vanilla gpose freak cave

OOC Knowledge:

surface: Not From FFXIV, Transmasc, Sidequest Doer(unhealthy coping mechanism)

depth 1: loss of protégé/adoptive son, form alters to suit his setting. He experiences episodic, sourceless pains.

depth 2: the Cycles... exist, and that is all you know. Perhaps Wolf's writer has shared one or two vignettes. Rhea, perhaps- hers is a favorite.

Wolf keeps track of the shortest route to the nearest dumping ground at all times.

depth 3: an "unstable soul origin", hence the form altering. Wolf has an old, unhealing wound in his chest- his right lung doesn't function properly on its own, and his breath gurgles slightly if you listen closely.

depth 4: Wolf's soul has a massive slab removed, intentionally, but sloppily. This wound is not old, and it leaves its mark on his abilities. Whatever needed to go is regrowing.

depth 5: Seventh in Twelve, Hated of the Hound. He who broke the Cycles, he who defied- who still defies- all he was ever meant to do.

In-Character iceberg now!

Surface: He's always alert. He can lean back, act carefree all he likes, but that can't hide the tension in the set of his jaw. He doesn't relax. Not around you. Not around anyone.

depth 1: you have spent some time in his presence. Something's very odd about this man, though- he fights like his own body is a weapon to be abused... at least, against people. Against beasts, he fights with a deep sense of honor, on equal footing- he treats that kind of duel as one would a ritual. You have never seen him use magic. If you have aethersight, he is... damaged. Pierced through the very core of his soul, the aether all but removed, the sight like if glass could rot. Something tells you that you should never think about what you saw at the edges of that ragged wound.

depth 2: you think you can call Wolf a friend. He's never acted against you, at least. But... you touched his shoulder, at one point, and he tried to act like nothing was wrong. Not like you could miss the hollow fear that gesture invoked.

He keeps a bestiary of creatures unfamiliar to you. It... was authored, and drawn, by him- the illustrations are scholarly, anatomically detailed, but there's a kind of love in those lines.

He sometimes seems like he's in pain, but he waves you off- "it happens, and it's just something I live with, so ignore it," he says. But other times, with little warning... he'll look ill, and rush out of sight. You've heard him retch at such times. Again, he invariably waves you off- but in these moments, his tone is sharper. More defensive. "Don't worry about it." "My malady is not your concern. Never follow me if I look ill."

depth 3: you have learned how strangely reliable Wolf... can be. Except in crowds. He does everything he can to avoid them- makes every excuse. You've heard him say "I left the oven on", but you know full well he doesn't own one, much less a residence. You've seen lateral scars across his chest, and a glamour hides something around his right pectoral, but he won't answer your questions. He asks you what you think, and will otherwise give no definitive answer.

...You do know he injects himself with something every morning, and some other, larger vial's contents every couple of weeks.

He's spoken in murmurs to you- about his own losses. There... are many. No details- as ever- but it's something.

It seems like he knows what's going to happen. You've watched him fight tooth and nail to save people... and you've watched him fail every. Single. Time.

depth 4: ...does he trust you? You can't tell. But he comes to you, first, most of the time. And he's more upfront with you than when you first met, but that's not hard. Those chest scars are from top surgery, and that larger vial is testosterone. Once he told you that, and once he made sure you were safe, he... actually relaxed. The tension that's been ever-present, since the very second you met him- gone. He looks less hunted, like this. Less haunted. Ever so slightly.

He had one of those illness episodes again, and all he said was "don't you dare get close. For your own safety." It didn't look like much was happening until he started retching. Blackish-brown stuff, with an oily sheen, which turned to smoke as it left his system. He looked miserable. Head in his hands and all.

You noticed how not-himself Wolf acts during and after a battle with humanoids. How... twitchy, how wild-eyed and giggly he is. You asked. He gave you a long, miserable look. He said: "I hate it too. Makes a demon of me. I hate that I enjoy it." You asked what "it" was. "Bloodshed," he answered. Now you've finally learned to see the abyssal self-loathing in his eyes. He does have two, by the way. He just likes keeping one covered. None of his reasons make sense, though.

You've noticed that, sometimes, a red-furred hound follows him. He tries to ignore it. It receives none of his usual kindness towards beasts.

depth 5: ...How can anything be so cruel? How can anyone be so... resilient- no. That's not right. So broken, into such tiny little pieces, that he simply can't be broken any further?

...hurt him for me. Break that unerringly mortal heart. Scar that frustrating little mind of his. Take the revenge I can't. Be a dear and call him by his name.

Lugh. Lugh-Wolf.

That will hurt him! Plenty and plenty. He's not allowed to forget.