt "Navy" Revolver.  Adapted to fire both ordinary rounds and those of silver,  as to aid in disposing of any Lycans or other Vampires.

Personality: Depends on how much you're paying him (That was {mostly} in jest). Typically quite and reserved, he experiences fierce mood swings,  both beneficial and detrimental.  Quick to be angered, but also quick to be pleased, he Is a man of many characteristics.  Gentle when necessary,  but abrasive when annoyed,  he is a decent man (assuming the term still applies), full of both virtues and vices. How we treats you depends on who exactly *you* are.

Background: Born on December 23, 1704 AGW, in Carena, the Republic's primary port, to Cecilia Linnaeus-Lexuor and Damaen Lexuor. Both of his parents were vaguely religious, though what they worshipped is little known, and altogether nonessential to know in order to comprehend the upbringing of Samael. He was a rather unobtrusive child,  his only difference from his peers being mental,  and even that was typically understated,  as he was never one to speak much. Had a few friends,  performed decently both academically and athletically. His father was a respected and wealthy merchant,  but nobody of much importance as to cause "special treatment" for Samael.

For the next two decades Samael remained just as inconspicuous. He opened up an antiquities store, specializing in Purge era weapons and art. Well integrated within the community,  he was the kind of man you noticed but never remembered.  The kind nobody would miss if he disappeared.

On May 30, 1731, he was leaving his modest home and place of business to go meet an acquaintance to purchase an item that the said acquaintance did not wish to be seen traveling with. Upon turning a corner, a knife was placed at his throat and he was told to walk into the alley directly to his left, and not make a sound. Samael did so,, a flaming pain erupting into his neck the moment he was away from any possible public view.  He collapsed to the ground, his heart seeming to beat stronger than ever before.

He awoke exactly six hours, fourteen minutes and fifty-three seconds later. The changes to his corporeal form were not immediately noticeable, but within seconds of emerging out of the alley it was apparent; people screamed and fled from the man with protruding canines and dark purple irises. His hunger (or thirst,  whichever you prefer to call it) was great,  and seemingly insatiable,; he had drained a man dry before realizing what he had done.

Now it was his turn to run, both from the people and himself. He easily overran the mortals,  and escaped by hiding aboard a departing vessel.  It set sail, taking its cargo to Tauran. Samael stayed aboard until the ship made port in the Vuhn River.  There he disembarked,  staggering from the hunger he now felt: if he did not eat soon, then death was near. Being knowledgeable of the contemporary superstitions, he knew exactly what he was, and therefore what he must eat.

He trecked along the Vuhn river to the plains of the west. Living off of cattle along the way, he found that their blood succeeded in taming his urges, but not dissipating them. In the years that followed,  he learned to control the Hyde within,  though the Jekyll was not the same man he had once been. While once ordinary, now he was anything but. Moving back to Carena in 1784, he started his life anew, under the pretense of being his own grandson. Now he moves every decade or so, others will not notice his constant state of not changing.

RP Example: An arrow protruding from his helm, the soldier collapsed,  departing from the world he had been born in, laughed and cried in, and ultimately died in.

Fifteen hundred and twelve years later,  Samael purchased the arrow from the descendants of the man, with whom his possessions, intentionally owned or otherwise,  had been passed down for years.

Samael relished the feel of the world weary, time worn shaft of the arrows as he carefully settled it into the molded confines of his briefcase. He bid farewell to his clients, and strode out into the street,  where few people roamed,  having fled indoors from the rain. He had barely taken a step before an excruciatingly sharp tendril of pain shot through his shoulder. Snarling,  he whirled around to face the man who had shot him, the bullet of silver embedded within his scapula.

Notes: While he has an official place of business and residency,  he spends most of his time traveling, in search of the more "uncommon" items.

Thin seems like a contradictory adjective for a person whose BMI is nearly two points into the obese category.

Sorry, that was supposed to have been changed to "207 lbs". I was also acting under the assumption that vampires would weigh more than a human of their size frame. If this is not the case, I can change it to a weight befitting the description.

You're assumption was correct but the mistake pushed it well past what I would allow.

Edited.

Approved.