Fain DelCaire stood tall at 6’6” he loved the fact that his height was so close to that dark number. Fain was a one of the curse, or so he was led to believe. He didn’t care. He loved it. Reveled in it. His very essence that of corruption and despair. Though he led his coven as one of the three elders, his brothers, and though he was close to his brothers, Fain didn’t stand for their nonsensical war. He loved to kill. To hunt. To feed. He loved the parties and the blood and he loved to be free. But there was always something missing. Some piece of him that felt broken, distant, craving. Something inside him didn’t like the way things were. Fain wasn’t one to blindly except what he had been told. He wasn’t one to just listen to what his older brothers Drakari and Damian said. He didn’t like to just follow what his father and mother had taught him. Fain was a born vampire. Born of countless generations of vampires. He was one of the pure undead. It was strange to stand amongst those born like him and feel more kinship to the turned then he did to the pure. They were blind. Sheep. Like the humans, the cattle. They followed what they were taught, never seeking. Endless war. Always just blindly seeking to kill the wolves.<br/><br/>He was sick of the war. Tired of the layers of deception and lies. Tired of what had been and would never be known. Tired of being a sheep. That is what brought Fain to the capital of Delmarsh a distant neutral world where even the war didn’t touch. It was a library that filled the planet. It irritated him beyond measure to be caged inside a cell like room where here. Everyone was caged. Like birds. Trapped. He was growing angry and frustrated. In all the databases that made up the world of knowledge as Delmarsh was better known didn’t give him anything on the origin of the war.<br/><br/>His eyes, white with red rings surrounding the outer edge of the iris, narrowed in anger and frustration. He ran his hand through his long black hair which hung loose around his shoulders, cascading to the middle of his back. Usually he’d have woven his hair into intricate braids, millions of them and tied them all back into a knot at the base of his neck, but here and now he didn’t want to yank strands out when he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.<br/><br/>Waisted. Yet another day. Waisted. He sighed heavily and rose. Unable to stand being caged inside this hell. He left the room and walked down the long sterile white hallway. His tight black leather pants clinging to his body showing off his lean muscular form. A single knife and blaster hung from his hip. He wore a tight fighting armored shirt that also displayed the muscular form beneath it’s plating and armor. He wore a long black leather duster over the sleeveless shirt, for no other reason then he liked the way it sat and flowed around his body as he walked. Fain looked as though he was barely out of his twenties even though he was actually 254 years of age.<br/><br/>He ran his hand through his unbound hair as he exited the private library and entered the public sector. He stopped at the entrance letting his senses adjust to the sudden pandaemonium of beings around him. The rise of sound set his sensitive hearing into a painful throb. His ethereal senses shot into overdrive sending tingling all over his body as the energies of life and unlife pulsed like waves against his skin. His sight blurred as his combined heat sight and his natural sight layered over each other. He always hated the way his senses tended to swirl like this when he entered a place that was heavily populated from hours of seclusion. He hated seclusion for that very reason. He hated being here. Anger and frustration were bitter emotions coursing through his veins.