Name:
Serrig Mythiar
Age:
28
Supernatural Race:
Werewolf and Lycan Mixbreed
Ethnicity/Race:
Norse Gaelic, Russian
Appearance:
Technically Serrig has 3 'forms'. His natural human form, his Lycan wolf form, and his bipedal Werewolf form. His Lycan form is a golden wolf, with blonde fur so light it can almost appear white. This form has bright blue eyes.
Though this form is that of a more normal wolf, it is much larger and bulkier. His legs and paws huge and muscled.
His secondary, or Werewolf form, depends on how he transforms. Usually he is unable to control this transformation as it is due to his werewolf heritage, and will always happen during a full moon. His uncontrolled form, though done against his full will is slightly less potent than his berserk Werewolf form.
His regular Werewolf form is a bipedal, lethe, hulking, 8foot mass of black fur, muscle, fangs and claws. Though his transformation is not through his control a part of his mind is still intact so his eyes, though practically glowing with inhuman power, remain blue.
His next form he has come to call Berserk form. This form has happened more times than he'd like to admit but it usually only happens if he is under extremely intense amounts of stress, pain or anger. It's only happened twice when not during a full moon, and only a sparse amount of times during. Though every time in his Werewolf form seems to be a fight with himself for control, His mind and control are seemingly non existent in Berserk form. Oftentimes His fur and bone will tear and grow in even more deformed manner and he grows to practically 9feet with even denser body mass. Seeming to be formed of anger, destruction and mindlessness, His eyes blare a bright white.
His final form is one he has been working on for years. Back before his mother was killed, she was working with him on meditation and control of his Werewolf form, so he could transform and use it's power and agility whenever he wanted. Also to train his mind to remain more himself. He isn't able to transform this way very often and it takes an incredible amount of time, energy and concentration. And it is actually easier to do so when already in his Lycan wolf form. But it is essentially the same size and shape of his Werewolf form except his fur remains a golden white and his mind is completely his own.
Serrig has many tattoos but they're all located on his upper body.
Starting with his supernatural tattoo, it is placed on his left shoulder blade.
Next is his right hand.
On his left forearm.
Right bicep.
Left bicep.
And last but not least his right shoulder blade.
Personality:
Serrig can tend to be immensely cocky and wild at heart. Though he can usually back up his comments, it has gotten him into trouble as well as fights more than a few times. Never one to turn down a fight or brawl, he lives for a good battle. How else is he supposed to learn and get better? At least that's what he always used too tell his mother. Just as stubborn as she was and as strong willed as his father. Back when the other clan boys would taunt him. Back when his only worries were keeping better control of his Werewolf form and where he could get his next meal. Not that he went hungry because his mom lacked the food. But he was always using tons of energy or so it seemed and that made him constantly starving.
Ever since the loss of his clan and his mother Serrig has changed. Though he still has trouble controlling himself when it comes to a challenge or his nights during the full moon, Serrig has learned to take a longer, closer look into planning and gaining wisdom before starting a battle. Especially after taking on the job of a Hunter.
So he can still often be found wide eyed and covered in blood, a pleasant grin on his face when fighting. But also a man of knowledge and strong will.
History:
Serrig was born in his mother's home village on The Isle of Man. Unknown to most travelers, this village had a long history and connection to many ancient gods and their ways. Centuries ago the village clan had done deeds and given sacrifices into many a Celtic deity. And in turn they had received gifts and favors. One of which was the ability to become intertwined with the soul of a wolf. So long as certain ceremonies were upheld, every child born of a member of this clan, would too be able to have this ability.
So it was when Serrig was born. Though his fate would be a tad different. For you see, Serrig's father was of Russian descent. And though That wasn't an issue for his mother or her clan, the fact that he was of pure blooded (not bitten) Werewolf descent was a different subject entirely. Though the Ancient Clan of the Werewolves were considered cousins to those of the Lycan, they were often considered more barbaric and blood thirsty, so viewed as more 'unclean' or ungodly. The Lycan Clans though varied among background and homestead, considered themselves more evolved than their bipedal cousins since they had long ago learned to completely control when they transformed And their minds remained entirely their own.
But love is love Senriel always used to tell her son. And once you find it don't you ever let go.
Serrig's father was a merchant sailor and was often gone on long travels to and from Europe. Being gone as often and as long as he was made many of the village elders happy, as it meant they would rarely have to deal with (or feed) his fathers Werewolf side. He and his mother were allowed to stay in the clan and the village, so long as no problems occurred. Though they remained, Ludvig, Serrig's father often stayed at their boat house near the coast whenever he would return from trips. So as to not upset the clan elders.
Ludvig often brought home gifts from his travels and for Serrig's 18th birthday he gave him a stainless steel necklace that his father said would now be known as their family symbol. Serrig has refused to remove it ever since he left home.
Growing up with the mix of his fathers cocky, titanium will and his mothers stubborn, never give up attitude always made life a bit chaotic for Serrig. He honestly tried not to get into All the fights he did, but he could never claim he didn't enjoy the fight while they lasted.
Though the village was modern day they were far from modern when it came to the clan life style. Being a village of all Lycans can be that way, even in the modern day. They had many modern things like internet and phones, but their everyday life and living were less so. They had only a small market for groceries and other house like things. And a corner store for things like liquor and cigarettes. But being that almost every village citizen could hunt and was trained to cook for themselves, hunt for themselves and survive for themselves from a rather young age. The typical modern necessities were rarely a thing.
Even so, Serrig had a good full childhood, despite the fights and most of the elders looking at him somewhat lowly. His mother worked at the corner store most of his childhood and spent most of her free time attempting to help Serrig control his full moon transformations.
Then, during Serrig's 22nd year, disaster struck. Of course all of the younglings were told of the dangers of the real world. That even normal humans could be very dangerous if they found out about the clans lifestyle and abilities. They had been taught and learned about humans who searched for their kind, hunted them. But not even the elders thought they would be so thorough as to discover and hunt down an entire village.
The day started Like most any other. Serrig woke late and stumbled around the house for a bit until he managed to find food to shove in his face. As his mind awoke slowly he remembered tumbling through the woods to his fathers boat house after another argument with his mother. She wanted him to start working an actual job somewhere as she felt his days in the fighting ring were working against their attempts to better control his full moon transformations. She thought the fights were bringing out his more violent tendencies, and that it was making his Werewolf form more chaotic.
He grumbled heavily and opened one of the bottles of whiskey his dad had on the shelf. What did she really know? He loved fighting and he made Bank at it. So it made him less able to meditate, it wasn't like he had ever hurt anyone when the full moon came around. Not in many many years at least. The village had built an asylum for his full moon nights anyway. In truth it was more like a cage, but he honestly didn't care. He had all the time in the world to learn how to better meditate. He could do that once he was old and tired of getting locked in a silver cage every month. This way he got to fight, drink and have fun. What was so wrong with that?
Rolling onto the couch he pulled his phone off the charger, it was after midday so his mother would prolly have worried about how he was after so long. He stared blankly down at his phone screen for a few moment's. He knew he had left due to their bickering, but that wasn't anything new. Then why did he have 35 missed calls? Pulling the phone to his ear he set down the already half empty liquor bottle and listened to his voicemail.
Screams And howls filled his ear as his mothers voice came through, shaky and weak.
"I... I don't know how, but they found us. Honey they found us. You have to be strong now you hear me? You have to. You have to run. I won't let them find you. I love y.." A startling noise crashed through the phone and then deafening silence. Standing in shock he shook his head furiously to try and clear it. Run? And who are they? Who would hurt his mother? Or any of the clan?
He threw on his jacket and tore out the door. The village was about 10 miles from the boat house so he would me need to move quickly. He looked to the heaven's and sent a small prayer to Odin.
"Please don't let me be too late." He flung himself into his Lycan form and tore through the underbrush of the woods like an arrow searching for a mark. As he got within a mile or so of the village, the scent and sight of fire wafted across his senses. And the smell of charred flesh.
Pulling himself to a halt as he shifted back into human form he stopped at the edge of the woods behind his mothers house. Only the foundation and some walls stood, still smouldering in the sunlight.
His eyes darting around the rubble of his home, he slowly dragged his feet until he stood where the kitchen used to be. He could see down the street where the neighbors houses burned still, bodies and fur strewn across the ashes and leaves. It was almost Halloween and the town had decorations up. They too were burning, like some kind of sick halloween prank. He strode down the pavement into town, barely realizing he hasn't blinked since his eyes caught sight of everything.
Though deep inside he knew what he would find if he went to the corner store, he had to see for himself.
As he entered the whole in the brick wall where the door used to be, his breath caught in his throat. Struggling to choke back tears he fell to his knees next to a large mass of black fur, laying huddled overtop of his mothers still smoldering body. Apparently his father had returned late last night. He was early, he shouldn't have been back for weeks yet. Serrig pulled the lifeless bloody form of his father onto his lap. As he cried mournful howls of agony, he noticed a dagger still stuck into his fathers flesh. Stopping his howling he leaned over to pull it out, just in time for a crossbow bolt to fly by his head.
Rolling into a defensive position he held the dagger in front of him as he looked around for the bolts shooter. Two men stood in the road just down the street, with smiles spread across their faces.
"Well isn't that lucky. We get cleanup duty and there's actually some'in left to take care of. I thought the big boys got all of 'im. Guess they left us a treat." The other man smiled more boldly and pointed the bolt in his hand towards Serrig.
"Here Doggy Doggy, while the bosses are away, we get to play!"
Serrig never got the chance to ask who their bosses were. As soon as the man had begun to speak, Serrig began to black out. He could feel his body transitioning, and it wasn't of his own accord. The last thing he remembers is tearing into the most bloody howl he's ever managed and feeling a surge of power like never before. All he knows is he woke up the next morning covered in blood and ashes on the entire opposite side of the island.
After these events Serrig spent years training, meditating and learning everything possible he could about the ones who attacked his family and his home. He took over his fathers merchant boat and uses it to travel as well as his fathers good name in the business to get things and to places he needs in order to hunt every last Hunter down. He has become a Hunter, and those who would call themselves Hunters are his prey. He won't stop until every last one of them is dust, just like they made his life.
He's come to Gravette on rumours of many different Hunters gathering here.
Strengths:
He is a skilled hunter/tracker when in human form and he knows how to handle himself in hand to hand combat. He's also fairly good at sailing.
In his Lycan form his strength is about 10x stronger as well as his speed and agility. He also has heightened sense of smell, sight and sound, much like a wolf.
In his Werewolf form he's more like 50x as strong as well as having even stronger senses and the ability to use his hands more easily. His jaw and fangs are also more heightened in their abilities to tear and crush.
In his Berserk form his skills and strength are almost 80x his normal abilities and even wounds from fire or silver don't seem to affect him or slow him down much. But he will keep the wound once he returns to normal. Going into Berserk form isn't easy and has never been at his beck and call. So using it for massive overload in strength or skill is not easily done.
Weaknesses:
The usual silver as well as fire. Though he is more so prone to silver when in his Werewolf forms, his Lycan form is weak to it as well.
He has a weakness to being offered a challenge, especially if its for a fight.
There was an Ancient chant or ceremony if you will, that his mother used to perform when he was in his Werewolf form. A ceremony with Ancient Magics and words of the gods, it made his fur glow with Runes and was able to calm and sedate him. She used it most often when he was confined to the clans holding cage for him. He never learned it for himself but if there were others who knew it or could preform it, unless in his Berserk form, it could be used to subdue or even kill him.
Stance:
Active. Though he mostly hunts Wolf hunters, he's never against killing other hunters when the chance arises.
Special Power/Skill:
He has the unique ability, even among other similar supernaturals, to transform into a Lycan(large wolf), and different Werewolf(bipedal wolf) forms. That along with his Berserk form and skills as a hunter/tracker/sailor, make for a very hard to kill beast.
Other:
His clan, mother and father were all followers of the old gods. Both Gaelic and Nordic. And although he doesn't commune regularly, he will often say prayers and keep small traditions to the Old Gods.
Though he rarely speaks it at all, let alone regularly, he does know how to speak Gaelic and some small amounts of Russian.
Serrigs Pinterest Board: pin.it/4V6ijnV
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