(My second character)

Name: Misha Rousseau

Age: 26

Race: Human

History: Misha was born on the outskirts of a small village. His mother was a gypsy, who he never saw. His father, a sale’s man for the village, was always worn out, after travelling up and down the village. He took care of himself for most of his childhood.

One day, he and his father got a message from the gypsies that his mother was travelling with. His mother was dead; they never knew how she died. Misha never recovered from the death of his mother.
Ten years later, when Misha was 17, nearly 18, he left home. He lived in a rundown building in the village for a year, and then moved out of England. He sneaked on to a ship bound for Paris. Misha hid in the bowls of the ship, and watched England pass behind him. It took a day to reach Victorian Paris.
Once there, he found himself a job, selling suits for gentlemen. He lived there for the rest of his life, changing jobs, moving to different dwellings.

Description: Misha has jet-black hair, hanging down to the nape of his neck. His eyes are a brilliant burnt almond colour. His skin is marble; a deathly shine covers his skin. Misha stands at the height of 5'10. He has a very slim posture. Misha wears a tight black robe; which hangs down to his knees. A thick belt can be seen, wrapped tightly around his waist. He wears a pair of sable boots that reach up to his calves. Under the robe Misha wears a white shirt buttoned up to his neck. His black pants blend in with his robe.

Abilities: Can sense danger from far away.

RP Sample:

Misha wound his way up the long, creaking stairs, his long, black frock coat flowed out behind his. Knowing this was the wrong place to be, he slowed down as he neared the end of stair case. The hypnotising tune of the violin drew him back, he wanted to go back to were the noise was coming. Pushing himself reluctantly on, he called out.

"I know that there is somebody there"

Ebony hair lay on his broad shoulder, a slight gleam covered it, even in the dim candle light. His perfect, almond eyes stared straight a head, he wasn't actually looking for any thing, just waiting for an answer.

Misha moved further on, he held the brass candle stick away from his, he didn't want to blacken his pale finger tips. A plain red candle was placed in the center of the stick, a golden flame licked at the mans hand. A large black mark formed on the middle of his hand.

Black boots thudded against the stone floor, not loud enough for anyone to hear, that was what he was wishing for...for he knew not to give his position away. Misha had lived in this building for years. Three in total.

Misha picked up his speed, he was near to the man, he knew it.

The elegant windows were lit up by the passing candle, blues, reds and greens, this caught Misha's attention. Even the strange shapes that formed on the wall from shadows didn't catch his attention. Well, nothing bothered this man, not even the death of his father.

Then he saw the man...

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To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, exept, take exercise, get up early or be respectable ~Oscar Wilde~