NAME.Ā Jonas Olander AGE & BIRTH DATE.Ā 25 & June 7th, 1998 GENDER & PRONOUNS.Ā Male & He/Him SPECIES.Ā Daemonfey ( Draegloth ) OCCUPATION.Ā Unemployed FACE CLAIM.Ā Rainer Dawn
biography
( tw: self harm, attempted suicide, violence, blood ) Even in the modern era, Jonas was brought up in the ways of old his born pack upheld as sacred. Outsiders werenāt allowed for turned lycans or those from diluted bloodlines were inferior. The Olanders were part of a noble and ancient heritage that stretched back to the first Tiber alpha. It had been many generations since his pack had splintered off, but the stories kept the connection alive and burning in Jonasā heart. He memorized the tales of his prominent forbearers, adopted the customs passed down on him, and found his natural place within pack hierarchy. For weeks they lived within a community, preparing for the four nights the moon they worshipped granted them their true strength. Moon after moon, shift after shift, Jonas became over the years what he was raised to be: a true lycan coexisting with the natural world. Every hunt was a tribute, every howl was a reminder of his heritage. He was proud to be born as he was and happy to serve his pack until the day he died.
However, no pack was above the laws of the wild. Shifting dynamics across the globe caused lycans everywhere to consolidate power. The rise of the Lupo led to an influx in Rome-bound pilgrimages, but the Olanders chose to turn their ears away from the howls. Thrive or perish, that was natureās way, so a pack that operated on old, isolationist policies would have to pray their old-world strength was enough to combat an onslaught. A distant pack came, eager to usurp Jonasā alpha and consolidate his pack into something else entirely. His outrage at the initial attack was shared amongst all the lycans of his family. The idea of their noble heritage being tainted by outsiders infuriated them. Still, his first field of battle was where he finally learned that conviction alone was not enough to protect what was cherished.
It was a brutal war and Jonas watched countless faces of those heād known his entire life cut down before his eyes as he fought. His pack and livelihood were burning around him, forcing him to acknowledge the promises of greatness that had filled his head from birth as lies. The pleading prayers of his dying family were like a curse to his ears. Jonas couldnāt bear it, the sonata of failure shattering across the battlefield his spirit allowing something much darker to sprout in its place. Jonas rejected the death encroaching on his broken body and bit into the heart of the injured packmate clinging to life next to him. Then he did it again, and again, over and over until he devoured any trace of weakness the Olander pack exhibited in their defeat. He rose on his hackles, empowered by the fallen he absorbed despite how doing so disconnected him from the traditions heād upheld and fought back. The assailants were ill-prepared for a sudden volatile and Jonas managed to slash through scores of enemy lycans before he was brought down, but he was eventually brought down. That was to be it for him, disgracing himself in the name of revenge only to die battered and alone. He cursed his fate, and himself, which made him prime real estate for the dark promise that whispered in his ear. Jonas had only wanted to protect his pack and he gave up his soul in the process, but it was all a waste. Why should he let that be his end though? He rejected death once, so why not again?
Jonas didnāt want to die, thatās all he wanted. But it was a bargain made under the most desperate of circumstances because his first coherent thought on the other side of the agony he endured was how he wished heād gone out with the rest of his pack. The creature heād allowed himself to become was vile, disgusting, and so far removed from lycanthropy that his own reflection made him wretch, even when he wasnāt in shifted form. He hated what he had become and hated himself for letting it happen, but there was no way out or through. Jonas had tried to find an out on his own more than a few times, but he traded his soul for power. The kind of power that was not so easily destroyed.
Jonas found salvation at his lowest point at the bottom of a pool of blood. Some of it was whatever unlucky creature he tore to ribbons, some was his own trickling down his flesh after hours of gouging at his immortal hide. He was a mess and that was his pattern, but one flash of an impish smile bearing down on him and Jonas lost the urge entirely. He had nothing, and then out of the blue, he had everything. He was a complete stranger to comfort and opulence. He knew he didnāt deserve an ounce of contentment after disgracing his bloodline. Jonas was prepared to live out the rest of his days in loneliness while he repented for giving himself to darkness. But alongside Napoleon and Carmine he could pretend at the very least. They were alike enough, and they were his pack. Plus, when they smiled Jonas found it hard to hate himself. He would never regain what heād lost no matter how hard he tried, but maybe if he could keep this new pack of his safe then perhaps one day heād stop regretting his rejection of deathās hand.
personality
+ uninhibited, pensive, consistent ā stubborn, self-loathing, merciless
played by zen. est. he/him.
