[hider=Subject to change]Name: 'Sir' Alexander Sinclair (Alex for short, though prefers to be called 'Ahnciel')
[hider=Aliases Chronologically]Actual name: "Aarkenhan D'Ahnciel Nyvaal"
"Black Ambers on High" (Original callsign, nobody knows this)
"No Sky Too Dark" (The rough and shortened translation of their actual name from Aylvic)
"Wolf in sheep's clothing"
"Condemned Commander"
"Alex"[/hider]

Age: 73 (Appears 16-20)

[hider=Description]Alexander stands at a physically unimposing 5'2. His hair is sheen with what seems like white but fades to a light blonde or deep brown as the hair length catches the light; the follicles holding a mild bioluminescence. It holds a slight wave to it and is usually worn about longer than average, about down to his shoulders. From that protrudes long bunny ears with similarly colored fur, though the short hair is mainly light blonde with little to no bioluminescence. The bushy fluff of his tail shares these qualities. Deep amber eyes with a sharp sapphire blue ring around the edges, though this is obscured by their glasses designed to eases stress on the eyes from all the time they spend staring at monitor screens. Their other eye is a brilliant mint green which is almost an obvious cybernetic prosthetic, most noticeable with how the iris rotates to constrict or dilate the pupil. Kaite is often clad in old regulation attire which, by appearance, take great pride in their work and care to upholding the image (Although comes off more adorable than respectable due to their build as well as a strange foreignness as its greatly out of place in the world they find themself in). An adaptation upon request was to add an inch to the heel of his boots to make him seem that much taller...he is considering switching back due to looks he's reportedly been given.
[hider=inspiration]
[img]http://pre04.deviantart.net/6e34/th/pre/i/2015/104/d/b/ce_alex_by_piku_chan21-d8bzln5.png[/img][/hider][/hider] 

Gender: Male

Race: Lapin of Aylv

Magic: Artificial Cryomancy

Equipment:
[url= https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/05/bb/8b/05bb8bc934a012f886d2dc3e72c53861.jpg]Glasteel Hextech Prosthetic arm (Frost Varient)[/url]- Tenchnologically  bends ley-lines in an elementalistic fashion to hypercondense various sources of moisture into what would seem like cryomancy. The 'wand arm' has its limitations and thresholds, though is still a vicious implement of warfare until such limits are reached.

Dermal grafts- Various 3rd degree burns caused by being shot down twice earned Alex an armored dermal reworking. Only a few nanobots inhabit their system to maintain and repair damage to the porcelain-textured flesh that makes up his being, nearly as resilient as kevlar. 

Personality: "Sociopathic Gentleman Soldier" is the easiest way to sum up 'Sir Alex' who is more often than not straight to the point and professional to the letter, taking great pride and respect for the cause they've been 'enlisted' into. However, they are still very young to the world and the workings of people, and is easily taken aback by the factor of emotion. In their original placement in their home dimension, they'd learned to wield emotions rather than have them. This isn't to say that they are lacking in charisma, empathy or feeling, only that they have a stark two-face where they put business before the former. Many see this as cold...cold calculations with 'humanity' worn as a mask over it.. He is otherwise curious of subjects out of his field of expertise and is quick to excite at potential opportunities to know more about the world he lives in. Alex has a [i]profound[/i] distrust of robots and humans border-lining fear for reasons which there are many theories regarding...none of which he will entertain. He speaks with a slight German accent.


[hider=History][hider=Old Dreams of Distant Fish] [color=8882be]I wasn't the strongest or fastest, and I certainly wasn't the only one. There were more, maybe twenty at one point that I know of. It was usually very dark, making it difficult to tell how many of us there were, at first. Sometimes one would go missing, or [i]they[/i] would come and take a few at a time. None of us understood why some came back and some didn't...not even me, and I was one that came back.

I kept coming back, being lead down the noisy halls of machinery and howling beasts. Down to 'my room', where I learned; the needles in my spine, the clamps to hold my eyes open, being allowed to see only what and when they wanted me to. My first year was the hardest. It wasn't so much the process as it was the topic; used to the procedures, the topics of war, anatomy, physics and humanities bombarded my senses. I'm thankful for most of it, although it quickly made my world quite lonely. Many of the others didn't speak, or were barely even aware where they even were. I 'graduated' to living in a cell, since it got to a point where it was considered inhumane to have to pick me out of 'the pits'...or more arguably, to put me back in. Four walls and a ceiling never seemed so welcoming, especially considering how I could see them. Teachings changed after that to genetics and experimentation...and the Newman project. Truthfully, it was easier to understand and accept once I was just told that, yes, I was a clone being held prisoner for experimentation, my brothers in the pits are borderline mindless animals and no, I was not special, just chosen for a different task.

Tasks...I was shown reports of the others' tasks and the testing involved. 039 Was a drooling mute of a hulk that ate bones and needed little oxygen for hours while it was left to toil away, lifting weights and fighting other rejects of its kind, often to the death and often unprovoked. He's the oldest. 055 is...like a rodent, so to speak, you know, if it doesn't chew on something, its teeth grow into its brain. There was apparently an attempt to replicate this effect with an entire skeletal structure. They could never figure out how to stop the growths besides grinding them down after they start piercing the skin. I heard talk of bets being taken; apparently it wasn't uncommon for terminal malformations to occur. It wasn't unlike 042 whose endless bouts of energy pushed them to run until their muscles gave out. They supposedly died from a heart attack a few minutes later. Needless to say, those lessons stopped after a short time, but it still left me wondering just what was the plan for me? I felt fortunate, how ever lame dying from a chess game sounded, that whatever I had been tailored for didn't require me to suffer like the others...and then the implants came.

The dull pains in my head and chest made it hard to sleep. It was nice how I barely saw them coming, but whatever they had done, it was...different. In some instances I shook so violently that most sensation washed away besides it. I was always so cold and sick for a time after the bouts that I almost couldn't stand. The machines debated about rejection, though it was proposed that bioware implants often had rocky acceptance stages to installation, especially when the endocrine system is involved. The events gradually diminished my resolve, and by the time [i]it[/i] happened, there was little I could do to fight the hands that stuffed me into what I came to know as an 'escape pod'.[/color]
[/hider]
By this point, Alex was only two to three, developed through accelerated growth hormones which left him diminutive, stunted for life. Finding himself in league with 'The Beasts of The Legion' which were an uprising of sentient clones. Many of them were monstrous with very few exceptions which allowed even the mildest semblance of grace. They started as a pirate sect which preyed on human transport ships while working their way up to form trojan-horse attacks on frigates to swiftly gain power.
'Alex' lost his actual innocence after being taken prisoner during one of the raids. The months that followed detailed mangling torture and a bloody escape to ping the flotilla for rescue.
He was found gnawing on the bones of the bridge staff, the ship hopelessly locked down after he'd initiated it and killed those who could undo it. Alexander...or 'Ahnciel' as he was called as a nickname from then on ("Amber Eyes". One of which he'd lost through the torturing process). From then, he was promoted and reconditioned to be a full soldier of the legion where others fitting his...appearance...ran various desk jobs since the Legion sought to preserve the grace in its cause by using the 'Aylv' (Translates as "Grace") as their figurehead.

An accomplished fighter in marksmanship, swordplay and even piloting, 'Ahnciel' was greatly feared and respected as a symbol for his kind since he would often lead the charge on raids against the human fleets. Many battles under his belt have been won due to his choice intervention and technique...until one instance.
On the final pass on a human flagship, it initiated a rerouted self-destruct sequence by routing the process through it's warp coil in the hope to expand the devastation and scatter the section of the Legion across the galaxy.
Closest with a few of his wingmen, Ahnciel was dragged into the event horizon which spat his ship with himself out onto an alien planet. This was only the first stop of three.

This world is his third stop in his attempts to find his galaxy where he belongs...and there is no way to tell if he was ever right or where in the galaxy/dimensional flux he would even be if he was.
The uncertainty weighs heavily on him as he looks for the means to press on while, at the same time, seeking a place to stay.[/hider][/hider]

-I may change the pic