Merit

Language: Russian (Native speaker)

Flaw

Driving Goal: Must protect the kin at all cost (Even against direct orders)

Homid

No Change

Difficulty 6

Glabro

Strength (+2) = 5

Stamina (+2) = 5

Appearance (-1)= 1

Manipulation (-2)= 0

Difficulty 7

Crinos

Strength (+4) = 7

Dexterity (+1)= 3

Stamina (+3) = 6

Manipulation (-3) = 0

Appearance 0

Difficulty 6

INCITE DELIRIUM IN HUMANS

Hispo

Strength (+3)= 6

Dexterity (+2)= 4

Stamina (+3)= 6

Manipulation (-3)= 0

+1 Dice to Bite Damage

Difficulty 7

Lupus

Strength (+1)= 4

Dexterity(+2)= 4

Staminda(+2)= 5

Manipulation(-3)= 0

-2 Perception Difficulty

Difficulty 6

Background

Into the World

Born to the Uktena tribe, his mother comes from a long line of werewolves that took residence in the soviet lands. Their pack's mission was always to keep the wyrm out of the soviet states as the northern lands were very barren of human life, which left the wyrm and it's creatures free to spawn and breed. The Zashchitnik (The name of their pack) took guard of the humans in the state for generations. Sigurt had no formal education while growing up, only the shared education of the pack and world experiences taught him at a young age, fortunately it was enough to teach him how to read and write not only in Russian, but english as well, as his mother DID receive formal education, and passed that on to her son. Being a kin of the Uktena, Sigurt spent his youth learning the ways of his pack, Spiritual lessons given to him by Romanov, his mother's cousin, bringing him into several rituals that was safe for him, teaching him that just because he was a kinfolk, did not mean he was excused in being useless.

Growing up

Time passes, Sigurt became a young teen, and having being trained in the martial arts of his family, on his 15th birthday he was awarded a machete, one whose blade was made of silver, and given the same duty that all young kin of their pack received, watch the cubs. Protect them from outsiders. A duty to be quite honest, Sigurt felt was a waste of his time, there were never any attacks on the young ones, the pack would never let anything through His young mind didn't understand that attacks can come from more than just the wyrm. Traveling more along the southern states, finding new homes and dens, Sigurt became close with many of the other children in the pack, learning different games and wrestling with the older youth to keep his skills sharpened. Frustration began to grow inside of him as he wasn't sure what his true place in all of this life was. Some - fury in him was begining to boil.

Romanov saw this fury growing, sensing that Sigurt was potentially becoming close to a change, he took the young lad closer into his camp, and began to teach him various ways to calm his mind, teas, meditation, and most importantly, how and WHEN to feed into that rage and let it loose. Romanov discovered that Sigurt was most at peace learning rituals, and began the young man on a regiment of performing various rituals with him.

A First Moon

Dead of winter, the moon in its crescent stage, shining high in the sky. Sigurt now eighteen years old had taken a bottle of vodka, and walked off into the woods. He couldn't control it anymore, he was getting so angry - angry over nothing at all. Hurting the other youth and kids while wrestling, going too far and even breaking a young boys arm. He was scolded for his actions, which lead him to this abrupt walk into the forest. He began to get angry at his surroundings, angry at the ground, the air...Most of all. That stupid moon, shining in his eyes. He yelled at it, telling it to get out of his face. He found his fist slamming into a tree, causing a spray of blood, which only made him more angry. He heard whispers, footsteps around him, he yelled at them that he would kill them all. What was the beginning of the end of his memories, was drawing his silver blade to attack whatever was around him, and then his screams turned into ones of pain as holding the blade began to burn and blister his flesh, the last thing he remembered was a dark shadow that lunged at him as he dropped the machete...

Sigurt woke up in the clearing of their most recent camp. He was completely naked, covered in blood, the snow was cold on his flesh, it tasted so good as he scooped it up, putting it in his mouth for a drink, looking up to seeing wolves, no - family. All circling him and howling. Everyone he's come to see as his elders, his family, all in their lupus form and welcoming him into the pack-proper.