my fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in

THE SPAWN ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. UTP SPECIES. Werewolf FACTION. UTP OCCUPATION. UTP

Grandson of Feronia herself, eldest son of Ulric the Bloodied, rebellion was in your veins. You were raised on stories of your own greatness; your father barked about the power of Haven and how these Lysarans were lucky that the wolves did not choose to rise up against them. You could see nothing but the greatness that was cast from him and the pride that came with being set to inherit that indomitable force of will. Your father’s son, heir to Haven and future alpha of Feronia. He promised it all, and you ingrained it into your heart that this would be your destiny, first Haven, next Eterna. Ulric’s quest to reunite the pack against Queen Arethusa plunged the city into civil war, and you were by his side the entire time. Few wept for Ulric when he was cut down by the shewolf who would claim the title of alpha, but you were among those who mourned him. Aurea had taken your father from you and your birthright, but Lupercalia would come, you would fight, and then destiny would be yours for the taking once again.

CONNECTS

N/A

NOTES

N/A

NAME. Uriah AGE & BIRTH DATE. 37 & July 10th, 2987 AC GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cismale & He/Him NATIONALITY. Lysaran SPECIES. Werewolf FACTION. Feronia OCCUPATION. Journeyman FACE CLAIM. Aldis Hodge

biography

( tw blood, murder )

Haven wasn't just home, it was Uriah's home. Not just in the sense that he simply lived there either. It was his, his to protect and defend, his to die for if need be. There was love in Uriah's heart for the place where his blood ran deep. His grandmother built something special, that much everyone knew, and even from a young age he hoped to grow into someone who could honor all she poured into Haven and the pack that was united there in her name. He was nursed on stories of the great Feronia, about how the witch queen knew she could not survive a war with fearsome werewolves and therefore bent to every desire and demand the Alpha could come up with. When he played outside, he always play-acted as her because he was entitled to the role. If the other pack children wanted to be Feronia in their games, then they simply had to best him as any true Alpha would be capable of. His pack, his home, the woods where he learned to run, these were the aspects of Uriah's childhood all could see he coveted. 

What they didn't see were the parts that scared him until he was taught to conquer his fear. The darker stories of Feronia's true ambitions and how his father intended to realize them. At night, he barked like a wolf into his son's ear until Uriah could finish phrases before his father could. Ulric was a vicious, powerful Alpha and needed his son to be strong. He passed on his seed for that one purpose, so if Uriah was incapable of absorbing the harsh realities of what it meant to be a Feronia pack Alpha then he was nothing. But eventually during these nights, between whispers and growls, Ulric began to smile. He smiled because Uriah started saying the right things and seemed to understand what a true Alpha was. However, Uriah had two ears and two parents who were invested in his future. His mother was not of the pack, but she was wild and elusive, a mystery to even the Alpha to whom she sired a son. Ulric thought he was using her to extend his line, but she had been manipulating Fate since his mother's time. It was she who taught Uriah what it meant to be a wolf, how to connect intimately with his feral nature, and how to harness the power of his wolf dream and reach the peak of his potential. It was she who interpreted the signs of Feronia's blood trickling through the generations to achieve unspeakable power. She was never impressed with Ulric regardless of his rank in the pack, but his children could have had potential with the right guidance. Ulric didn't prey on her power, not at all. She hunted him, and when she got her son she too had things to whisper in his ear, always reminding him that he had more than one birthright. Either way, Uriah's place in the pattern was determined long before he drew his first breath. Violence in one ear, prophecy in another, by the time he matured Uriah knew exactly who he was and why he was born. Grandson of Feronia, the Alpha of promise meant to be the wolf who terrified the world, an apex predator whose appetite would forever be unmatched, and the werewolf who'd do more than any other in the continent's history. 

Ulrich began moving in the shadows towards his endgame, his mother vanished once again into the wilderness she called home, and Uriah wanted to prepare himself to be greater than the Alpha he respected and loved above all others and the Alpha he idolized in his childhood. Werewolves were never a part of the game so Ulrich couldn't understand his son's fascination with it, but Uriah threw himself headlong into being its greatest player. At The Harmonium, he learned a great deal about history and storytelling, learning the names and lineages of the great packs of old and more about his bloodline of course. He enrolled in the College as one of the best fighters presently there at the time, but The Harmonium taught him what his father could not. His tongue, his pen, and his intellect could be equally as deadly as his claws if he learned to wield them properly. Uriah committed himself wholly to his studies until he gained enough knowledge to bring back home to Haven. 

The children and some others loved his stories, and Uriah found the spoken word was an excellent way to connect with his pack on a deeper level. Ulrich didn’t understand or appreciate pursuits of the mind, though it was Uriah’s expertise that helped the Alpha’s plans come to fruition. It was not yet his time, so he was loyal to his Alpha. While Ulric’s ambition inspired optimism, it was Uriah’s voice that inspired half of Haven to take action. Ulric the Bloodied he wanted to be and Ulric the Bloodied he became, cutting down his own pack all for the sake of power until he himself was cut down. Uriah was by his side, keeping those who wanted the glory and supremacy as uninhibited werewolves fighting for the cause, but when he saw his father gutted he could finally accept the truth that had been spoken in his ears by his progenitors. The power of Feronia may have flowed through Ulric’s veins, but he was a pretender to the title of true Alpha. He reached above his station and got his due at the ends of the claws of an outsider. It was shameful, but Ulrich still mourned his father because he loved the man until the end. However, the title of Alpha was handed to him, he hadn’t earned it. That would not be Uriah’s story, and he has a “Queen” to thank. 

She wanted to rule, she wanted to be Queen, but that was not Feronia’s will nor was it her way. That’s why it was so easy for Uriah to submit to her in front of all of Ulric’s loyalists. When he pressed his forehead to the ground to acknowledge her, his heart was true. When he commanded all those who howled for him to continue his father’s cause to swear their allegiance to the Wolf Queen, his heart was true. When he taught her the old ways so challenges in regards to the fact she came out of nowhere and took what many believed belonged to Uriah, his heart was true. Keeping the pack together was his only goal, and he had no problem having them unite under her. After all, by accepting the title of “Queen” she brought the game to the Wildlands, and unfortunately for her that meant she was playing against a pro. Wolves weren’t human nor were they noble, they were wild. Such titles were beneath him, and for all her efforts she could never see how each decision brought the Feronia pack further and further away from the ideal his grandmother aspired towards. It wasn’t the Queen’s fault though, she was no more worthy of being Alpha than Ulric whom she cut down. It wasn’t her birthright and it wasn’t his either, it was Uriah’s. A loyal beta as he had always been, he found no shame in defending her position and following her orders. He wanted her to feel a part of the pack and to grow with them. He wanted her greatness to be unquestioned. Because Uriah knew what she did not: becoming Alpha and staying Alpha were two very different things. Lupercalia would come again, and when it did he would take what was his and finally fulfill the legacy Feronia had started for him alone. After all, a hunt without violence feeds no one, least of all Uriah.

personality

+ Ambitious, Charismatic, Loyal – Machiavellian, Brutal, Verbose

Magic was found in the woods of the wolves and Ebony, her Cat Sith twined around her ankles because moments he had emerged from behind the tall Everoak where a few minutes prior he was elsewhere. Death had destroyed the town of Aventia and there were many souls waiting to be ferried to salvation or damnation or somewhere else altogether. The fallen battlefield of Aventia was one could catch sight of such a cat as hers. Safety and sanctuary weren't promised for anyone, even in the nobles in the high towers and Lily performed a similar act of storytelling to lull them into false comforts and to grant security where there was none. She did not linger on any wavering smiles, they needed to remember their strengths in the times to come. Lily understood doing what one must to protect one own's skin. "Fernonia is lucky to be protect by such fierce wolves. All homeland is honored by it's people who will stand and fight for it. I hope the enemies fall quick and that none innocent should suffer."

Aurea had taken your father from you and your birthright, but Lupercalia would come, you would fight, and then destiny would be yours for the taking once again.

Bemusement shining through, he tilts his head just enough to meet the man’s eyes. A quick tug at his gut, and his infernal sight flickers in and out, with none the wiser. It’s just a glimpse, but it echoes with the stranger’s words. A very handsome wolf stands before him, and if the growl is to go by he means business. 

“My aim tonight was to rent a room to stow my armor, and then grab a drink or more. No preaching, no words about religion.” His words are calm and friendly, fully honest for he has nothing to lie about in this matter. Mikhael is more than willing to spend hours upon hours discussing the One God, but he is wise enough to know that there are times when that conversation is not welcomed. This is not the time, nor the place. “If you would like, you can escort me to my room, once I get one, and watch me take the armor off to ensure I don’t disturb the festivities. Unless there is another lodging nearby I could drop off my things?”

The wolf is rather handsome, and being under his attentive stare for a while wouldn’t be a burden. Very much the opposite.

The peculiar satisfaction derived from growling again and stepping purposefully down the stoop into the other's space had nothing to do with why Uriah made a move. His body would be a wall forcing him away with each step for he clearly had no problem encroaching on this stranger's space. He enjoyed how it felt too, but that didn't matter right now, did it?

"I don't give a damn what you aim to do, so I'll tell you what you will do,"  he says, stopping so close that his chest was nearly touching this stranger's breastplate. Uriah kept his chin jutted up, looking down on the other without craning his neck down one inch. "You'll take that armor off now and find a bush to stash it under until you're ready to move along. There's not a single establishment in Haven that will do business with a member of the Vanguard. If you want a room, you'll need to take one as a man not as pawn to some false god."

This close, Uriah could smell him the smaller quite well, except his nose couldn't focus on anything that'd be useful right now. Instead, he dwelled on the sweetness the other gave off and how light the mixture of smells made him feel. It was strange, intoxicating, and entirely useless for sniffing out if he felt intimidated or was concealing something dangerous. Still, Uriah's breathing got heavier as he continued to take in enough to coat his tongue.

Mikhael arrives at Haven with the refugee group, an uncomfortable twist on his chest as he considers his options. He has been unsettled since his conversation with the Devil wearing a preacher’s disguise. A wolf amidst the sheeps, luring the flock into his jaws. It’s a horror not unlike the tales whispered in the dark about devils back in Ankhuria. Like the tales he assumed hold the truth of who his father is, wherever in Taravell he is. It’s not a reality that settles on him easily, but he has to swallow it regardless. 

He is conflicted as to his next step, whether to go with Dantalion or avoid the mess altogether. A gloved hand runs through his hair as he wanders through the werewolf’s village as he is considering his options. The Warrior’s Guild likely had another job he could take to pay for his travels with the Vanguard, so it’s financially feasible. There is a dark bemusement as he realizes that as much as he wants to avoid traveling with the others, he is already planning for it.

“Wherever His Light may take me, huh,” he mutters with bemusement as he turns into the wolf’s pub and right into a veritable wall of muscle. A blink follows another and he glances up. “My apologies.”

That scent of anxiety, that clink of metal, Uriah could tell before the "holy man" came into view that they had an interloper in their midst, which is why he stood sentry at the entrance, arms folded and shoulders puffed so that there was no getting passed him without permission. Or force. "The only light we respect here is that of the moon. Our ears are full of story and song tonight, so no one has any space for your doctrine."

One growl and another subtle whiff later and Uriah determined the stranger had the scent of a traveler, which was good at least. What wasn't good was the feeling of … something brewing in his core. He didn't know the sensation, but whatever it was had him acquiescing a bit. "It's not an exclusive party, anyone is welcome. But I'm not letting you in with those symbols and a full suit of armor on. No god of yours will convince the bartender to let you have any drink for free looking like that." 

Between the stress of recent events in the Borderlands and the fact that fewer returned than had gone to support the effort, Uriah was keenly aware that his pack was too close to a compromised state for his liking. Those who had yet to turn, those who didn't have the gumption to fight, and all others currently residing within Haven looked to those who maintained level heads in times of crisis. Uriah was one such werewolf, telling stories in front of a bonfire to distract the Feronia pack while also imparting important lessons.

"That was the fourth Alpha Feronia, the greatest werewolf to walk this earth, cut down on her path to supremacy. And just like with the rest, the blood around her mouth hadn't dried before she was running again. Through the woods that surrounds our home, between the trees of the forest as a tribute. She wasn't alone in her conquest nor was she alone in her victory." With the crowd drawing into his tale, Uriah suspended his pause beneath the crackling of the fire as a thump began to increase in volume. His foot tapped harder and harder until he was stomping in time, a steady rhythm like a pulsing heartbeat cut off by his own roaring howl, a howl that was returned by the wolves nearby that roamed the Wildlands. "That right there is the how and the why," Uriah points out, smiling at a group of youths who seemed especially entranced by his tale. "The wolves are our friends in times of triumph and defeat. We owe much to them and the forest they inhabit, which is why both will be there to comfort you in your time of need. So long as you don't forget what Feronia never did: there is always somewhere for you to run when you follow the sounds of howling." The crowd applauded him, but anyone with senses as keen as his would see the displeasure written on his face. Uriah was prepared to do anything for his pack be that spin distracting tales or tear darkspawn apart with his own claws. What he couldn't bear was seeing them torn apart. The applause meant people would go to bed at peace tonight, but how long would it be before Aventia's destruction found its way to the home he cherished?

The wolves met the storyteller with a matching crescendo of far-off howls, something which made Julian's own heartbeat stumble; this had been what he once longed for, to sit around the sanctuary of Haven and be regaled by stories of those passed. Everything felt cracked and tainted however, the remnants of Aventia's battle still haunting him. The gladiator matches were filled with their own symphony of blood, garnered their own stores of death, but everything was controlled and was to be expected. Allies had fallen, those he'd not even the chance to fully come to know and it seemed Haven was trying desperately not to fracture under the pressure. He wasn't sure how long this one had been within Haven's pack, but he certainly knew a lot and his storytelling was rather compelling, a sense of command that warranted Julian listen.

"Not just me, but my father and his mother before him and her mother before her. So on and so forth. The bloodlines that run through this territory stretch back to the First Age, but no one needs to track family trees like that. 'Feronia' is the only family name any of us need, such is the power that comes with pack unity." The pack was family, just as his grandmother intended. Wolves needed to remain together because the alternative was … him. Uriah detested any notion of assimilation with the rest of Lysaran society. Wolves had their own way of living that should be honored by all who howled to the moon. "Being born here is nothing special though, just a matter of happenstance. Living here—and I mean truly living here—is what distinguishes werewolves from common dogs."