In a world you thought you knew, secrets remained hidden in the shrouds of time and destiny. In the age of the internet and television, the characters of your childhood fairy tales, your favorite movies, or even your wildest desires are all reality. Humanity has found itself no longer alone. The monsters are out of the closet. Magic is real. Society has found itself divided into those who have accepted the 'others', and those who wish to send these creatures into a fiery grave. A church that teach the ever lasting life by embracing vampires' eternity. Humans who have risen up to create hate groups against them. An eternal struggle between angels and demons amidst it all, threatening destruction of the entire world in the cross-fire. All the while, most of society works, lives, breathes, right along side monsters and beautiful creatures from their dreams. Who are you among them? Welcome to Savannah, Georgia.
Affliction is a supernatural (and some modern fantasy) role play loosely based on Anita Blake / Merry Gentry lore. We are a R-rated site with explicit content. 18+ members only. Please register with an out of character account first and full character names (first and last).
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Posted: Aug 24 2017, 12:41 PM
Age // 134
Posts // 6
Species // Werewolf
Occupation // Steel factory worker
Quote // How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?
Aly is Offline.
Werewolf + Steel factory worker + 134
Character Name: Shaun Ammon Wolfe
Face Claim: Anson Mount
Power Rank if Vampire, Were, or Lycan: Alpha
Appearing Age: 41
Chronological Age: 134
Profession: Steel factory worker and night time security officer
Worn and weathered, that is what many will see. A hard man with a scowl and little to say. Grey has creeped up into his dark hair that he doesn’t care to let grow or the silver in his beard that he might groom on occasion. Though he has kept in good shape when his nerves have never settled from his time in the military. Or most assume as military. Beyond the cold of his expression, the rigidness of his posture, the scars across his face and form, he imposes a command all its own in his very presence without saying much.
Sure, he’s tall, reaching a good six feet and three inches but there is a leanness to his form. Though there is no lacking in muscle when that isn’t what throws most off. No, what takes most by surprise are his eyes. Wild and without equal, they reflect the burden set on him with their red and gold flecks. Due to this, he spends a great deal of his time with sunglasses. Beyond that, it is generally clothes of practical comfort that find him.
Though give no pause for his casual dress or unkept ways, for even his silence holds a fury to it. Boiling under the surface of work and women, there is the glimpse of the monster once created in him. And beyond that? The immeasurable weight of desolation for a man that has lost everything good in his life.
He doesn’t like people, that is a given. Shaun is mean, crass, bitter, and holds little affection for the world - or that is what he will let most believe. In most cases, it’s the truth. He is antisocial and a recluse, yet holds a measure of something good in him. Regardless how bitter and spiteful he can seem, he’s honorable. Or used to be. For each year taken, each moment left in the nightmare of his own mind, was the beginning of the end for that goodness. With each act of violence, feeding into that nature that was all too primal, giving into the very fury of it, stripped away the man he had been.
Some would think there is nothing good left. That whatever was left of him died in those fighting pits built for the enjoyment of the master that would take pleasure of study in the pet werewolf made. But what most could not know is what came before that life, that enslavement, when he had died long before he knew silver chains and forced blood.
No, long before he had become a possession, he had been a husband and a father. And though he was never a perfect lover and caretaker, he was true and good to those close to his heart. He adored his children and cherished his wife. Only thing is, it didn’t seem to be enough. Whatever pains struggled with, fights anguished over, there was no working out what his wife saw to simply give up.
Regardless of the world falling into its own chaos through war, where he had set a duty to fight, he returned to an empty home. And more so, the scent of another man. Needless to say, before anything else, Shaun Wolfe was given the valuable lesson of trust and betrayal.
Born in 1883 on the very ship that took his parents from England to the Americas, it was the memories of cold and mountains which come to him the most when he thinks of his childhood. Never anyone from somewhere, even with a Protestant father and an Irish mother, he could not call himself English or Irish. It was in his blood, a part of his speech, but never was it him. He was a boy with no home. Because it wasn’t land or place that became his home, but that of the people around him.
Sounds pretty simple and carefree, and for the most part - he was. Simple and strange, if anyone knew the truth of it. To be someone of no land. Because, in the truth of it, he knew what he was. Born of parents fleeing from the turmoil of England and finding their child, born nowhere but the toss and turn of a boat, infected with the same as them. He was a werewolf.
The great American West seemed perfect for him. He grew up knowing nothing but the constant move and the open world. It was wild and for that part of him, it called to that which was wild as well. But like all wild things of that time, civilization was soon to catch up. It was the sound of a gunshot on a cold night which stole him from innocence, that moment to teach a boy to be a man, when he watched the life leave the bodies of his parents. Being open and wild wasn’t an option anymore and in that moment, he found the law of man. So he stepped away from the wilds of the west and entered into the loud roar of the city.
It was a struggle at first, finding that transition and change for what it was, when that other half of him would always call to something untamed and primal. But it was in that world of industry, of smoke and sound, that he met Her.
Her name was Eleuthera Lorcán ó Mordha and she was a quiet woman with strong opinions working as a doctor’s assistant. Many avoided her, some even dared call her a hag, and yet there was something he found fascinating. It didn’t matter if she was older than him, he could not turn the azure of his eyes from her. She was nothing like the girls and young women he had known. And he would learn why.
In the smear of blood and fury, that wild and dark thing inside him gave no mercy when the moon was full. All he could remember was how hungry he was but when left with the sight meant for nightmares, it had been one of care. She saw him for what he was and never had she flinched. Not when she wiped the stain of blood from his face or tended to the cuts across his knuckles. All she did was watch him with the same intensity as he did.
That night he found he was not as alone in this world as he thought himself to be. She was not wolf, not like him, but she was different. She was more than what she seemed. It made sense, that understanding and fascination he found in her, but could not figure out until then. She was a necromancer and though so many would avoid that cold and intelligent presence of her - he could do nothing but be drawn within. And drawn within, he was.
She was older but in the years to come, it seemed it was he that aged into the relationship and never her. For whatever magic she held, it touched very little in her features, keeping her caged in the beauty he saw. And as his youthfulness turned rough in his age, he merely found a happiness he had never imagined. He never considered what she was. He never questioned her lack of aging. It didn’t matter to him. Not when she agreed to take his hand in marriage nor when she mothered the first of their children. Nothing mattered beyond the life they made for each other. Even in the strife to find them, everything seemed perfect. As their daughter grew under the adoring watch of his eyes, nothing could be wrong in this.
He should have looked harder.
To see the stagnate nature of Eleuthera’s eyes, of the distance made, when - in the end - he would partly blame himself. Duty found him absent, finding that other purpose within himself with the role of soldier. All the more with the boiling of war. The Great War, many called it. A war that reached across the expanse of the known world. And though there was little threat there within the city of Chicago, he still took the call. With a kiss to his wife, daughter, and newborn twin boys - he left. For a sense of honor and the country he never claimed - he left his heart.
He never found it again.
After a year and three months, the war announced over and he was able to return home. To find those that made it home. But he only returned to an empty house and a stranger’s scent. His mind was wild and yet it was in that panic that he found a single answer. A letter. So many letters had been shared between them in his absence and yet none had been like this. None had been touched with her promised cold. She was leaving him.
Never had he felt such cold in his veins and heart as he did that day. Not even when he found that glimpse of her, tracking her down against her wish, and saw that life outside his own. He watched her smile and it was never for him but the man she was with. And in that moment, his mistake had been in trying to re-enter into her life. The children, it was for them. Shaun wasn’t about to allow another man to raise his children. Unfortunately, this usurper had other plans.
A necromancer and a vampire, that was what the other was. Dark tidings sealing the fate for not only his children but that of the father. For one night he is holding them in his arms, the next he is waking up within a silver cage. Get rid of a problem - a threat - and the vampire had done just that. And in Shaun’s thoughts, that day with his children was the last he truly was ever alive.
Born in 1883, his life ended in 1924. The decades to come after, they were no life. In the blur of pain and fury, there was only nothing. Forced into the servitude of a cruel leech - his vampire master, Claudia Beaumont - a once free man was made into nothing more than a glorified fighting dog. Blood, pleasure, and study - those were his uses. When death bent close to his ear, promising to whisper peace, Shaun only found the vile taste of bile and copper as his master would force him to take her blood. To live an existence to repeat itself all over again. For nearly a hundred years, he had known this. Ninety one years, five months, two weeks, three days - he counted each moment as it stripped away everything he had been. Each day, each year, another that found little hope in the memory of those once dear to him. Nine decades of knowing the violence and fury of the fighting pits, torture of the hand that would caress one moment, only to cut him open the next. And for those years made decades, his master was far too complacent in her ownership of her pet.
The bloody massacre of 2015 to the vampire club in Prague was his release. Too long had he, and many like him, taken the cruel ownership of their masters. There within the fighting ring where hundreds - if not thousands - like him had died, he found his release in the slaughter of those that would see him as nothing more than a pet. His only regret was that in his blind fury, he did not see his master slip away.
He could not have peace that night. But for Shaun Wolfe, that peace is all he cares about. For all that he suffers from the bonding of that monstrous leech, he would easily become a monster to find her.
2017, there is no Shaun Wolfe. That man is a shell, for his death came long ago. Now there is only the relentless need for goal of peace. Even when that peace is his own death.
Superhuman Speed Abilities:
All werewolves are extremely fast and can run faster than the human eye can see. They can equal or even outrun vampires in their speed, depending on their age.
Spirit of the Fray - Mellt yn gyflym:
This ability allows the werewolf to attack with lightning speed, striking before any foe. This goes hand in hand with their superhuman speed.
Superhuman Strength Abilities:
Werewolf's strength seems to depend on their actual size and their level of supernatural power. Their strength is on par with vampires and they are fully able to fight off and even overpower them. Their strength is lesser in their human form, though they are still far stronger than humans.
Clenched Jaw - Cipiwch i lawr:
The werewolf with this ability can bite down with such power that his grip won’t loosen until he chooses to do so; even in death, his jaws bite down.
Primal Anger - Ffyrn tu mewn:
The werewolf learns to focus the anger within his heart and use it to increase the strength of that primal nature within them like a shot of adrenaline. The anger takes a physical toll on the werewolf, and it is up to him to unleash it onto his enemies. But once spent, it leaves the werewolf physically drained and vulnerable.
Falling Touch - Cwymp cyffwrdd:
This ability allows the werewolf to summon up the true supernatural strength they possess and send his foe sprawling with but a touch.
Accelerated Healing Abilities:
Powerful werewolves can recover from almost any wound other than those caused by silver weapons or fire, and even very weak individuals heal a bit faster than humans. Transformation can allow a lycanthrope to regrow freshly lost limbs and critical body parts, although if the injuries are extensive or repeated they might not heal in entirety with a single transformation.
Combat Healing - Iacháu cyflym:
Werewolves are famous for their ability to fight — some are just better than others. This ability allows a werewolf to heal wounds during combat without hesitation or even a moment’s pause. While other werewolves are licking their wounds, this werewolf has learn to keep in the fight.
Silver Tolerance - Gwrthiant arian:
Do to the long time torture and brutality used by silver, this werewolf has gained a resistance to the material, taking less aggravated damage by it.
Heightened Senses Abilities:
Werewolves have acute senses, even in human form. This allows them to smell the change in scent from emotions, or the lack thereof, or to hear the beat of someone’s heart.
Scent of the True Form - Arogl o'r gwir ffurflen:
This ability allows the werewolf to determine the true nature of a person. This information is conveyed as an olfactory sensation — it is actually a scent of the target’s natural form.
Sense Silver - Synnwyr arian:
As consummate warriors, a werewolf must be prepared for every eventuality — including silver weaponry. But since the extensive involvement - and torture - with silver, he has gained the ability to smell or sense when the metal is near.
Primal Nature Abilities:
Staredown - Ewch i lawr:
By staring down a human or animal, a werewolf can used their power of intimidate and cause the target to flee in terror. This ability can be used against other werewolves, but the target will freeze in place rather than flee. This last as long as eye contact is made and can remain for a few minutes after the werewolf turns his gaze away.
Snarl of the Predator - Sain yr anifail:
Summoning the very essence of that primal nature possessed by every wild creature, the werewolf lets out a feral snarl that terrifies opponents and cows them into submission.
Mind of the Beast - Meddwl yr anifail:
Even the most callous of werewolves - or any werecreature - can sympathize with the primal nature that sometimes drives their fellow werewolf to violent acts of savagery. This ability allows the werewolf to lend a frenzying werewolf the will to escape her primal nature’s hold over her. This can also can be used in the opposite means, reflecting the ability of Force Transformation and to force a were to transform and lose control of themselves.
Form Mastery - Dosbarth meistr:
The ability of shapeshifting hands into claws, or even "cosmetic" shapeshifting - shifting bones or flesh simply to alter appearance.
The Porcupine -
When using this ability, the werewolf undergoes a startling transformation. His fur becomes elongated, bristly and sharp like the quills of a porcupine. This change makes him an even more fearsome killing machine. This last only as long as they are in their bipedal beast form and takes a great deal of energy, leaving them vulnerable once they shift back.
Eyes of the Night -
The werewolf may see clearly in pitch darkness. His eyes glow a lambent yellow while this power is in effect.
Sodlau (Razor) Claws -
By raking his claws over stone or another hard surface, the werewolf hones them to razor sharpness to degree that their claws can slice directly through stone, steel or any other inanimate material as if it were butter.
Command of Animals:
Werewolves appear to be able to command animals of their species, although this may or may not be an ability limited to more powerful individuals.
Werewolves are effectively allergic to silver and feel physical pain from even skin contact. Some werewolves don’t enjoy silver jewelry for this very reason. Wounds caused by silver weapons heal much more slowly than other wounds.
Draw of the Moon:
Every werewolf is drawn, if not controlled, by the power of the moon’s cycles. The full moon, especially, and it is over this time that this werewolf finds it hard to keep himself in check of those primal forces eating away at him. Over the course of the moon’s full cycle, he must withdraw himself or risk harming those around him.
The bond is still there, that which has prolonged his life beyond anything natural and been the birth of near every pain he had known. And though his master remains elusive, she still finds the means to toy with her pet werewolf.
Phobia of Silver:
Due to the years of abuse and torture with silver, this werewolf has found himself more fearful of the material than most. He will easily flinch or jerk in the presence of it, feeling the need to put distance between that which had once given him so much pain.
It doesn’t matter the reason or cause, he has a single goal in mind and anyone getting in his way will find out just how much of a monster the vampires made him to be. It takes a great deal of effort and willpower to pull himself from this goal, even if finding it does harm on him or those around him.
There is no doubt, when meeting Shaun, that there is one prejudice and hatred that remained a foundation to who and what he has become. He hates vampires. It doesn’t matter who, he doesn’t care. To him, all vampires need to die.
Due to his years of being forced to remain a wolf, it has branded him with the eyes of a beast. Stunning to some, shocking to most - it is the brand that makes it hard to conceal what he is, even in these days where the supernatural walk openly with what they are.
Personal Possessions / Lifestyle
There is very little he cares about, not anymore. And it is easy to see. His clothes are generally from a shelter or a thrift store, and worn beyond measure. He doesn’t care for anything of fashion, only as long as it is practical and useful. He doesn’t care for material goods, given anything he once cared for had been taken from him. Now there is the clothes on his back, a drink in his hand, and maybe a warm body to take momentary comfort in. Those are the good days. Beyond that, he had a shitty hole in the wall apartment and a somewhat useful 89 silverado that will not turn on sometimes.
Father - Aeron Wolfe (Deceased)
Mother - Elizabeth Wolfe (Deceased)
Ex-wife - Eleuthera Lorcán (Deceased)
Daughter - Zosime Lorcán (Missing, presumed dead)
Twin Sons - Talion Wolfe and Talus Wolfe (Missing, presumed dead)
Vampire Master - Claudia Beaumont (Whereabouts Unknown)
Ward - Dahlia Faust
Cbox name: Aly
Are you over the age of 18? Yes
Years RP experience: 15+
How did you find us? A little bird told me.
Did you read the rules? Of course
Posted: Aug 24 2017, 01:16 PM
Age // 37
Posts // 452
Species // Mermaid duh!
Occupation // Bus Driver
Siso is Offline.
Mermaid duh! + Bus Driver + 37
Posted: Aug 24 2017, 08:31 PM
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