Byron lived many years ago in France. Byron was not his name then...he can't remember what it was then. At the time he was a glutton, living on nothing but wine and women. His father was a noble, and taxes his peasants to support the his own lifestyle and the lifestyle of his son. This went on for so long, Byron was in his thirties when his world came crashing down.

A night, a full moon shown in the sky. A party raged more decadent and lustful then any other party the Baron or his son had ever thrown. One of the guest...one of them was infected. A young one, newly infected less then a week prior. He didn't know...he shifted. And in a blood lust frenzy he went through the manor and killed everyone in it...save for one. Byron, he was lucky...though the lycan did bite him it was distracted by a spear to the side before it could fully kill him. He was tossed aside and left for dead....but he lived.

Many nights he spent in a fevered coma. His body constantly covered in sweat..body burning. He should have died, he should have died and to this day he cannot figure out why he lived. But he did, and when he was released...he spent days wondering about in a horrible depression. He had no family, no money now that that his Father was dead. He had nothing.

The next month is when he finally changed...he was alone in the forest. There was no control...none. He killed so many game animals that night one couldn't tell heads...from legs...from hearts. It was all just a bloody mess. Gypsies found him on the road covered in the entrails and the blood of what he killed...passed out in the middle of the road. He was no one with nothing and he couldn't even really say his name. They knew his curse...they shared his curse. The gypsies were a small bad of liberated lycans that kept traveling to keep themselves hidden. There were no strongholds back then...not for them.

The next many years were spent with them...learning about his kind learning about vampires. The existence was peaceful enough. It was even happy at times. He was learning, not just about lycans and vampires but about life. He was learning to enjoy the simple things, a perfect night sky...the beauty of a sunrise and of a sunset. He was happy.

Then they were found...it was a night of blood shed where the entire caravan was killed again...save for Byron. Everyone was wounded, each of the Death Dealers as they were called were badly hurt in the initial struggle. Byron was out hunting, and came upon then after the last of his new family had fallen...the vampires had no time to regroup and Byron killed those that remained almost loosing his own life in the process. And again he was alone.

There were no other groups to join and he simply walked the earth as a nameless drifter...a monster slayer. For he would hunt rouge lycans who have no one to keep them in check. He was a merc...he was the perfect merc. There was no mercy in his soul any more. There was no pity for his own kind that were left alone. There was no mercy for the vampire that crossed his path. He was as silent as the night, and the vampires called him simply 'Death' when they spoke of him. They lycans did not grow to hate him, for he only hunted the rouges...never joining with an actual pack. They would hire him if things got bad, pay him in gold or weapons. So he was independently wealthy by the time boats sailed for America.

He sailed to America when the boats were filling. It would be a chance for him to again seek a place to call him. And he heard on the winds there weren't many vampires there yet. He was determined to just find a place to call his own and live out his life alone on some properly somewhere. But he was still needed here as well, but among the humans. They hired him to protect towns and people. And he gained more wealth.

Years...upon years...upon years passed. He trained, and when he didn't train he hunted. Despite the vast fortune he acquired he lived a meager live. Not ever owning a house, keeping all his money in banks well protected. Modern times rolled around...and he started his own business. Instead of just being a body guard, Byron trained them. He trained bodyguards and bouncers. And that is exactly what brought him back to budapest...he was here for a while. He fought alongside the pack...but then the reason he came there for committed suicide. More friends left or died...and there was no reason to stay...no reason to care. But not he is back, his business left behind..sold. He doesn't need to work anymore...he comes back because of whispers on the wind. He may be needed....