The Myth: In Irish folklore, the Bean Sidhe (woman of the hills) is a spirit or fairy who presage a death by wailing. She is popularly known as the Banshee. She visits a household and by wailing she warns them that a member of their family is about to die. When a Banshee is caught, she is obliged to tell the name of the doomed.

Name: Once, a long time ago in distant memories he had one. Now he is but the Banshee.

Age: Decades, centuries, millenia. Time is meaningless. His appearance is ageless, his chronological age is anyone's guess.

Appearance: Myth would have the Banshee as a hideous creature but he is not. Nay he is as painfully beautiful as the light at the end of the tunnel. He is male, that much is clearly obvious, though his build is slender. No corpse like skin and black hair for him either, both being as pure, and silver as the moonlight. His eyes are great pools of darkness, that survey the world with distant pain. Sharp cheekbones, pointed ears give his features a fae-like appearance. His build tall, yet painfully slender.

Powers: He sees death all around him, tainting all beauty. Only those whose time is near flare before his vision, all else is shrouded in shadows.  Death is beautiful. Death is nothing to be afraid of. Death is peace and perfection and it comes to us all. All save for him. He is immortal, completely unable to be killed in any manner save by one that he loves and that loves him enough to be willing to take the mantle of his immortality and his curse, from his shoulders. For when he dies his powers will transfer to the one that killed him.

He has the ability to see and foretell the death of all who he meets. His ability is completely accurate and infallible; no attempt by him or anyone else can be used to stave off that death. All that he sees die, must and shall die in that manner. There is no thwarting fate nor the song of the banshee.

Personality: Time is meaningless. Minutes, days, hours they all mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. He has seen generations die. He has sung of their deaths. Life is pain and suffering and the only true escape is death, an escape that he longs for and yet can never achieve. He is world weary, he has lived much too long. Apathetic he cares not that he is now a prisoner of the palace. He cares not for the things the subject his body to for in the grand scheme of things that is nothing. He is deathly silent save for when he is forced to speak or around those that are dying. To those whom death is near to he does on occasion try and comfort them, to let them know that it is not the end and to show them the beauty that it holds.

History: Once he was mortal, once he was a boy and yet somehow he was gifted the curse of the banshee. Once he roamed the lands foretelling of doom, warning people of their impending deaths so that they might tie up loose ends. Once he was captured by the Palace, forced to become their slave. Once he was many things. Now he just is.

Environment: He's kept in the 'exotic' wing, captured and sold to those who want something a little different, or for those willing to dare cough up the money in order to be told of their own death. His living area, at the moment, (he is moved around to other areas frequently) consists of a sitting area, a bathing room, and the sleeping area and the dungeon (the last of which is full of S&M equipment which the previous key apparently used). The rooms are gothic-castle themed, the ornate four poster bed undoubtedly the most lavish piece of furniture the rooms posess. The walls are of thick stone, elaborate tapestries hanging on them, rugs thrown on the equally cold stone floors doing little to stave off the chill. Incense and candles burn almost constantly, and the large fireplaces that are set into the wall more often than not have fires roaring in them.