Here is a WIP from me as well so others can see what my concept is.
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[color=#BB1109][B]✶   P R O F I L E[/B][/color]
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[indent][indent][color=#BB1109][I][b]BIRTHNAME[/b][/I]:[/color] Gaderon Bréhuul

[color=#BB1109][I][b]OTHER NAMES[/b][/I]:[/color] The Dancing Swordsman, Bloodsucker (used in a derogatory manner).

[color=#BB1109][I][b]AGE[/b][/I]:[/color] 67

[color=#BB1109][I][b]GENDER[/b][/I]:[/color] Male.

[color=#BB1109][I][b]RACE[/b][/I]:[/color] Nosferyte

[color=#BB1109][I][b]BIRTHPLACE[/b][/I]:[/color] Steinplatz

[color=#BB1109][I][b]RELIGION[/b][/I]:[/color] Who am I to worship when I do not know which god has cursed my race, yet none see fit to lift it?
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[color=#BB1109][B]✶   P H Y S I C A L I T Y[/B][/color]
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[indent][indent][color=#BB1109][I][b]HEIGHT[/b][/I]:[/color] Gaderon stands at six feet and five inches.

[color=#BB1109][I][b]WEIGHT[/b][/I]:[/color] 176 lbs.

[color=#BB1109][I][b]APPEARANCE[/b][/I]:[/color] 
Like all those of his race Gaderon has a set of dark red eyes and pale skin. His hair is just a shade lighter than pure black and can be seen in all sort of styles, depending on his mood and the region he finds himself in. He allows a short beard to grow across his square jawline, but he periodically grooms and trims it to keep it shaped nicely. He has a lithe but solid frame, most of his musculature being found in his legs. The jagged scar running along his right cheek down to his jaw only adds to his handsome features rather than marring them in anyway. His nose, though slightly crooked, has a pleasant shape ending in a button point just above his full lips that look to be perpetually smirking. In all, Gaderon has a strange yet pleasing mix of features found in the noble classes and the working class.

[color=#BB1109][I][b]SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS[/b][/I]:[/color] 
Gaderon is a master swordsman, having traveled to various countries and learned from the swordsman of those lands, both the formally trained and the back alley fighters. He views both fighting styles as art forms and uses them to great effect in his own swordplay. To enhance his own swordplay as well as for his own fancy, Gaderon has also studied the dances of various cultures. He is a masterful dancer and as such is light on his feet and flexible. From his travels he has also learned how to dress and carry himself in order to blend in in just about any setting.

[color=#BB1109][I][b]WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS[/b][/I]:[/color]
The curse upon his race has doomed Gaderon to be drawn to the smell and taste of blood. He does his best to cope with the hunger inside him by eating his meat barely cooked at times, but he only treats himself to this practice once in a great while, not wanting to turn feral like others. His race also makes him the target of prejudice in some areas of the world. Gaderon has become arrogant as well in his age and skill. This attitude turns others away from socializing with him in some instances. 
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[color=#BB1109][B]✶   B E L O N G I N G S[/B][/color]
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[indent][indent][color=#BB1109][I][b]ATTIRE[/b][/I]:[/color]
First and foremost, Gaderon wears comfortable, lightweight clothing; the reasoning for this is twofold. He desires freedom of movement for his dancing as well as his swordplay and does not want to be weighed down. He also keeps his clothing light so the heat of the southern regions will not bother him so much, since he is more used to the frozen lands of his birthplace. The style of his clothing changes depending on whether he is traveling or staying in a location, the location also determining how he dresses when staying in a city. At times, he will wear a light material cloak in order to block the sun on particularly clear weather. This is to prevent himself from burning. He chooses to wear boots with thicker soles when traveling on the road to protect his feet, but he also owns comfortable thin-soled footwear when he is not actively on the road. As far as armor goes, Gaderon wears a pair of leather bracers and a pair of shoulder guards.

[color=#BB1109][I][b]WEAPONS[/b][/I]:[/color] 
Gaderon owns an array of swords and other sidearms he has trained in using. He wears a [url=https://image.ibb.co/c4VHmm/c448a65381eb1b8876ae6a52f21703ff_fencing_sword_medieval_weapons.jpg]rapier[/url] openly on the left side, a [Url=https://image.ibb.co/kSPfBw/arabian_shamshir_warrior_sword_scorpion_king.jpg]scimitar[/url] on the other side, a traditional [url=https://image.ibb.co/kcThMm/royal_armouries_writhen_longsword.jpg]longsword[/url] strapped across his back, and a pair of twin [url=https://image.ibb.co/jSMDSR/74631b8fe86ebeb963b38d48088d0110.jpg]daggers[/url] known as thieves’ teeth hidden in a scabbard on the small of his back. 

[color=#BB1109][I][b]TOOLS[/b][/I]:[/color]
The most important tools he carries are his whetstones and oils necessary for keeping his swords taken care of. He also carries a sewing kit for his clothing, or in some cases, himself.

[color=#BB1109][I][b]PERSONAL ITEMS[/b][/I]:[/color]
Gaderon keeps a worn, leather-bound journal where he has chronicled his lessons in swordplay and dance; a letter is tucked into the pocket of the front cover. He carries an old, dog-eared map of the world with notes scracthed in the margins and near the names of settlements. On his left wrist under his bracer, he also wears a very simple bracelet made of braided string and beads.
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[color=#BB1109][B]✶   H I S T O R Y[/B][/color]
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[h3][center][color=black]"Every scar, every momento holds a story."[/color][/center][/h3]

[color=black]"Ah, my rapier. Gifted to me when I left my home of Steinplatz."[/color]
I was born in Steinplatz to Lady Maria and a soldier in Lord Drachall's army, whose name I never learned. The affair that led to my conception was covered up with a hasty marriage and a handsome fee to the soldier to keep his mouth shut. My mother was married to a proper officer in the army, Vaedron Bréhuul. He treated my mother well and viewed me as his own, though I never knew whether he knew if I was actually his or not (I only found out upon my departure from home after all). With an officer for a father and my mother being a distant cousin or some such of Lord Drachall (I never cared to study the family tree nor pay attention to my lessons involving it), my life was a comfortable one. I had no want or need that was not tended to. My education was thorough, both in the traditional sense and the military sense. I was groomed from an early age to become an officer, so my lessons in swordplay began as soon as I could hold a sparring sword. I quickly fell in love with swordplay, and I showed a natural affinity for it that my tutors claimed they hadn't seen in ages. I had an inkling it was just flattery, but it still bolstered my self esteem and pushed me forward.

When I came of age, my father (Vaedron, that is) gifted me my beautiful rapier. Looking over the glossy handle encased in a dark wood and the dark metal vine work twisting to form the handguard caused a heavy weight to form in my chest. With reluctance, I sheathed the blade and handed to back to my father. I told him I did not wish to join the army and follow his path as an officer. I expected thunder to follow, but instead he was silent and handed the sword back to me. I could see the hint of betrayal and hurt behind his eyes as he told me to pursue my own path. I would have prefered the thunder; this only broke my heart. So, with a heavy heart I left my home behind, with its beautiful peaks of ice. My father hired a ship, paid the captain in fact to postpone their departure for me, to take me to a port in Amorynthia. He did this so I would not have to travel through Vastoria and could avoid the dwarven rebels. As with any send off there were tearful good-byes from my family and the few friends I had. My mother hugged me tighly and slipped a letter in my pocket before I boarded the ship, named [i]The Tranquil[/i]. I did not discover the letter until I was settled into my humble sleeping cabin. [i]The Tranquil[/i] made port in Gard after months at sea. When we made port, the captain instructed me to leave the city as quickly as I could. 

[color=black]"He gave me an old map of his, corners curling from use and notes of his scratched in the margins."[/color]
I heeded his words, knowing the city to mostly be inhabited by dwarves. I kept my hood up and my head down and made it out of the city without incident. Everyone in that place was too broken down to pay much mind to some traveler fresh off a ship. I managed to buy myself a spot on a caravan heading south. Of course, there were some on the caravan who avoided me because of my race, but there were also the few who would speak to me as he traveled. Those few didn't come until after I proved myself, however. Shortly after I joined the caravan, we became the target of some bandits, desperate citizens from Gard. They came upon us with knives and swords that were poorly cared for. The caravan had some hired muscle, but they couldn't be everywhere at once. I sprang into the fray, disarming two of the bandits. I had no desire to kill the poor wretches, but the caravan guards had no such remorse in slaying them. When they spilled their blood, I felt this desire creep its away up my body. It sent shivers through me, urging to drink of the sweet wine spilling from the bodies. I trembled and sweat in the presence of the odor now hanging all 'round me. The world ceased to exist around me, my entire focus on that desire creeping through me. I licked my lips, suddenly parched, needing a drink. I came around to the sound and sight of some of the guards saring me down, their swords held ready but not pointed at me. I shook my head in an attempt to clear the haze. I nodded at the guards and walked away from the bodies, each step seemed as though my boots were weighed down by stones. 

The bodies were drug to the side of the path and looted before the caravan begna moving again. My skill at swordplay was noted by one of the guards, who I eventually came to count among my friends. In the scuffle, I was also credited with saving one of the merchants' life and that of his young daughter's. They were kind to me after that and spoke to me frequently on our travels. The daughter was sweet and would request to play with my hair quite a bit; of course I obliged, allowing flower after flower to be woven into my hair. My friend among the guards spoke to me about his life, asking questions about my own as we spoke. I told him that my journey was just beginning and how I came on a ship from Rotsanger (at the time I preferred to keep my relation to Lord Drachall, however distant, a secret). He told me of how he came from a village called Tethersall and about Iris Rock. I became enamored by his stories pertaining to the legend surrounding the lighthouse and about the man from his home who trained to use a sword. It was this that led to my departure from the caravan once we reached the city of Ryth. We spent a time at Dunnside before that, however, looking at the beautiful rainbow carp and tasting it, of course. While staying in Dunnside, I learned that wherever I went there would be those who looked upon me with instant distrust. I knew of this mindset, but I had never experienced it until then. As I said, from Dunnside we made our way to the First Capital, and it was there I left my friends in the caravan. I had spent some time with them, and their good-byes affected me almost as much as my own family's.

[color=black]"As a departing gift, the merchant's daughter made a bracelet for me. It was simple yet beautiful, made of braided string and beads."[/color]
In Ryth, I bought a fine horse with a blonde and white speckled coat. I named her Pemalla, and she served me wonderfully for some time. After purchasing her, I procurred some simple trail rations for my travels without my friends on the caravan. I'm fairly certain I wasn't charged a fair price for anything I purchased, but I paid what was asked and went on my way. After leaving the city on my own, I quickly found out it was lonely on the road with no friends with whom to chat. I also learned it was dangeorus in the countryside for someone of my... kind. The racism in Dunnside was present, but I had my friends from the caravan acting as a shield for me. In Ryth it was present as well, but the King's laws are more present, more real in the city. Neither of those things followed me as I made my way south toward Middlewood. A ripple seemed to follow me as I slowly made my way through the town in search of an inn. To my surprise, the inn keep allowed me a room in the attic, and charged me as though I were staying in one of the regular rooms. I paid for my lodgings and left it at that. During my stay, I explored the area around Middlewood. The tiny houses the villagers attached to the trees fascinated me, and I did what I could to learn about them. None were too eager to tell me or talk to me at all for that matter.

One one night of my stay the villagers held a festival of sorts. They ate, drank, sang, and danced together. It was the dances that drew me in. I watched, from afar of course, as they wove through all sorts of dances, each as fascinating as the next. Watching them reawakened my love for the art of dancing and made me think back to the dances of my own homeland. I recorded notes on all their dances as I watched from my isolated spot just beyond the festival itself. I knew I would not be welcomed and did not wish to ruin their fun. I retired to my small room as night came, and the villagers stoked bonfires to continue the festival. My stay in the village was cut short the next day. I was sitting in the bar of the inn, as were three of the village's woodsman. One was still drunk, and angry. He said he had noticed me "lurking in the shadows, sizing them all up". He wouldn't listen to anything I said, instead preferring to state how my whole race were just monsters waiting to feed and that I should go back to the north where I belong. His anger just increased as he noticed that his words weren't getting the desired response from me. Finally, it boiled over. He grabbed the bottle of whatever he was drinking and smashed it against the bar's countertop. In a flash he lunged at me and brought the jagged remnants of the bottle down in a slash.

[color=black]"His attack left me with a jagged cut creeping down my cheek to my jawline, and without the proper attention it scarred."[/color]
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