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Son of Donrai's youngest brother Weylan Thrax, Alecstazi was born into power. Or at least within the aura of it. Even as a child he was measured, perceptive and quick to learn the art that was surviving in Donrai's court. He studied his uncle well, and modeled himself after the most successful courtiers in the Mourning Isles. He did not speak unless spoken to, his answers were short, accurate and politely given. He studied the way of the sword and hid his dislike of boats, because showing weakness was not the path to victory. And victory? Meant surviving. Alecstazi was twelve years old when the Tyde Rebellion began and Donrai's fury threatened to turn the seas permanently red. Too young to fight, Alecstazi studied the battle reports, drank up stories of the fighting, listening at Donrai's knee. Three years later, he was horrified to discover that his father, Weylan and his older brother Rotan were traitors, working to try to smuggle some of the last remaining Tyde children to freedom. He immediately called for guards and told his uncle of his father and elder brother's crimes. The sentence was to be death, but at Alecstazi's suggestion, he had them made thralls instead. Death is a swift punishment with no chance to really atone for one's betrayals, he reasoned. Thralldom... well. Isn't that the worse punishment? Apparently, Donrai agreed. Alecstazi earned his uncle's favor and was able to navigate that into being allowed (with no small amount of eye rolling) to cultivate a small number of cavalry soldiers in Maelstrom. Again, he argued, if ever there was a need to fight on the mainland, better to have an idea and some preparedness than be caught flatfooted and landlocked. He enjoyed the benefits of Donrai's favor, cultivating his persona at court, continuing his education in martial training, tactics and doing his cavalry drills. When the old man died and Victus defeated Dagon, that was a blow that left him reeling. He's continued to work towards the betterment of Maelstrom, though the direction the fealty has been taking, the move away from tradition has been growing more and more concerning. This last proclamation, about the end of thralldom, well. Things have got to stop. It is time for Alecstazi to head to Arx and see for himself what is going on.

There is a marked intensity about this man. Tangible in the air around him, coiled and primed to strike. And yet. His is a tall frame, standing well above the average height, and well muscled, he carries himself with pride, determination and a touch of arrogance. Black hair is dark enough to hold a bluish sheen in the light, clipped short on the back and sides, but long enough to be swept back in the front, or to occasionally fall into his eyes. Thick black lashes frame eyes that cannot decide on a hue. Pale and blue as a washed out summer sky from one angle, from another, the visceral blue of northern ice. His face is handsome, angular cheekbones, a strong jaw that tapers to an almost paradoxically delicate point. His nose is a touch too large for his face, and his brows are often the most expressive thing about him. His mouth is wide and prone to sly half-smiles that only accentuate its width.

Precise. That is a good word to sum up this Thraxian prince. Well mannered, courtly, every movement is thought through, practiced, polished, decorous. He can be charming in a sharp way, his wit dry and sometimes pointed. Not the kind to begrudge an apology if his barb is too sharp, there is, however, an unflinching expectation of station, of behavior and etiquette. When breached he can be frosty and disapproving, proving just how much of his charm is deliberate. To say he is a bit of a traditionalist is an understatement. He is Thrax through and through, to the core.