Ebony and crimson, a dash of white on a war-torn face. Two piercing fire-forged eyes resting in a golden skull. These are the prominent features that make up the bulk of Sirocco. The darkness of his coat is broken only by the pink puffy scars of battles passed, of failures and victories woven into his tapestry. Crimson hooves glitter in the soft lights, the mane and tail that hang from his well-toned body are silken to touch. He is every way handsome, and knows this.

Out of the two, Rocco bears the closest resemblance to his mother despite having the key markings given to him by his father. The red mask of his face is interrupted by odd white markings stretching from his muzzle to his eyes. The forelock of his dark mane fades into red, as does the long banner that flows behind him. He is the walking contrast to his twin, the woman bathed in brown and golds, in more ways than one.

Charming && Hot-headed && Wounded && Prideful && Warm

A soldier, a warrior, a lord; Rocco has had many names and ideals. Though it may be easy to mistake him for a simple brute, complexities beneath his mask. He possesses one of the greatest weapons a man of his stature can have; a well sharpened mind. It strikes harder than the blade, deals heftier damage than the ax. It is the engine of the war-machine, and Rocco has kept it well. In contrast, he's often found flirting with pretty girls and flashing a pearly smile. All of which are seen as rude or unsavory among high society. He's a knight at his core, and one who tends to through strict traditions by the wayside.

Much of this hides away the broken motherless boy-child left to the ire of a stalwart father. A boy beaten and consistently considered worthless in the cold eyes of Caedrus. He lives in the shadow of his dead mother and of his twin sister whom garnished praise with every breath. Rocco had never felt love or affection, and thus mimics it outwardly to fill that void. Whether it be pissing on traditions, or flirting with a betrothed maiden--you can easily find him where trouble lies.

Despite his impish nature at times, Rocco has a genuine care for his country, his blood, and his friends. Not one to abandon those he trusts, Rocco is at his best when surrounded by people who can at times keep him in check. Cocky, and hot-headed at times its easy to goad him into a fight depending on his mood.

Sirocco is also a survivalist. He will do whatever it takes to survive when pressed, and has taken lives in battle. Though he may appear to be harmless, make no mistake he could easily crush a skull if provoked. Lucky for most, it takes a great deal to offend and even more to push him to the edge.

The night of his birth was an ominous foreshadow to the trials he'd face in life. As he and his sister were brought about from their dying mother's body, a storm tore the skies asunder. It shook the very walls, rattling ancient stone like no other storm had, rivaled only in sound by his new lungs pressing air out in uncontrollable wails. While his twin, born only moments before, stared at Alistra's lifeless body, Sirocco's crying did not stop until the midwives placed him at his mother's teat in shock and disbelief. As if unaware of what death encompassed, Sirocco nestled close to her cooling corpse only to fall fast asleep. Morning came, the midwives pried the babe from his mother, and Sirocco wept for three days. Death would be a concept that never left them, brutally burned within their minds.

Their father had never been the same after Alistra's passing. Unwilling to embrace her legacy, Caedrus kept his children at a distance; perhaps even more-so to young Sirocco. The young lord bore the colors of his mother, reminding Caedrus of Alistra each time he glanced upon his son. From the beginning, the young lord felt the icy chill of his father's disapproval--no matter what he did, it was never good enough in the eyes of his father. He struggled with a small attention span often evoking the ire of his tutor, and by extent his father. The boy's escape had been crawling around in crypts, searching for long lost ancestors, speaking to his mother's headstone; in the courtyard with knights sparring with wooden swords, or the gardens where he let his imagination soar. At times, the idea that his sister would inherit their father's title bothered him. It seemed so strange that a girl born moments before himself would automatically gain the right of succession--but as Antimony would dream of becoming Duchess, Sirocco's life turned down the soldier's path.

They were still young when it happened, the boy staring from the shadows at such a horrendous scene. Fear had gripped him so tight the boy swore the shadows had grabbed hold of his legs preventing him from running. In shock he watched with horror in his fire-eyes; Antimony's had gone blood-red, and there in shock and silent in a scream was the innocent maid. Sirocco was horrified. The arcane had never fascinated him like it had Antimony, yet here seeing what his sister was brought a chill down his spine. Never before had Sirocco felt this sensation, and it would be many years before it would return. While their father collected distraught and hazed Anni, Rocco swore he'd never use what arcane gifts lay in his blood. Turning to one of his father's knights, Sirocco began training each day. With careful precision he began to hone his skills with a sword, a shield, harnessing his body's growing physical strength to counter his twin's arcane prowess.

After his twin's magic had manifested, Caedrus grew even more distant from his son. The nights were hard for young Rocco, laying awake at night wondering if he would ever be good enough to catch just an ounce of pride from his father. It was shorty thereafter, Caedrus brought his children to court for the first time and Sirocco got a taste of how the political ring worked. His sister delighted in it, yet the boy could not understand why. His mind could not comprehend the intrigue or the desire to lie to another man's face, or perhaps even the desire to whisper unpleasant things behind another man's back. Whispers were what bugged him most, vaguely hearing his mother's name on the lips of strangers was unsettling to say the least. When a court jester had overstepped his boundaries concerning Alistra, Caedrus answered the call to arms in the for of a duel. He was merciless. It was the first time young Sirocco had ever witnessed his father's prowess, and in those moments, understood why he carried the moniker The Duke of Desolation.

Despite his victory, Caedrus retired to their ancestral home taking both his children with him. Caedrus turned his eye upon his son, but not in the way the boy had intended. Knowing the younger of his offspring lacked the skill to survive the Grand Game; the Duke of Drakesfell began to oversee the boy's studies on a personal level. If Sirocco answered a question wrong, or did something the Duke did not approve of, Caedrus would punish him in kind. Sirocco remembers how often he was forced to stare at maps and old tomes, memorizing each detail, before he was allowed rest.There is power in knowledge, his father would often say, use it. This drove an icy wedge further between the two, Sirocco growing more boisterous in rebellious action, but never outright slandering their father. He loved Caedrus, deep down, Sirocco was always loyal to his kin--but there was also anger, hurt. The boy slowly learned to hide it, to ignore it. Weaknesses were something Caedrus did not tolerate within his children.

At the age of three, they were sent off to court once more to further their studies. Sirocco struggled, watching as the shadow of his sister engulfed him in her wake. She charmed the court with her wiles, while Sirocco stood and watched in awe. Often he would retire to a secluded courtyard in the place of their residence, sneaking away from the prying eyes of young ladies and challenging lords, to practice against crude wooden dummies. It is here he caught the eye of a renown knight by the name of Hakon Audris, a man hailing from a House that once ruled Valkrai. Seeing the potential in the young man, Hakon took the lad under his wing and the boy became his squire. When his studies in political intrigue ended, Sirocco would find his way to his new master and train until dawn dared paint the sky in color. To say Rocco was exhausted would be a gross understatement, but yet the young man persisted. Resilience radiated in him, over time the long nights and grueling days became like second nature. His body and mind honed to work together, a weapon on and off the battlefield. In truth, time spent with the Knight brought forth a bond Sirocco had lacked--Hakon became almost like a father to the young Eudoxia. He taught Rocco with a careful hand, proudful of his student, teaching the boy how to enjoy court without delving too far into politics and yet being just enough aware to keep himself alive.It was under the tutelage of Hakon that Sirocco blossomed in the court. While his father and sister used fear to keep the others at bay, Rocco used his charming smile to pull people in. He was an attractive lad, well built, already developing muscle in all the right places, easy on the eyes to many young lady. He came to find a love for the attention, no matter how dull the conversation became, seeking it out in opposition to his sister's icy grip. His sister, however, had seemed to find trouble. She accepted a duel, much to her brother's disdain, and when the heir to Drakesfell slaughtered her opponent the country teetered on the brink of war.

The challenger had been from a relatively small house, Gulian,relatives of the king they served. Despite this fact, his twin only showed mercy to quell further tensions between House Eudoxia and House Gulian. Despite such tensions, their father remained out of the spotlight--he trusted his heir to make the right decisions, and Rocco would be lying if he didn't feel just a tad touch of jealousy. Had it been him, Caedrus would have grabbed him by the arm and personally escorted him from the court to lock him back in the castle of Drakesfell. Despite this, Hakon continued to instruct young Rocco. The old Knight came to him one eve, suggesting the young man take part in an upcoming tourney. Eager to prove his newfound skill, Sirocco accepted without hesitation. It lasted for days, festivities bringing in coins to the King and fighters from all over the nation and beyond; and Rocco did not fall once. He fought with such finesse it brought gasps of awe and excitement to the crowd and onlookers. Besting each foe in combat, it soon became clear the weapon he would favor would be the war-hammer. Strength came to him, magic, though he did not see it as such. And when he felled his last opponent, knocking the seasoned warrior to the ground in one powerful blow, the young man was given a ring of roses the deepest of reds. Knowing full and well his sister was present, he brings himself to where she sits and places the crown upon her lap. His smile turns up to one side, revealing the dimples dotted in his cheeks, and he winks a fiery eye. The place went silent, and Sirocco wore nothing but a smug smirk as he trod off the field.

As if his father had been displeased, Caedrus ripped the title from his children and declared they must prove themselves to regain it. It hurt Sirocco, in the light of his rising glory as a Knight, feeling as if once more he had disappointed their father. Knowing this, seeing it in the fiery eyes of his once-pupil, Hakon had a gift made for the young man. Presenting him with it on the day of his enlistment within the King's greater army, Sirocco felt pride swell from his mentor. It was a massive warhammer, carved from obsidian and steel, and in it's handle etched twin dragons dancing across the sleek black landscape.One day, your sister will be all you have left. he said with an old weary smile, A little reminder to always protect her, blood is blood, even when at their worst. With those words of wisdom, Sirocco packed what little he had and set off to join the camps in the north. As one might expect, he more than excelled on the battle field. Quickly gaining the attention of his superiors, Rocco rose in the ranks almost overnight. He used his charming smile and knowledge of the terrain in Valkrai to maneuver troops out of dire circumstances, to raid the enemy from the isles' camps when night came, and turned the war against Mazorn the Cruel of Moranth in their favor. He was brilliant in the eyes of his commanding officers, and never once used his house-name to gain what he wanted. Hard work and dedication were what drove Sirocco, only hoping in silent prayers that this would be good enough to gain that ounce of pride from Caedrus he craved like a drug. Soon, Rocco found himself at the helm of over half the King's militia. Knowing this, Sirocco returned to his ancestral home wishing to speak with his father confidant that his actions were delightful in his eyes. But he was met with the same cold, uncaring words as he had been all his life. It angered the man, and for the first time in his life Sirocco lashed out against his father. Calling him a coward, accusing him of never loving his children or their mother, Rocco had known he overstepped a boundary the moment those words left his mouth. Caedrus's gaze was colder than he had ever felt it be, a stern thin-lipped expression crawled over the old man in the silence that befell the two.

Get out it stung when he said it, voice low, dangerous. For a moment Sirocco stood bewildered at what he had just done, but it soon turned to ash in his mouth and anger in his heart. He shoved the doors open, slamming them into the carved walls and left Drakesfell with out a glance back. When he returned to the military, his mind had gone awry. Rocco turned his men on the bulk of the Urul's horde--with out sound tactic, hoping that strength would see him through. It was a bloody mess, both sides clashing in wetlands unfit for the Valkrian soldiers to fight, while the Moranthians had been accustomed to it. For days the battle raged, until Sirocco was bested in combat for the first time in his life, thrown to the ground and rendered unconscious by the blow to his head, yet not before wounding the islander's king, Mazorn. Captured as a prisoner of war, Sirocco was oblivious to the happenings back home. For six months he was the captive of the Uruls, tortured and nearly starved, but kept alive for the money they demanded from Caedrus. He felt utterly defeated, ashamed, knowing what he faced back home would likely be his end. Rocco had disgraced his father, and now he had been given a taste of defeat--perhaps, for his own good.

When his father failed to answer the ransom, Sirocco knew he had to make a plan of escape. The Uruls would tire of his presence and likely end his life should Caedrus continue to ignore their demands. He was no master magician, nor did he have the power of his sister, but Rocco overcame his guard one night snapping the man's neck despite being chained. Quickly he grabbed the keys and freed himself, bolting into the wilderness before the alarm could be raised. His ears rang with the sound of dogs and men shouting, knowing they were hot on his trail. And yet he persisted, pushing his starved and weakened body to it's brink. Coming to a large river at the base of a ravine, he jumped without hesitation. The water hit him like a blow from his hammer to the chest, sweeping him away in it's strong currents. For a time, Sirocco thought he would drown in their dark waters, but as luck would have it the soldier was tossed on the shore shivering, exhausted. The sounds of dogs had all but faded into the distance, and he took the opportunity to regain what little strength he could. It was not long though, before they picked up his scent again, and Rocco bolted into the unknown woods before him.

Super Strength:

Sirocco's magic is considered a 'passive' and 'weak' magic within his homelands. He possess the ability to summon great strength in times of need--perhaps even inhuman amounts of it. From breaking the earth to smashing through rock and trees, there seems to be no end to his capabilities while under the cusp of this magic's influence. More often than not, he uses it to wield large weaponry and swing it with deadly precision.

Weakness one: Rocco cannot maintain his stasis of magic for long. In fact, its better used in short small bursts rather than continuously in one go. Vertigo and fatigue are often side-effects of prolonged use.

Weakness two: During his stasis of strength, Rocco is prone to taking high damage when struck. In fact, he barely feels wounds when they occur while using it, causing him to ignore significant ones until the magic retreats. This can leave him horribly vulnerable if pressed, and can even cause death in the most extreme of circumstances.

Sirocco at times wears gold plated armor, and carries a large obsidian war-hammer to which rubies are inlaid. For more detailed description please refer to his history

Avi: elegant-tragedy @deviantart
Ref 1: elegant-tragedy @deviantart
Ref 2: Frank base & Naki additions