Alexander Logan DeCavus

[logan]

Alexander Logan DeCavus


PB: George Clooney

[/li][li]~My Name is Jaxson
[/li][li]~I am 20 years old.
[/li][li]~I found the site through Black Magic
[/li][li]~If you wish to talk to me, the best way to reach me is through PM
[/li][li]~I have been role playing for (7) years and I am (EXPERT)

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~*Full Name: Alexander Logan DeCavus

~*Alias: He's been known to go by Alex, Logan, Logan Carver, Alex Carver, and a whole myriad of others in his lifetime.

~*Age: Approximately 1300 years old.

~*Race: Pureblood Werewolf, baby.

~*Gender: Male.

*Appearance: Logan sports salt and pepper hair, the specks of grey that litter his short-cropped mane a silent testament to his age. Standing at a hair under 6'1" he isn't the most physically intimidating man. His frame his lean, corded muscle settling over him nicely to give him a "soldiers" look that he never quite lost from his days serving with the Legion so long ago. Tribal tattoos cover his torso, dancing down his arms and across his chest and back, stretching their way up his neck and making their way down his things and calves to effectively cover his entire body. They where given to him during his years serving under the rule of Leo III the Isaurian. They where a form of branding given to all members of Lupus Legio.

As far as apparel goes he has settled for well worn shirts, beaten pairs of jeans, some simple work boots and a leather jacket he's had since the forties. Although some of his kind, his kind being the immortals in general, enjoy flaunting their wealth and power through their dress, Logan never quite felt that way. Perhaps it was his soldiers upbringing, or maybe it was from serving in one too many campaigns; though whatever it was, it gave him a detached caring from the frills of a gaudy nature.

~*Personality: Calculating and brutal are the words best fit to describe Logan. He's a soldier, through and through. Everything to him can be laid out in terms of combat, strategized and prepared for, and finally acted upon with drilled perfection and a merciless nature that could make even the Gods themselves flinch. Whether it's accredited to his nature as an Immortal Wolf or the drills of the Legion Logan is a man who walks the land without feeling the touch of fear. He was told fear was something felt by those that stood against he and the rest of the Lupus Legio. He was told fear was something felt by the weak, by the lesser and that it was something he need not concern himself with. After hundreds of years and thousands of battles the ideals have rooted themselves powerfully within his psyche to the point of obsession. Fear does not stalk the Legionnaire, it hides from him.

Logan, however, does find himself caught between a constant battle of his own humanity and the dual nature of his bestial side. Each vies for control and dominance, each demanding their fair share. It is a constant skirmish that he has learned to use as fuel, quenching the blood-thirst of his inner Wolf in the countless battles he's faced both in the past and the ones he continues to fight in the present. With the beast satiated through combat he allows his more Human side to exercise itself through manipulation, plots and keeping a constant leg up on those around him. Logan doesn't view himself as another chess piece, but rather the board itself.

However, beneath his confidant and controlling demeanor lies a cynic incapable of seeing the good of the world or of those around him. He's lost too much and been betrayed by those he'd called brothers, and with that weighing upon his soul he'd never again allowed himself the comfort of those getting close enough to do so again. There are those that think themselves close with Alexander, as he's capable of wearing a mask of friendliness, but the truth is he's never met someone he wasn't capable of walking away from or sacrificing in almost a thousand years. The simplicity of distance seemed to outweigh whatever benefits personal relationships could bring to the table.

For that reason, within himself, Alexander is a cold, and somewhat sad man. Not the kind of sad that finds himself reduced to tears when no one is around, but instead the sadness that weighs on the spirit at all times. He lacks hope, hope of a better tomorrow or a better world. He thinks himself merely another cog in a never ending machine of war and violence. He lives his life without a sense of higher purpose or "tomorrow is a better day", because in his world tomorrow is merely a reminder of the pains of yesterday. He exists like a machine, pretending emotions to better exist around others, when in reality he himself asks what it means to feel because it's been so long since he has.
He's a man that has become truly numb.

~*History: The history of Centurio Alexander DeCavus de Lupus Legio as he was known in another life. Centurion Alexander DeCavus of the Wolf Legion in English. A fighting unit from over one-thousand years ago, one nearly forgotten to the pages of history and remembered only by those that marched beneath the banner of the crimson and gold Wolf head; or the Vampires that still breathed who clashed sword and shield with them. A unit of men, most of whom where turned Werewolves themselves, who served the Emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire, their origins a gift from the Emperor of the faltering Western Roman Empire hundreds of years before Alexander's birth. They where a unit brought into existence to protect the Emperor at all costs and from all enemies, their minds filled with notions of fighting for God and being protectors of Christ and his servant upon Earth, the Emperor.

However, this tale is that of Alexander himself. The exact date of his birthday has become lost to himself and the world at large, though he does known by the year 761 he was old enough to remember the successful campaign of his Emperor Leo III against the Bulgarians in the North and the celebrations in Constantinople. He remembers these so fondly because his Mother, a Lycanthrope herself, had taken Alexander to see the Army as it was paraded through the streets. The crimson, gold and purple of the armor and banners brought awe to the child, the sight of hundreds of thousands of men marching upon the whim of one man; however, all of it paled in comparison to one sight. The sight of his Father, Maximus DeCavus seated upon his white charger, the powerful Roman war horse adorned in ceremonial armor. Above his head whipped the banner of the Lupus Legio, the men of the Wolf Legion marching behind him, their grim and powerful faces showing the power of his kind. In that moment he'd looked upon his Father in a way that had molded the rest of his life, it was that memory that had defined his existence.

Under the guiding hand of his father Maximus and driven by the desire to become a Centurion as noble and fierce as his father, Alexander grew into a powerful and cunning warrior. He was tutored in the words of Socrates and Plato, his educators brought in from the Greek cities and what remained of the Macedonian universities. He was taught to thirst for power and glory in the mold of Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great, the man he had been named for. He was taught to lust for the very ends of the world itself, so he would never be satisfied, he was taught to never no peace so that he could always be sharpened in the fires of conflict. Alexander grew into a fine Centurion, just as Maximus had wanted for his son, and upon the dawning of his twenty-fifth winter he was coronated by the Emperor Leo III into the Lupus Legio in the fashion of all those before him. The Lupus became what he saw as his Pack, each of them his brothers and his Father, Maximus, sat as their Alpha.

It was soon after this that he first tasted the campaign road. He marched away from the home he'd known for so long, leaving Constantinople behind him and following the main body of the Imperial Army as they had first marched to Crete to retake what had been theirs from Arab forces. He learned in these years to use sword and claw as weapons. It was in the fires of War that he saw what the Lupus Legio truly was, a sort of ancient special military force. Under the shadow of darkness they would discard their armor to embrace their animal side, attacking enemy encampments with the ferocity of their bestial sides, partaking in feasts of flesh and blood that was not only allowed, but encouraged by their Emperor. Of course, no one though the Lupus Legio truly possessed the ability to turn into Wolves, and the Legio always burned the corpses of their raids to leave no evidence behind except that of total destruction. The Legio served as a form of scouting party, boasting only a little over one hundred men, they moved lightly and quietly ahead of the body of the main army, one of the many scouting units. However, they where famed and had been for decades as the fiercest fighting men the Eastern Empire had, and their reputation was known to their enemies as well.

And so this way of life came to pass for hundreds of years. He was taught to fake his own death, how to impersonate a new identity and be reaffirmed into the Legio by whatever Emperor it was they served under. Alexander finally took over the Lupus Legio under the guidance of Emperor Isaac I himself. It was during the First Crusade and Maximus had grown tired of the constant wars and being away from his beloved, Petra. He'd served the Lupus Legio since it had been an institution among the Western Empire and after nearly seven-hundred years he was ready to hand over control to his Son. The move had been backed by the Emperor, Isaac I, who had also been a close friend of Alexander. Alexander's fame and mystique within the Imperial Palace in Constantinople had been enough draw the attention of Isaac I and he had shared a fiery ambition and thirst for power that Alexander had felt within himself. It was during the reign of Isaac I that Alexander had acquired a second unit under his command, a detachment of Angelico Knights, a Holy Order known also as the Golden Knights. It was during the Crusades that Alexander's ability to command men and win battles truly came to a headlong, his fame among the soldiers growing and his reputation spreading throughout the lands to even the ears of the Muslim forces across the dunes.
However, no story worth telling has a happy ending, and in an ever shifting political climate Alexander's happiness couldn't hope to keep itself alive.

When Isaac I lost the throne he was replaced by Alexios I, a devout Christian and man who saw the Lupus Legio as an intuition of the past and declared it a heresy to God. The ideals of it's warriors, the rumors they worshiped the Wolf and fed upon their dying enemies was enough to have them excommunicated, though that was only the beginning. The word came handed down from Pope Urban II that all heretics, no matter what side of the War they served upon, where to be hunted down and destroyed. No one was allowed to stand against Christ, not even if they served him. The Golden Knights turned upon the Lupus Legio, and with them they took the knowledge of what the Legio truly was. They had also taken with them the knowledge of how to destroy them, something Alexander had overlooked and told a Golden Knight captain after a successful campaign against the Scythian sometime before. It was with this knowledge and the backing of the Church that the Golden Knights, once again serving their roots as a Holy Order, became a group of pre-dated Hunters. They spread their knowledge to other Holy Orders such as the Templar's and the Knights Hospitaler and against such odds and such hate the Lupus Legio stood no chance.
In the ancient city of Antioch, Alexander and his Legio where offered terms if they came to the city. The Centurion hadn't trusted the offer, the Golden Knights being led by a man known as Jean de Luac, a fiercely religious Crusader and a man who had sworn to end the desecration's of flesh wrought by the Lupus Legio. However, Alexander had known he and his forces to be outnumbered, and soon they would also be out-maneuvered and eradicated without mercy; the Treaty of Antioch had seemed his only hope of survival for he and his men. Though in his heart he had known the truth, he had known de Luac had no intention of letting any of them live. But what was he to do?

The ambush had been a massacre, Alexander himself barely escaping and doing so with a pair of silver bolts fired from a crossbow lodged in his back, wounds that he still carries the scars of to this day. The Lupus Legio had fought with all the fierceness they'd been famed for, they'd fought tooth and nail and without fear; and it's also how they had died. Years later Alexander would come to find out that Emperor Alexios I would have all counts of the Lupus Legio expunged from history and instead replaced with the Order of the Golden Knights, giving them the credit and fame done for words his Father had founded and he had spent his life carrying out. And it was in this way that nearly five-hundred years of unquestioning loyalty to the Empire had been honored. His men eradicated, his legacy destroyed and swept away, he would learn some years later in his exile that his parents, Maximus and Petra had been hunted down in the streets of Constantinople and bought to the silver-blades of assassins.

He himself had been the one thread that had avoided being tied up, the one loose end to slip through the cracks, and with that knowledge Alexander had faded away into the pages of history.
In the following centuries he'd roamed the steppes of Asia Minor, moving where the winds took him, selling his sword as a mercenary and body-guard when he became low on coin. Never again, however, would he wear the crimson and gold armor of the Lupus Legio, never again would he march to battle with men he'd trusted so fully and loved like family. It was in those centuries that he'd allowed himself to live as a sort of loner. His pack had been all but eradicated, and although he'd come across others who had offered him into their ranks, he'd always disappeared into the night without accepting. Another family was something he could not be burdened with, trust was beyond his scope any longer. He'd trusted once, he'd waged war in the name of an Empire and lived his life by a strict code of honor and morals and his reward still hung upon his soul and soured his sense of all. It'd given birth to the cynic and had masked his gaze with distrust and an inability to get close to another. After all, what was to stop them from slipping a knife into his back next to the scars of where others themselves had done so?

Wandering finally brought Alexander to the homeland of his Father, the northern wilds of Italy and into the forests of what had once been Gaul but was now known as France. It was the Victorian age by this point, and it was here in Europe that he came across the Lucian Coven. A group of Vampires who had dedicated themselves to domination within Paris and had set about eradicating the Werewolves who dared to walk the streets of Paris by night. It was here that Alexander once again stood with his own kind, offering his sword and skills to assist his own against the Vampires. Vampires had never been something he'd hated like so many of his kind, perhaps because he'd spent his life living among Humans and fighting their wars, but in the coming years he would learn to hate the blood-feasting bats. He would see the chaos they caused, the lives they could rip apart and the savage detachment with which they destroyed the Werewolves and any brave enough to assist them. The Lucian War as he remembers it had been a long and bloody one, one that had finally ended in a stalemate as Alexander had driven a wooden stake through the chest of Escandra Lucian, the Mistress of the Coven and the one hellbent of the destruction of his kind within the city. As the life had drained from her the Coven had scattered to the wind, leaving a void of power the Wolves had come together to fill. It was in those months that Alexander had once again felt alive, he'd felt the glory of a war won and carried the title of hero again. However, as whispers began to spread of Alexander serving as the Alpha of the Paris Pack he had once again disappeared, never saying a word of good-bye to the Wolves he'd fought with. Instead he'd left behind his battered and aged Lupus Legio armor, something for them to carry as a mark and memory of how far they'd come. It hadn't seemed like much to some, but to those that had known Alexander and his past, the token artifact was one to never be forgotten by the Wolves of Paris.

Years later Alexander had once again resurfaced in the blooming Americas. It was here he'd lived out the years leading up to the present. He'd lived his life in recluse, working in the hills of Virginia as a coal-miner; turning his back on his warrior nature. His survival skills and discipline had helped him to blend in, to control his urges and know when to feed and how to disguise his actions. It was in these years he'd allowed himself to build a simple cabin in the Virginia wilds. It hadn't been gaudy or beautiful, but to him, after nearly one thousand years of wandering the world, it was finally something to call home. It was finally somewhere he could go to lay himself down and feel something close to peace.

However, as time wore on and the world around him continued to age and grow cities began sprouting up. Trains began to dot the landscape and the need for more and more room began to devour the wilds he'd called home. Soon he barely had more than an acre, and with planes flying over head and cars roaring by it was hardly the oasis of silence it had once been. It was in these times that Alexander began to realize he'd aged out of any concept of peace. He'd seen too many lives end, he'd lived in times when men could acquire the fame and legacy of Gods themselves. But in this new world that was no such truth. In this new world a man could only go as far as he was allowed to. In his sadness he began to wonder at the idea of suicide, if perhaps it was time for him to join his mother and father in whatever afterlife they had been sent to. However, as these thoughts had begun to fill his head more and more he'd received a letter. A letter beckoning him to a distant city to serve as a contractor and source of information as well as instructor. But what was a man like him to teach? Who would be his pupils? The letter had been sent for a corporation he'd never heard of, though in his hermit existence he had grown out of touch with the modern world.

Electronic Arc Industries....

~*RP Sample:

Vampiric eyes stayed focused upon the dance floor below, locking onto the mass of bodies that seemed to move in unison to the over-powering beat. Closing his eyes, Adrian allowed his telepathic powers to branch out, tapping into the raw energy of the place; it screamed of lust and passion. Letting his lips flitter into a soft smirk the Vampire allowed his eyes to open once again though this time silence fell upon his ears. It was a skill perfected over hundreds of years, a form of meditation taught to him long ago by a Saracen Mystic. All exterior noise became blocked out allowing the Vampire to drift into perfect silence, and from that silence he was able to feel the aura's about his own club. It was a tactic used every night; he was scanning everyone inside, looking for anyone who didn't belong. Usually that meant Werewolves, Hunters and Angels; though while he was scanning the crowd he came upon something he wasn't expecting.

Demons. They always had the same effect on him. They sent a soft chill dancing down his spine, however, it didn't come from fear or panic. Oh no, the chill was one of pure delight and excitement; a sudden thrill was sent rushing through him at the sight of the dark beings. Adrian was one of the few people who actually looked forward to company with Demons, after all they where the original evils. They had been the ones to turn their back upon God first, they had been the ones to take to the shadows; all other creatures who walked the darkness merely walked in the footsteps carved eons ago by the Demons.

So there Adrian stood, drink in one hand and the other gripping the balcony, though his gaze had shifted to stare down at the first floor bar and it was there he saw her. He couldn't help but allow a small, wicked little grin to dance across his lips as he took the sight of her in. Dark, seductive and oozing raw sex appeal. Oh yeah, this girl was a Demon for sure and she was one not to be taken lightly. However, this didn't bring fear to the heart of the Vampire, after all, what reason did a child of Darkness have to fear a Demon? That was like a holy man fearing an Angel. No, this vixen merely was an embodiment of the very things Adrian worked in the name of. Luckily for the Vampire he was a man well versed in the arts of seduction and for that reason the initial sighting of the Demoness wasn't enough to send him into the blind thrawls of lust like some men, but he was interested to find out who she was and what had lead her to his doorstep.

Tipping his head back Adrian swallowed the remaining contents of the wine glass, and turning on his heel, walked away from the balcony. Placing the glass upon the bar Adrian glanced to Veric, a Vampire clad in a dark suit who carried a blank and cold look to his face. Veric quickly came to Adrian's side and stood silently, awaiting orders from the older Vampire. "Veric, go down to the bar. There's a Demoness, you will know her when you see her. Bring her up here." Without a single question Veric simply bowed his head than walked to the stairs leading down to the first floor and once there he sent two vampires down to the bar to fetch the Demon and invite her up to an audience with Adrian.

Looking to the few people scattered about the second floor, Adrian merely pointed to the stairs and without a single word, watched as they all stood and exited without a sound. All of them aside from one woman, a Shifter by the name of Tam. She was in her mid-thirties and one of the few twisted ladies around who could keep Adrian's interest, which was evident by the many puncture marks about her neck all left from the Dragos Vampire. Looking to Tam, Adrian allowed a twisted smile to part his lips. "Give me another, dear." Tam glanced up to Adrian, a small delight in her eyes. She knew Adrian was bringing the Demoness upstairs, and she knew whatever happened she would get to see. It was one of her sick little pleasures, watching Adrian and the way he forced his darkness upon others. The sick delight she took was probably one of the only reasons Adrian had kept her around for so long. However, she did not question the Vampire, and without another seconds hesitation poured another glass of blood-spiked wine.

Taking another drink, Adrian plopped himself down onto one of the black-leather couches, his eyes fixed upon the stairs before him as he waited. Whatever the Demoness was here for intrigued him, and if it ended up she was the newest in a long list of people trying to kill him...well then it looked like he'd have to find a way to tear her heart out.

Though he really hoped that wasn't what tonight was going to be about.

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