Subject: Percival Tier 2 Angstbu-Werewolf 162 views

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Percival



" How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot. "


Name Pronunciation: purse ih vul

Nicknames: None. Call him Percy, and he will eviscerate you.

Age: 40

Birth date: He doesn't remember

plague: werewolf

Gender: male

Orientation: none, Plagued cannot reproduce, except for Tier 3 sub species 2&3 zombies

Tier: 2, basic

Pet(s): Nope, and if anyone tries to make him theirs, hell tear out their throats :3

Residence: none

Appearance: He is tall, even for a werewolf, standing 8'5" straight. He is muscular for one of his kind, his muscles bulging, stretching his pale skin. his muzzle is blunt, his nose shaped more like a humans, just stretched over the model of a dogs muzzle. It has the beginnings of the small fissures dogs noses have. He stalks, his arms held at the ready and his clawed fingers flexed. His lips are thin like a dogs, but still have the strip of pink around them that a humans has. He can still move them like a human, to be able to make all the same noises. His flesh is pale, and usually hidden under a thin paste of dirt and leaf matter.

His skull is morphed halfway between a dog and a humans, long, but still tall, and slightly narrowed. The keel running from between his eyes to the base of his skull is visible, not quite enough muscle to cover it. His hair on his head is a bit longer, and a little yellower than the normal werewolves, having been a blond in his past life.

His ears are channeled like a humans, but shaped like a dogs, though short and on the sides of his head. Their tips sport short bristles, darker than his fur and hair by far. His fingers even have hair, though finer than the hair on the rest of the body. It gets lighter in places, and darker in others, but it is everywhere.

His chest is curved, like that of a humans bending over. His ribs are visible pressed against his skin, concave and curved. The normal floating rib is connected, and his spine is also curved at rest. His pectoral muscles are relatively flat, but still distinguishable over his prominent ribs. His vertebrae march their way down his back in the form of little bumps.

His iliac crests are visible when stretching, their hoops cradling his new formed innards. With the evolution of his body, came the evolution of his innards. His blood is thicker, a darker red, nearly black. He doesn't store as much fat as a normal human would, his body needing it for its ongoing evolution.

His legs are long, his thighs the thickest deposit of muscle on his body. His legs can carry him at astonishing speeds, or keep him stock still. They deliver powerful blows, and propel him up trees. His feet are short toed, and the claws more curved than on his fingers, their pads thick and black, but smooth like human callous. His toes can move individually.

Personal Possessions: none

Personality: His eyes betray his personality, hard and unforgiving. He is geared towards one thing, surviving, and one day thriving. He is cold and calculating, half human, half something else. He rarely laughs, but when he does its usually out of spite. He cannot seem to feel much else that a cold hatred towards anything that would dare challenge his survival. With others he does tend to stray away, the less people there are, the less heartbreak there will be in the end.

He is not a pack wolf, he is a loner by nature. When he was on the police force in New Hampshire he and his canine unit Rosco tended to be out on their own, waiting to get called to a location that needed searching. He Carry's nothing with him, having given up anything that tied him to his former human shape. He is disdainful of the human as an animal. It is weak and stupid, with nothing more than its own needs on its mind. He only cares about himself, how is he any better than humans? He is stronger, faster, smarter, better in nearly every way. He retains the ability to empathize, like a human, but he chooses not to.

He can act human if he wanted to, he can still speak English and Spanish, he can still drive a car, or read a book, or shake someones hand. He chooses not to, and that's what separates him from animals, he can choose. He will do whatever he needs to to survive, even predicting the future outcomes of situations, and killing who would soon lose importance to him, or what. He is shrewd, and serious.

• Likes: The Night, Running water, owls, Raw meat, freshly turned earth, the taste of pine needles, rocks crunching beneath his paws, wind rushing by his ears
  
  
• Dislikes: Talking, people, anything else infected, carrion, anything bigger than him, sleet, toothaches.
  
  
• Strengths: Stealth, He is a master of sneaking and stalking. Stoicism. He rarely feels anything at all, emotions, pain almost never. He is a strong climber, often spending his nights in trees, away from others of his kind
  
  
• Weakness: He loves blood. He loves to feel it drip warm and thick down his throat. Sleeping in the sun. If he has had a large meal, he will take up a post on a thick limb and sleep, letting his body store the energy it has gained. Things that show fear. He tends to avoid people, but his darker side revels in the smell of fear that permeates the air as he tracks down his prey.
  
  
• Fears: Meeting Anyone he knew from his other life, he doesn't want to remember it, he wants it to become gone forever. Facing an enemy he cannot defeat. He has this new body for a reason, and wants to keep it. He feels like he can do things now.
  
  
• Goals: He strives to make the best of his new body, to live everyday like it will be his last. He wants to take full advantage of the legs fate gave back to him.
  
  

Plague progression: Evolved slowly and painfully

History:

He was born in a small town in Hew Hampshire, during a particularly bad blizzard. He was six pounds eight ounces, a healthy baby boy. He grew fast from there, learning his mothers face, his fathers voice. He was a cop, so he barely got to see him. He grew to favor his father. He loved his father, and treasured him. The month after he turned 6, his father was shot in combat.

He was torn, and didn't stop crying for a few months. His mother stayed dry eyed, knowing she had to go on. Her little boy grew up fast, too fast almost to track. He was suddenly thirteen, and hanging out at the police station where his father worked, instead of going to school. He needed to go to school, good grades were needed to get into a police academy.

He skated through high school, doing only enough to keep an a average in his classes, and even then copying and cheating occasionally. He graduated on time, and was shipped off to the police academy. Within, he learned all he could of his fathers trade. He was a decorated officer, and well loved throughout the community, in line for chief at the time. He found within the walls of the academy, a place to feel safe, a place to be himself.

He slept in the barracks, moved his clothes into a plastic tote in the utility closet, left his mother alone at home. He began working with the K9 units, receiving training to work with and handle drug and attack dogs. He got his certificate, all of his fathers old friends in attendance. Even his mother was invited, but he didn't know she was in the hospital, with stage 2 breast cancer.

He received his canine partner, Plato, a ten month old German Shepard mix rescue, and fell in love. He and Plato did everything together, they slept in the barracks, brushed their teeth in the same bathroom. Everything. He and Plato were inseparable. They busted a meth lab that was cooking up over 2 Mil. in Methamphetamine. They were awarded a medal, and featured in the newspaper. One day he got a letter from his mother, She was dying, they removed both of her breasts and a section of her lung.

He was shocked. She had had cancer this whole time, and he had ignored her. He put Plato into the car and turned on his flashers. They raced out of the parking lot and down to the hospital. He got out of the car and raced up the stairs, knowing the hospital by heart. As he arrived a blue light flashed on the floor, and a buzzer droned in a room. His mothers room.

He rushed in to see them pressing the paddles to her chest, watching her body jerk slightly. He seemed to watch for ages, but it only took a few moments. Her heart jumped to life, and began its rhythm. The doctors herded him out of the room, but he pushed past them and crouched by his mothers side. Plato whimpered, but he was ignored. He told her how much he was sorry, how much he loved her, and how much she didn't deserve this.

Her face was so, so very pale, so pale it was like paper stretched over bones. She opened her eyes later that night, blood shot and dilated. She smiled, mouth devoid of teeth, and breath smelling of sickly sweet rot. She told him she was glad to see him, glad he was still alive. She worried about him when he went on his missions. She saw his medal ceremony, good job, she was so proud of him. So very very proud, so very...

Alarms blared, lights flashed, but this time, when the electricity raced through her thin and ravaged body, she did not return to him. He sat beside her bed, cold and empty, until he was asked to leave, and given the name of a local grief counselor. He buried himself in his work, became the best damn cop on the force. He stayed up day and night working cases, pouring over evidence.

One day they were busting a house where a suspected murderer was holding up, had been for sometime now. They had the place surrounded, S.W.A.T. were ready at the front door, and two other canine units were standing by, in case he tried to flee. They broke down the door and he jumped out a back window, right into Plato's jaws. They wrestled, and as he ordered the murderer to stop moving and put his hands behind his head, he was startled by the sound of a shot. The perp had shot Plato in the neck with a pistol.

He killed the man right then and there, watching the life drain from his partners eyes. He turned to look at the other officers that were screaming at him, saying something, but it was all whispers compared to the sound of the blast. Beside him, not three yards away, a series of pipe bombs exploded, sending debris everywhere. He felt a burning sensation in his back, and then all was dark.

He woke up in a hospital, and came to the horrifying realization that he couldn't feel the bedpan he knew was under him, or the thick white socks he knew were on his feet. His doctor came in and told him a piece of wood had severed his spinal chord. He would never be able to walk again. He cried, for himself, for his dog, for his mother, for all of the things in life he would never be able to do.

He was escorted to the house his mother left for him, and became a hermit. He had his groceries delivered, his yard mowed, and his house cleaned on his retirement pension. He grumped at anyone who tried to talk to him, snapped at any happy statements. Was just a real asshole in general. One day a small girl came around to his door, asking if he would donate to ASPCA. on the cover of the pamphlet was a mirror image of Plato as a puppy. He plopped in a twenty and retreated to his cave.

The next few weeks he spent registering and signing up to be a dog trainer at the local ASPCA, and volunteer. He worked with dogs for ten more years, and on his fortieth birthday, he saw his twentieth dog into the K9 search and rescue program. He was watching the dogs in the clinic get their checkups, when a dog came in in a crate. It was a beagle, and it was angry. He decided to go check it out, being very aware of dog moods.

He was surprised when the vet opened the door, and it raced out. It took hold of his useless leg and began to tear at it. Not being able to feel it he was a little shocked, but they subdued it. He was treated, and a sample of his blood taken to check for rabies. The day the test results came back he had formed a fever, and went to get a re check. Again, he was fine, and was sent home with an anti nausea medication.

He began to vomit, even with the medication, and grew weaker and weaker. He remembered climbing into his bathtub and failing asleep. Flashes of rending flesh, terrible hunger, long nights running and panting. And one day, he woke up fully aware, fully aware of his new body. He was laying curled around a chunk of asphalt, still warm from the summer sun. He stood...He stood up, on two very mobile, very alive legs. He stretched his toes, so different from his first ones. He looked down his body, his hands. He tried to straighten his back, to walk upright, but it was more comfortable to stoop. He named himself Percival, after a young dog he trained.

Within the next week he mastered his new body, learned its strength and weakness'. He took to sleeping in trees, and didn't lose his aversion to people, though he sought them out constantly for food. The streets were now filled with shambling zombies, and he saw more of his kin, mindless creatures who's flesh his stomach rejected. He healed faster now. He was amazed, and thankful. He had been given a new lease on life and would take full advantage of it.

Family: He had one once, and can occasionally recall their names.

Pack?: loner

Voice Profile Example www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bu2xoJbYNKM&feature=related