A last minute presentation, but I fell in love with the idea of a Fae so I had to toss my hat into the ring. 
[hider][b]Name[/b]: Caber (his favored name)

[b]Gender[/b]: Male

[b]Race/Species[/b]: Gancanagh (Celtic Fae)

[b]Age[/b]: 2,357 (appears 17)

[b]Appearance[/b]: To describe the form of a Fae is...difficult. Some say he looks like a satyr, with cloven hooves and fur, and twin horns atop his head. Others describe him as a diminutive Elk, or a small man with the wings of a butterfly and a garment made of leaves and vines. Those who have seen him in Britain described him as a red fox. In truth he has been all of these, and more. His most common appearance is that of a youth, of with rich hair as dark as the night sky, eyes as blue as the deep sea, skin as flawless as a clear stream and a laugh like a song. His voice is often deep and as rich as his hair, but if he turns to anger or fear, it raises in pitch exponentially.   

[b]Personality[/b]: A lover of writing, paintings, and music, Caber is what you would call a patron of the arts. Beauty in all of its aspects, and the accumulation of such things drives him. He is very simple that way, and yet he has a vast wisdom and knowledge of the world born from his millennia of life. He is like most fae, quick to anger but equally as quick to calm, lust (what he is known for in the legends) and love arriving just as easily as distaste and hatred. Caber is a trickster and a knave, he is loyal to the PHI and those he seems of his clan. He enjoys learning and speaking dead or ancient languages. In relation, he has an extreme interest for ancient artifacts, particularly wealth that shines. He is quite greedy, and though he catches himself being selfish, it's hard to halt that part of his personality. Of course, above all he loves the natural world and he often stays outdoors whenever he is not working in the office, unless he has found a woman to seduce. After his many years of life, he has learned restraint [i]to a point[/i], however all it takes is a small push and he is as wild and unruly as he was back during his years as a Pagan deity. 

[b]Powers, Traits, and Abilities[/b]: Though he is no wizard or sorcerer, due to his Fae powers he can perform enchantments with his flute, and he can cast minor spells with a wave of his hand or the invocation of a word. His eyes and voice are mesmerizing, though anyone who is prepared can hold off that bit of magic with a stout mind. He has the ability to change shape, becoming creatures of the forest if need be, though there is hardly ever a need for that. He can see into the spirit realm and not only see other spirits or fae, but recently deceased humans or lost souls. Caber also has a minor levitation ability he enjoys using. His body is also far quicker, and slightly more durable than a normal man's. Years of exposure has also gained him a resistance to iron, the bane of all fae, though it still unnerves him and pure iron pressed to his skin will cause bruises and eventually cause him to lose his human form entirely. Despite these varied powers, his greatest strength is his knowledge. A lover of stories (mythological and mundanely historical) and ancient cultures, languages, and curses, he provides invaluable insight for the crew. He is very adept at gardening, bird watching, climbing trees, acrobatics, singing, dancing, and seducing taken women. 

[b]Background[/b]: A clear stream cascading down a rocky decline as the birds sing from above, and the sky opens to reveal a midsummer sun, revealing a vast sea of green, the highlands peaking out as waves. That was all Delilah could conjure in her mind to describe the melody played by the dashing stranger's flute. Once he was done, he opened his eyes and twirled the instrument within his nimble fingers, and the flute was gone as if it had never been. A sleight of hand, surely. "What's your name?" She asked, her pupils enlarged. He took her hand in his, looking positively smug.
The pub residents had all halted their conversations to pay attention to the flute playing, but once he was finished, the conversations rushed back in like a crashing wave of water. Caber took a drink from the generous pint he'd ordered. "Ah, a loaded question, some might say." he said, almost sounding bored. Perhaps not a loaded question to some, but Caber had been known by many names, and had seen many things change in his lifetime. The land he had been born had been called Gaul, by the Romans, and that turned into Gaullia, into Francia, and then France. 
"Caber, they call me." He said. "And yours?" 
She told him almost too quickly, her eyes caressing his jawline and the waves of his hair, only to follow his hand as he lifted up his mug once more. He was so young! Yet she was utterly attracted. "I love your music," she continued, her finger now idly twirling her hair. 
"Can you believe some believed me a God for how I played the flute?" 
She took it as a mere boast, giggling at what she perceived as an attempt at humor. He laughed with her as his mind wandered back into that ancient past, when he had ran wild and plagued the forests of old Gaul and Germania, until Caesar and his legions with swords of blasted [b]iron[/b] came. The blasted Roman had gotten what he'd deserved at the senate, if only Caber could have been there to see him fall. Caber recalled the consular pursuing him even across the English channel into the British Isles. But ever northward had he traveled, and he found centuries of fun with the picts and the celts of Ireland. That is, until the Norse arrived, quaking with war and seeking vengeance with the power of their Gods of Asgard, using swords of dreaded steel. 
With an effort, Caber calmed himself. He had done much better these days with keeping his faerie side from taking over, and once he opened his pools of blue, he found he should enjoy the catch he had made tonight. He drew in closer for a kiss.
"Hey, pal." 
A rough voice tried to tear his attention away from the lass, but Caber had decided he would like to continue gazing at her for a moment. The voice spoke again. 
"Hey, that's my woman there." The voice held a warning in it. 
"Is it?" Caber asked aloud, unconcerned or simply unaware of the danger the interloper promised to present. "You are a lucky man. Tonight, I think she will be mine, however." 
A rough, Nordic arm shoved Caber back and knocked over the wine he had been drinking, spilling the delectable contents across the table and shattering the serene mood the fae had placed himself in. Caber turned to the burly man, and the debonair young man suddenly looked feral, his teeth bared and the hair, no [i]fur[/i] of his arms on end. What's more, his eyes blazed with the color of burning bronze. The lights began to dim slowly, and with the swiftness of the turning winds, Caber left his chair and had grabbed the man by his shirt collar, the youth's muscles firm like oak. "Do you think your Gods will save you from me?" the fae squealed in devilish delight. With an almost treeish certainly, he shoved the hairy Nord back into the next table, causing it to collapse. No sooner had the man hit the ground did Caber look as he had been, collected and as calm as can be. 
The woman Delilah looked confused and torn, as if she needed to be told what to do next like a lost child. Caber smoothed his still-combed hair and cleared his throat, regaining his senses. "Two thousand and eighteen," he breathed, an indecipherable whisper to himself. A moment later, he turned back to Delilah. "My dear, it was lovely to speak to you. But alas, our time has come to an end. Had we met when I was a young one, you would be a Gwragedd Annwn." He clapped thrice, and the lights flickered once more. Those bar patrons that had not been too engrossed in their drink or still eyeing the prone body of the jealous boyfriend, would see the image of a goat-like thing in their retina before the lights turned back on, and the youth was gone. 
The fae, now floating out in the nightsky back to his calling stone within the PHI HQ, realized he should speak of none of this to Morgan, or she would bind him to the station itself. That would be utterly dreadful!
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