Post by visceral on Jul 20, 2011 7:55:44 GMT
| [atrb=style,background-color: 000000,bTable] Visceral Uniam Chemaganish |
| [atrb=style,background-color: transparent,bTable] hey guys. my name is Visceral Uniam Chemaganish, But you can call me Visceral or Vis. everyone else does, so i guess you can too. i'm Fifty eight years young, and if it isn't already obvious, i'm a Male. it should be. what isn't so obvious is the fact that i'm a Werewolf, but you can keep that a secret for now. |
personality
[/size][/right]Visceral is a true dominant by nature. He doesn't let his disability effect him in the least when it comes to interaction with pack members or members of other races. In fact, it has been almost half a century since he has considered being blind a disability. While not cruel he becomes brutally efficent when it comes to justice for those in his care and they who break the rules. He is tender and caring for those who need it, protective of the submissive wolves under his care, and stern to those who are more dominant. He is friendly to his friends, and deadly to his enemies.With a fifty years of secret keeping under his belt, he has come to distrust most other races. He does not tolerate non pack predators in his domain, and will drive them off if they seem to be a threat to any that he deems under his protection. Vis is a wolf borne of instinct, and follows his wolf's whims in most things. As of now his wolf stands firmly of keeping the were's secrets if at all possible with the Vampires opening the human's minds to the supernatural. He was of a like mind with his wolf and did not appreciate the Vampires coming out since it would force all the other preternatural's hands eventually. It was like a time bomb for which they would have to deal with before the timer ran out.
It is not hard to see the dangerous silver glint in Vis's eyes when his wolf comes to the forefront. It is usually when he is angry, jealous, is wounded or feels threatened, physically or for dominance. His wolf's anger sometimes gets the better of him when he is not quick to suppress it. It is when anger turns to rage to be especially wary around him.
history
[/size][/right]The Naskapi are his people. He was born in north eastern Quebec among his people's original territory. He was always considered half a person by his father because his lack of sight. His mother on the other hand was as loving as a were could be. His tribe worshiped the wolf, and had his blood running through their veins. from mother to daughter, father to son, they turned their children. As a pack they were able to restrict their killing of humans to isolated incidents, and keep their secrets. It had been so since the oldest stories of their tribe. Their methods had changed when the people from across the sea had come to their lands. It had changed from a requirement to a choice. Most took the chance to become one with their revered god, but some did not. It was when Vis was thirteen that he had pleaded with his father to become a true member of the tribe, of the pack. His father tried to kill him when he was to infect him. instead of a nip on the arm or leg, he went for his gut. His insides had felt the ground that day, but through sheer force of will he recovered enough before the next moon to successfully make the change.
It was during the first change, that he had been able to 'see'. Not with his eyes like most beings, but through an extremely enhanced sense of smell and hearing. His wolf had made connections that his human body could not before this point. It was as if he were surrounded by a whirling world of colors and auras. Scents has become his vision, each object smelling different and taking form in his mind through them. He could 'see' as far as anyone with working eyes could. scenting game from miles distant. Now being able to surely traverse to that prey and take it down with a snap of his powerful jaws. His first meal as a wolf had been the same as the wound his father gave him, the visceral organs of an elk.
Now that the connection was made, his new 'sight' transferred over into his human form, giving him more freedom of movement and forcing his father, through right of combat to see him as a man of the pack. Slowly he inserted his dominance over those above him until he had become the leader, drinking in the power of those he protected. Year by year they moved southward, being a nomadic people, until they made their way into America. It was a slow progress, and they left patches of wilderness free of any prey as they moved.
It was the declaration of the vampires that decided him. He found it was time that they split up the pack into families, each going do different places in America and Canada, to find others with the blood of the wolf inside them. It was to be a ten year search, then return to their last hunting grounds with their findings. It would be harder, to spread the bonds of the pack over the northern continent, but they needed more numbers, new blood, and more security before they would be able to follow the course the vampires took it upon themselves to impose on the rest of the preternatural world.
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role play sample |
This shift, was one of the most painful he had endured in quite a while. The splitting of his pack, though they still shared a bond, it was tenuous at best, strained over the distance of the continent. He had not shifted without pack surrounding him in more than forty years, and it was a lot more painful, and timeless than he had remembered. The shift while only taking three minutes, seemed like it took three hours or days even with the agony of shifting bone and flesh. He would have to gather the wolves in the area quickly, so that they could experience a close knit shift, and see how much less terrifying it could be.
He lay there, only panting for a moment as the agony dulled to pain, then to an ache, then only to a memory. He raised his massive head then, muzzle ringed with a frosting of white and black hair. Then slipped to all four feet, The right rear covered in a snowy white sock. He shook, then, flinging minuscule globs of viscus liquid from his ruff around him. His ruff was like his muzzle, frosted with white tipped hair from the crest of his head to the tip of his tail, but those three areas were the only that had any hint of white to them.
Hunger ripped through him like it hadn't for a long time. Being nearly Easily one and a half times the size of a normal grey wolf he was nearly seven and a half feet long from tip to tail, five feet tall to the shoulder and almost six with his muzzle trained directly ahead. More heavily muscled and boned than any natural wolf he weighed nearly four times that of an average north american grey wolf, tipping the scales just over three hundred pounds. With the added weight, and expenditure of energy to shift, he needed to feed, and as soon as possible.
The pack helped with that as well, taking down multiple feasts and sharing among themselves, with little yipping any yawing for position. During times of the pack change, everyone had to eat, and everyone helped as best they could to provide an adequate first meal of the change. That meal was the most important of them all, as if they did not hunt and eat, things could get out of hand. He had to get up and start the hunt as soon as possible, or he would go for more easy meals.
He inhaled deeply then and opened his senses to the world around him. His eyes opened and of course he saw nothing, even with the change in coloring from sizzling blue to electric gold. It was his nose that brought color to the world around him, and his broad and flat ears that brought shape. It took a couple moments for the world to spread out before him, first a hundred yards, then half a mile, then a mile and then two. Like with vision, the world lost it's sharpness the further his senses were directed, so usually he kept it in tight, so as not to spread his awareness too thin and go headlong into something close while scenting that which was far.
His muzzle swiveled toward the ground and the forest's carpet blossomed before him, taking on shape and a mix of colors. will all the scents from over the past week it was something like a muddy brown, and he followed it further into the center of the forest, searching for the ruddy orange smell of an ever vigilant deer or elk. It took a while, nearly fifteen minutes before a meandering trail of orange made him turn his nose first to the east, then the west. The trail dimmed as his head turned to the left, and he shifted his body to the east, where the trail became crisper, leading him directly to his meal.
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| [atrb=style,background-color: 000000,bTable] Viseral | 18 years | Ruben Cortada |
application created by demi, inspired by you could do better from caution.
