Shaman of the Norse
Group: The Guardians of The Nether
Posts: 2,401
Member No.: 49
Joined: 18-December 07
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Name: Caul Vanonf
Age: 34
Height: Six foot one
Build: . Slim and wiry in human form, his wolf form the compleate opposite, boasting biceps you could use to squash a side of meat.
Personal Hinderments:
Being a werewolf of large size and gait, Caul is at a disadvantage (Even when not transformed) in all social occasions, from crossing the street to attending one of the dinner parties Icarus regularly throws:
A Smell from beyond the Walls: Due to his frequent hunting trips over the walls, Caul has imbued the smells he regularly masks his own pungent musk with to such a degree that they seem to follow him around the city, like an angry wife constantly berating him and hindering his efforts to integrate himself into normal society at every turn.
Men on the whole are largely immune from the effects of his musk, although the weaker examples he has come across still heave their lunch across whatever they happen to be holding at the time.
Women on the other hand are affected all the more for males are unaffected. Whole rooms have been known to faint before his advance, and several have had their sense of smell removed simply so they might once again look in wonder upon the interior of House Arkturas
Stains of Meals Long Since Gone: Caul, as is usual for a were-wolf, kills humans for the blood that they carry for him in what seems like a grotesque warm storage locker. Icarus allows him free reign once a week, as long as he doesn’t take more than his fill (Drinking from the blood banks if possible) and as long as he doesn’t play with his food.
As a result of the night time sojourns, his teeth are permanently stained with the blood of his victims, rendering them a vermillion gash in the crimson maw that forms his mouth.
Powers:
And Behold the Destroyer: Caul, whether by some strange gods design or the remnants of Hakr's magic lingering over the docks, possesses something extra deep within his soul that brings forth more than just a lycan or a simple beast. When he transforms, his legs lengthen, his snout grows and his body bulges until he stands in the light, a blunt force of destruction beyond the capability of his lesser kin to deal with. (This takes Six powers, as it increases strength, agility and eyesight all in one)
The Thin Red Line: Through some twisted magic sure to have come from the dark furnace of Hakr's mind, Caul is virtually unstoppable in motion (Provided he is in werewolf form at the time)Sheets of steel will crumple before him, assailants will be batted aside like ninepins
It is a potent weapon for terror, as not many men would continue to fight if they saw a gigantic were-wolf crashing through a plate of solid steel.
However, like all things, it is not limitless. Dense materials such as lead and other such metals will hinder him, and may stop him altogether, just as basic metals will if grouped together in a thick enough sheet.
Another downside to this is if he misses his target, he must stop, reassess and re-aim, a costly mistake in terms of time and position. .
Looks: A tall and imposing figure, Caul cuts a swathe through the crowd wherever he goes. For a start, the permanently blood stained teeth mark him out as a maniac, and wherever he goes there are always a few guards following suspiciously, their hands beating a drum rhythm on their batons in case he turns violent.
His use of fine clothes is infrequent and sparse, doing so perhaps for one of the parties so widely mentioned earlier or perhaps for dinner with a discerning female member of his species.
His normal attire consists of mainly rags and a small silver charm in the shape of a cherub. All attempts to remove this charm have met with death, as even when he is asleep or inebriated he can sense when the charm is being touched.
History: Caul, orphaned at a young age in the upper class districts of nether city, took it upon himself to find a way for his sister and himself to survive. His father taught him to live a Spartans life, to live on the barest he could, as he would need all the things he could carry for one day.
The new place he settled suited him well.
A desperate young man with nothing to prove could have risen to the top here. He could have lived in unending luxury, but it was not the way he chose. His path lay with the defence of his sister and his home, the only family he had left to him and the only place in the world where he could be himself.
His story might have continued on abreast of itself. His sister was engaged to the son of a prominent merchant within the upper levels, and Caul himself had run into their next door neighbour a few times. She was a shy, retiring girl, but Caul saw something that no-one else could, and so the urchin from the gutter fell in love.
It would have been a perfect union. But the hand of fate is fickle indeed to those who it see's destiny for. Caul was never to see his beloved again, nor his sister alive.
He had been out fishing, out in the harbour beyond where the pipes dumped the cities refuse into the sea. He had caught fish, fish with which to put food on the table before his and his sisters big wedding days to come. But she wasn’t there.
He pushed open the door, noticing at once that the cupboards were open, ripped open by some unseen force or enemy.
"Sarah?" He called into the gloom, to no answer. There was nothing there, just the scurrying of rats in the next building and the steady drip of the tap.
He ran out, feet slapping against the wet ground as he dashed for the street. He could hear sounds now, screams and shouts, volleys of guns and all the time a whispering of magic in the air
“SARAH!" He yelled, racing round the corner to see her head fall, ever so gracefully, from the alabaster shoulders of her body. The Karok, grouped together with a gaggle of slaves, seemed not to notice, until a shot rang out and one pitched face forward, a hole in its leg.
"I'll kill you!" He screamed, diving head first into the melee that ensued. But after all his experience, he was just a boy. The mutants left his body for dead, lying on the waterfront with one hand tightly clenched around a silver charm...
It was minutes later when the wolf found him, but to Caul those minutes had been weeks, the second’s days as time seemed to stretch out before him in a long winding road. The bite was quick, the work of a moment, and Caul sat up, grabbing his neck as he threw the Wolf away from him, through the wall of the nearest house.
His hand, shimmering in the dark from some unknown force, rose slowly and touched the wound on his neck, cold wind pounding him as he gingerly flicked the dead skin away. The contact was brief, yet the heat poured though his body as he thrashed around on the peirside, the twisted magic of Hakr giving life to the one who would yet live to see the formation of his end.
Race: Werewolf.
Religion: He does not believe... at least not anymore
Friends: Icarus, Cyrus and a few others. Being a were-wolf, he has not many close aquantiences
Weapons: As befitting such a large and imposing figure, he scorns major weapon groups as toys for the weak and puny, or those too young or old to fight properly in a manner befitting their ancestors.
His claws and teeth, along with a few deadly bacteria located in his mouth and some formidable strength are all the weapons he needs.
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Caul Vanonf
