Post by Razi on Jan 17, 2018 16:38:53 GMT
Name: Javen O'Shay
Age: Unknown (appears 25)
Species: Werewolf
Height: 6'7"
Weight: 250lbs
Family:
- Father -- Neil O'Shay
-Mother -- Meridith O'Shay
Partner(Spouse/Significant Other): None
Children: None
Hair Color: Bloodred with streaks of orange.
Eye Color: Emerald
Build: Tall and Muscled.
Other Traits:
Jagged scar going from his left eye (causing it to be slightly discolored, lighter) to the right side of his face. Speaks with a deep Irish dialect/accent.
Appearance:
As a human, Javen is tall and well toned. He is the type of person who looks like he works out but not obsessively. Being a werewolf, the strength comes naturally. His skin is a white, almost pale to akin to his Irish heritage. His hair always cropped short enough to make small spikes and is a blood red color with hints of orange in it. He has some hints of a faded stubble along his jaw. His eyes are a bright emerald color and his left eye is slightly discolored due to a scar running across it to the right side of his face. It is a visibly noticeable scar and rather nasty looking. He would otherwise be considered handsome if one were to overlook the scar. He is often wearing muscle shirts, a leather jacket, cargo pants, and a set of regular tennis shoes. The colors are usually dull and boring. When the skin is exposed he has black tribal/Celtic tattoos decorating his arms to his shoulders down his back to swoop into a dream catcher like design. Most of the tattoos cover the jagged scars littered all over his body from his youth.
As a wolf, Javen is as large as they come. He almost appears as a large pony-sized wolf, massive and impressive. The color of his fur is rather odd, unlike the color of his hair. He looks like he is dipped in a dark chocolate hue laced with red that blends into his fur. He had the same piercing colored eyes and the disfigured scar. His fur covers the other little scars he had acquired during his youth. When he allows himself to go full were, the beast is only three inches taller than his human form. He is of the same features but stands upright and his muscles are more defined. He appears more vicious and terrifying once he is in his were form.
Appearance Refs:
Need some yes.
Personality:
Due to his past life, Javen is generally a vicious man with a hot temper. Though the hot temper might be because of the Irish in him. Don't get me wrong, he can be laid back at times, minding his own business. At times he is drinking like a true Irish man and getting into a brawl or two. Of course he always wins cause he is an idiot. When he isn't being a dumb ass, he is usually very intelligent and usually prefer to analyze and dissect his enemy before making his next move. This was forced upon when he was younger to be the ideal soldier. He hardly socializes and when he does he is always challenging the order. It was the Alpha in him, but he always wants to assert his dominance no matter the species or gender. He thinks females are the weaker of the species, but can be rather loyal once one breaks down that wall of his. You don't want to be his enemy.
Relationships:
To Come.
History:
I was born to the great lands of Ireland before it was domesticated with the human rot. My father's family had settled near Killarney a long time ago and refused to allow any others to call it home. Well any others aside from the many that they had conned into the pack. I was born into a bloodline of werewolves. So I was not 'bitten' into a werewolf. I was one of the very few who was 'born' as a werewolf. The pack consisted of many who deemed themselves the 'pure' bloods, and spat on any who dared to taint their noble line. I was my father's first born and so I was so graciously handed the iron 'paw'. My father put me through so much hell that I had once believed I was in hell. From the day I started walking and talking, he forced me into the role of a warrior.
There were no exceptions and no excuses for me. If I put one toe out of line I was tossed into the wall. There came to a point that I felt no pain and no emotions. Each day was the same, in and out. He would throw his tantrums and throw me all while my family, my pack watched. My father had the normal temper of a Irish man, but I think the werewolf side of him made it worse. As I was starting to come into my werewolf half, my father had tossed me into a pit of our transformed pack members. He always claimed that a faster adjustment was when you had to defend yourself. That was probably the most painful day of my life...
My kin, my pack jumped on me in a mass as I tried to transform..he was an idiot to think I could do this in quick succession. There was no way any werewolf or shifter or whatever could shift so quickly. I felt like my whole body was being ripped in half by the time I managed to shift, fighting my way out of the mass. I bit, scratched and tore through as much wolves I could grab a hold of. I was losing a lot of blood, I just knew it. I did not think this was ever going to win. My body was in so much pain I felt like I was on fire. Yet, I still kept forcing myself to keep fighting even when I felt the whole shift around me.
We all heard a sharp whistle and my father was ordering the pack to disperse from me. The look in his eyes were of sheer disappointment. I was astonished, taken back, angry at him for giving me such a look. Despite my weakness I could feel my blood rising, wanting to rip him apart. I remember how much I hated him back then and still did. He dismissed me like a used up whore and I was dragged away to lick my wounds. As a werewolf it did not take long for me to heal, but I still felt a lick of betrayal deep inside. I was ruined. My body was a constant reminder of how much my father viewed me as a failure, a weakness. I had a feeling he got off on the pain he inflicted, all the blood and crying.
It was no wonder how sick and deluded he was when I would hear my mother whimper at night. I was just another nick in his side to throw around. It only got worse as I got older. I was slowly losing my mind, losing focus of who I was. My thoughts were distorted and I started mimicking the man who abused his pack. It became easier just to step into those boots and keep walking. I started to become the blood lust soldier who hurt his pack more than actually helping them. It was many, many years before I actually got the courage to confront him. It was when I heard my mother screaming bloody murder one night.
This night was different...I was strode in to confront him..watching him on top of her. Their naked bodies clashing. She was crying, horribly crying, and there so much blood. All I remember was a blind rage. I saw blood at the edge of my vision and he was crumbled at my feet. When I turned to console my mother she was not breathing. He had hurt her so much..I was too late. My night was a blur from there...I remembered hearing agonized screaming, snarls, cursing, all that good stuff. I was sharply dragged out of my father's hut...it was then instincts kicked in and my whole body shook. My flesh, my clothes were ripping as I began to shift. My bones were cracking and blood was spurting as my were forced himself through.
My whole world just crumbled as my were snarled and destroyed what was dragged into his path. My eyes were blurred with blood lust and I remembered blacking out. The next thing I remembered was waking up naked on a ship, the waves rustling through my ears. I stayed where I was until the boat came to a stop. I realized it had taken me to the states..maybe it had been for the better. I escaped off the boat and never looked back. I did bad things and I could not muster a care to even regret what I have done.
Age: Unknown (appears 25)
Species: Werewolf
Height: 6'7"
Weight: 250lbs
Family:
- Father -- Neil O'Shay
-Mother -- Meridith O'Shay
Partner(Spouse/Significant Other): None
Children: None
Hair Color: Bloodred with streaks of orange.
Eye Color: Emerald
Build: Tall and Muscled.
Other Traits:
Jagged scar going from his left eye (causing it to be slightly discolored, lighter) to the right side of his face. Speaks with a deep Irish dialect/accent.
Appearance:
As a human, Javen is tall and well toned. He is the type of person who looks like he works out but not obsessively. Being a werewolf, the strength comes naturally. His skin is a white, almost pale to akin to his Irish heritage. His hair always cropped short enough to make small spikes and is a blood red color with hints of orange in it. He has some hints of a faded stubble along his jaw. His eyes are a bright emerald color and his left eye is slightly discolored due to a scar running across it to the right side of his face. It is a visibly noticeable scar and rather nasty looking. He would otherwise be considered handsome if one were to overlook the scar. He is often wearing muscle shirts, a leather jacket, cargo pants, and a set of regular tennis shoes. The colors are usually dull and boring. When the skin is exposed he has black tribal/Celtic tattoos decorating his arms to his shoulders down his back to swoop into a dream catcher like design. Most of the tattoos cover the jagged scars littered all over his body from his youth.
As a wolf, Javen is as large as they come. He almost appears as a large pony-sized wolf, massive and impressive. The color of his fur is rather odd, unlike the color of his hair. He looks like he is dipped in a dark chocolate hue laced with red that blends into his fur. He had the same piercing colored eyes and the disfigured scar. His fur covers the other little scars he had acquired during his youth. When he allows himself to go full were, the beast is only three inches taller than his human form. He is of the same features but stands upright and his muscles are more defined. He appears more vicious and terrifying once he is in his were form.
Appearance Refs:
Need some yes.
Personality:
Due to his past life, Javen is generally a vicious man with a hot temper. Though the hot temper might be because of the Irish in him. Don't get me wrong, he can be laid back at times, minding his own business. At times he is drinking like a true Irish man and getting into a brawl or two. Of course he always wins cause he is an idiot. When he isn't being a dumb ass, he is usually very intelligent and usually prefer to analyze and dissect his enemy before making his next move. This was forced upon when he was younger to be the ideal soldier. He hardly socializes and when he does he is always challenging the order. It was the Alpha in him, but he always wants to assert his dominance no matter the species or gender. He thinks females are the weaker of the species, but can be rather loyal once one breaks down that wall of his. You don't want to be his enemy.
Relationships:
To Come.
History:
I was born to the great lands of Ireland before it was domesticated with the human rot. My father's family had settled near Killarney a long time ago and refused to allow any others to call it home. Well any others aside from the many that they had conned into the pack. I was born into a bloodline of werewolves. So I was not 'bitten' into a werewolf. I was one of the very few who was 'born' as a werewolf. The pack consisted of many who deemed themselves the 'pure' bloods, and spat on any who dared to taint their noble line. I was my father's first born and so I was so graciously handed the iron 'paw'. My father put me through so much hell that I had once believed I was in hell. From the day I started walking and talking, he forced me into the role of a warrior.
There were no exceptions and no excuses for me. If I put one toe out of line I was tossed into the wall. There came to a point that I felt no pain and no emotions. Each day was the same, in and out. He would throw his tantrums and throw me all while my family, my pack watched. My father had the normal temper of a Irish man, but I think the werewolf side of him made it worse. As I was starting to come into my werewolf half, my father had tossed me into a pit of our transformed pack members. He always claimed that a faster adjustment was when you had to defend yourself. That was probably the most painful day of my life...
My kin, my pack jumped on me in a mass as I tried to transform..he was an idiot to think I could do this in quick succession. There was no way any werewolf or shifter or whatever could shift so quickly. I felt like my whole body was being ripped in half by the time I managed to shift, fighting my way out of the mass. I bit, scratched and tore through as much wolves I could grab a hold of. I was losing a lot of blood, I just knew it. I did not think this was ever going to win. My body was in so much pain I felt like I was on fire. Yet, I still kept forcing myself to keep fighting even when I felt the whole shift around me.
We all heard a sharp whistle and my father was ordering the pack to disperse from me. The look in his eyes were of sheer disappointment. I was astonished, taken back, angry at him for giving me such a look. Despite my weakness I could feel my blood rising, wanting to rip him apart. I remember how much I hated him back then and still did. He dismissed me like a used up whore and I was dragged away to lick my wounds. As a werewolf it did not take long for me to heal, but I still felt a lick of betrayal deep inside. I was ruined. My body was a constant reminder of how much my father viewed me as a failure, a weakness. I had a feeling he got off on the pain he inflicted, all the blood and crying.
It was no wonder how sick and deluded he was when I would hear my mother whimper at night. I was just another nick in his side to throw around. It only got worse as I got older. I was slowly losing my mind, losing focus of who I was. My thoughts were distorted and I started mimicking the man who abused his pack. It became easier just to step into those boots and keep walking. I started to become the blood lust soldier who hurt his pack more than actually helping them. It was many, many years before I actually got the courage to confront him. It was when I heard my mother screaming bloody murder one night.
This night was different...I was strode in to confront him..watching him on top of her. Their naked bodies clashing. She was crying, horribly crying, and there so much blood. All I remember was a blind rage. I saw blood at the edge of my vision and he was crumbled at my feet. When I turned to console my mother she was not breathing. He had hurt her so much..I was too late. My night was a blur from there...I remembered hearing agonized screaming, snarls, cursing, all that good stuff. I was sharply dragged out of my father's hut...it was then instincts kicked in and my whole body shook. My flesh, my clothes were ripping as I began to shift. My bones were cracking and blood was spurting as my were forced himself through.
My whole world just crumbled as my were snarled and destroyed what was dragged into his path. My eyes were blurred with blood lust and I remembered blacking out. The next thing I remembered was waking up naked on a ship, the waves rustling through my ears. I stayed where I was until the boat came to a stop. I realized it had taken me to the states..maybe it had been for the better. I escaped off the boat and never looked back. I did bad things and I could not muster a care to even regret what I have done.
