[center]Name: 
N/A

Gender: 
Male

Age: 
Appears to be Middle to late twenties. 

Appearance: 
He's tall, but is very thin. He’s not bony per se, but seems like he’s been on a diet for a while… or gone a few days without food. As for his clothes, they’re nothing special. Outdoor boots, jeans, and an olive drab shirt. 

Height: 
Six Feet Tall. A bit taller than the average male would be. 

Weight: 
One Hundred and Forty-Four Pounds.

Hair colour: 
Black hair with a few graying areas. Pretty strange for someone of his age. 

Eye colour:
His irises appear to be green in color. 

Skin tone: 
If one took a look, they could plainly see that it is white, but they would also see that it’s beginning to tan. 

Notable features: 
Has a severe burn scar that runs across his arm, very noticeable as of now as he’s wearing a short sleeve shirt. 

Personality:
This man can end up saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but he generally doesn’t mean to harm anyone by his words, and when he does it’s plainly obvious. Subtlety is not a word in his dictionary, and he acts accordingly. If he doesn’t like someone, he’ll go up to them and personally tell them that he does and why. He calls things as he sees it… but will grow quiet in the face of criticism, or looks of disgust, as he hates it when people stare too long at him, especially because of his scar, which even he admits is not very pretty. 

Back story: [[n/a]]

Fears: 
Has a fear of being burned. He doesn’t know why, just does. As such, he avoids flames whenever possible. He will however, in a dire situation, allow himself near a fire if the circumstances require it to be so. He also has a fear of heights. 

Loves: 
While not a social outcast, he does enjoy peace and quiet from time to time. Loves the sea a great deal, so he likes to swim or boat. 

I have read and accept the terms and conditions. Yes [X] No [ ][/center]

[hider=writing sample]“My name is Pyotr Nikolai. Thirty-Three years of age, Serial code 040147. My name is Pyotr Nikolai. Thirty-Three years of age, Serial code 040147. My name is Pyotr Nikolai-” The man repeated these words as a mantra, the only words Pyotr had allowed his captors to hear, as he was imprisoned god knows where. He carved another tally mark into the wall with one of his fingernails. If he hadn't lost track of time, it should have been one year, one day, fifty-two minutes, and 33 seconds since the moment he had been captured.

And of course, he was tortured to no end. Geneva Convention my ass. It was just another piece of paper the bureaucrats signed, as people like to believe their government keeps their word just because they “swore” to it on paper. Sometimes his captors would go with the classic waterboarding everyone hears about. Sometimes they’d take his clothes away and throw him in a cell that was extremely cold, and throw cold water on him to add insult to injury. Or they’d simply punch him in the abdomen, perhaps out of anger.

Pyotr didn’t even know why he was here. It was barely a year and he’d almost forgotten his past life. From conversations he heard outside his cell from time to time, they’d said he was a tough one to crack, probably intent to keep his secrets to the death. They’d break him someday.

Problem was, he didn’t even know any secrets. He’d screamed out several times that he knew nothing. His captors took that as a sign of defiance rather than genuine fear.

What could he say? It was a year of pleading, that fell on empty ears. Pyotr tensed as his cell door opened. It was right on time, as always. Did it matter anymore? He could do nothing. Pyotr wasn’t James Bond, he was some janitor at some small town college. 

Maybe they’d let him go after a few years of this, and see he was truly innocent.

-------------------------------

Today would be the last day of the torture.

His captors decided that they simply hold him at gunpoint. Pyotr Nikolai wasn’t talking, so they’d grant him one more chance. Tell them everything, or die. That surely would get him to talk. Hold him down to the ground, shoot a few rounds near his head to scare him into submission. 

If he still denied everything, they’d kept him here long enough. If he wished to take his secrets to the grave, so be it. They’d have someone else that they could torture to find out what exactly he was hiding anyway.[/hider]

Writing sample is a bit long, but that's something from one of my rp's before the guildfall.

I am also Dlayeth's friend, so hello to everyone. I hope my writing is something you're looking for, but if not, I'll just let myself out, haha.