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Description

Voice Claim | Relations [tba] | Playlist | Theme Song | Medallion
Note: Voice Claim is of Vesemir from The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf SO it contains spoilers for those who have not watched it!

Basic Information
Name: Arawn
Name Meaning: God of the Underworld [Celtic God]
Age: Adult [5]
Gender: Trans Male (AFAB) [He/Him]
Height: 36''
Weight: 125lb
Build: Large, broad and imposing. Not known for his speed, Arawn has grown up using his body as a way of defense rather than being able to flee. Large footed, he can stand his ground with no issue. He has a wide head, set with heavy brows and short ears.

Territory: Vektren
Family: Saoirse [Daughter; Assumed Dead - NPC]
Sexuality: ?? - uncared for by Arawn.
Rank: Delta Enforcer

Personality

Calculating - Dedicated - Assertive
Cunning - Observant - Hidebound
Cold - Venomous - Irascible

Every action that Arawn puts down, has been planned out already multiple times through his mind before being put into play. There is nothing worse than heading right into the face of danger without considering the cons of one's own plan. Not only is he focused on action, but he also wholly gives himself to the cause that he is a part of. Keeping a level head, focusing on his work and faith. Not easily scared off, Arawn has no issue with making it known of his dominance. Not lacking confidence, he is more than happy to put things into order even if it's forcefully.
The dark flanked wolf is quite prolific at deceiving and tricking others. Having been trained from a young age to learn information for kills, he has no guilt when it comes to even swindling the most innocent. With the eyes of a cold trained killer, having to wait a few hours for a target to appear has given him the patience to stomach being observant. Whether this be only for a few mere minutes, or stretched over time. Being quite stuck in his ways, the cult was the perfect home for him. Religion and strict laws, what else could one need? He had little patience for those who questioned the right way of living, and was more than happy to correct if allowed.
Being less warm than most wolves and having had no time for it as a pup, is not a trait that he learned in adulthood. Affection is a sour thing, and not truly worth anything to Arawn. He has his duty, soft feelings only get in the way. Both in his bark and bite, is the dark wolf rather poisonous. Words sinking into ones skin like venom from a snakes bite, it gives him no pain for upsetting or hurting others to get him what he needs if it's for the better of the pack. Being raised by a tempered mother, it isn’t a far stretch to see that he too grew to have a sharp tongue and short temper. Though he can be quick to prickle like a porcupine, he manages to not show it all the time though often its noticeable in his furrowed brows, and burning eyes. He knows it makes him a less likeable packmate but admittedly, he cares little for others opinions.

Pre-Group History:

The start of Arawns' life was chaotic, though he could not remember how it had begun - his brow scar was a reminder. A sharp sting, and he began to awaken. The pack, which they referred to as the Family, was often on the move, ritualistic and heavy in religion; they were killers for hire and they killed for their gods. The pack itself was secretive and did not accept outsiders that had not proven themselves to be trustworthy, which meant over the years their numbers began to dwindle. Though children were born into the pack, most fell from harsh training that was both cruel and outdated in its methods.
His parents were nothing other than ordinary, born and crafted into orderly killers. While the pair were not the highest in rank, they were well respected and held to high regard within the cluster. Though they were far from perfect. His father was falling from religion, seeming to be looking towards the outside more than from within. Then there was his mother, whose anger issues sent cracks through the foundation of their own family unit. The youngest of four siblings, there was not much of a family bond but rather children being raised to fill the falling numbers. There was no time for comfort or love, only training and the future of the Family.
Arawn grew to look for validation from the higher ranked wolves, rather than to look for it from his parents. Religion quickly grew to be of great importance to the growing whelp.
It wasn’t long before the crashing realization of the reality they all live in burned down upon him. On a cold Autumn night, his father was slain before him. Breath caught in his throat as his mother, his fathers’ murderer stood over the deceased form of her late mate. The acting court stood approvingly of the action committed.

He had tried to leave.
Tried to abandon the Family.
So his life was taken.

It was a wake up call, though young Arawn had never thought of leaving his family, the Family - it would never cross his mind now. With that night, the remaining innocence that plagued his body was ridden, washed away like the blood of his father in the grass.
The training was vigorous, cruel and demanding and many youth did not pass their first trials. One trial was to survive being hunted by the Family, could they outsmart trained killers while in training? Another method was to be left out in the freezing cold of winter, wading through the icy waters of the nearby streams overnight to show how strong their core was. Barely over a year old by this point, Arawns’ body struggled to cling onto life. One of his brothers died in the water, unable to stay awake in the cold blizzarding weather. They left his body to be reclaimed by nature, though the young wolf did not react. There was no time to react. Observing older wolves kills, to learn from them even if they caused their stomachs to twist. Over those two years of training, Arawn had begun to focus on the community and religion, rather than his dwindling family. In a way, without realising it was how the young wolf coped with the death of both his father and brother. Having something, others to focus on where it didn’t strike a nerve helped to push out the grief and pain. These wolves mattered more to him, it was far more important than blood ties that could bite you in the back at any given moment.
Trained, molded and formed into the perfect killer as he aged - his first hunting season began. True kills were left only to those dedicated. Having killed a wolf similar to his age, he watched the life drain from their eyes as he held them down by their throat. He first felt the urge to let go and allow them to stand, but the glistening of several eyes in the distance stopped him. If he allowed the wolf to leave, he would be executed alongside them on that very spot.
But he was stronger than this wolf. He was more important than them, filth that had abandoned their morals and dedications. Their blood clung to his tongue, as the Family congratulated him on his first kill. First of many, as he aged and seasons passed. The gods were simply known as The Void. They had no shape that resembled anything of the physical word, though they climbed with the wind in the leaves.
But this one would always live on, always be recalled. Especially on the birth of his daughters, though only one survived. Like most of the pack, the union that Arawn had with his childrens sire was nothing short of business. To bring more willing members into the Family. However, the gods deemed other paths.
An attack left the Family vulnerable, many of their strongest and highest ranked wolves were dead. They had been sought out to kill a white wolf, blood stained and stinking of death. The gods were not answering their pleading cries, as another wave attacked. If blood had not become the décor of these wolves, they would have merged with the snow.
Having herded the aged, pregnant and the pups into a hollow far from the attack site - Arawn returned to the fight. Blood and corpses of the Family decorated the forest clearing, faces frozen in fear. Something that he was not used to seeing on their features. Having helped take down two of the beasts, wounded and struggling to focus on anything but the rich scent of blood.. a quiet voice in the night air snapped Arawn out of the fight. His only daughter, Saoirse had followed the scent trail they had left and stood vulnerable in the open. Before her screams echoed through the forest as one of the white wolves snagged her, seeming to notice Arawn heading her way, before taking off with the whelp hanging from their maw.
The sound of his paws colliding with the cold forest floor pounded away in his ears, sharp, raspy breaths escaped the fear bitten father. For the first time, in several years, fear crept back into his core. But it was only for a moment, before a flash of white in his vision soon caused it to go black. What felt like only seconds, but in reality was likely half an hour had passed before the raven wolf regained consciousness with a startle. Vision was unfocused, shaken and failed him as he struggled to his paws.
Saoirse.. Saoirse. Saoirse.. Get up, you FOOL. His inner monologue snarled, blinking away the blood that trickled down his lashes as he tried to focus on the surrounding area.
It was too quiet. The prior sound of fighting had halted, vanished as soon as it had started. But he didn’t care. The Family was dead, though that may have remained scattered. The Void had turned silent, they had not aided them in this fight. They had let them all die.. They had let Saoirse be… taken. But no matter the searching, the trail scent led him nowhere, only chasing the past. Hatred and grief boiled inside Arawn as he focused on what he could do.
Attacking the pale wolves - any pale wolf was suicide in his current state. Though, he did know of a pack in the area that may aid him - at a cost. The cost of what freedom the Family had given him, to roam. But he had no need of it, he did need healing.. He needed something strong again. The last five years of his life had been a lie. The Void were either too weak of gods to be of any help to their followers, or they had been a falsehood.

Group History:
n/a

Other:
> Though he does not say it, Arawn has a soft spot for pups and younger wolves. Especially those who end up estranged from the others, a feeling he often felt growing up until he realised who he was.
> Will not eat until others do, his focus is on ensuring that no mouth before his goes hungry.

Description

Voice Claim | Relations [tba] | Playlist | Theme Song | Medallion
Note: Voice Claim is of Vesemir from The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf SO it contains spoilers for those who have not watched it!

Basic Information
Name: Arawn
Name Meaning: God of the Underworld [Celtic God]
Age: Adult [5]
Gender: Trans Male (AFAB) [He/Him]
Height: 36''
Weight: 125lb
Build: Large, broad and imposing. Not known for his speed, Arawn has grown up using his body as a way of defense rather than being able to flee. Large footed, he can stand his ground with no issue. He has a wide head, set with heavy brows and short ears.

Territory: Vektren
Family: Saoirse [Daughter; Assumed Dead - NPC]
Sexuality: ?? - uncared for by Arawn.
Rank: Delta Enforcer

Personality

Calculating - Dedicated - Assertive
Cunning - Observant - Hidebound
Cold - Venomous - Irascible

Every action that Arawn puts down, has been planned out already multiple times through his mind before being put into play. There is nothing worse than heading right into the face of danger without considering the cons of one's own plan. Not only is he focused on action, but he also wholly gives himself to the cause that he is a part of. Keeping a level head, focusing on his work and faith. Not easily scared off, Arawn has no issue with making it known of his dominance. Not lacking confidence, he is more than happy to put things into order even if it's forcefully.
The dark flanked wolf is quite prolific at deceiving and tricking others. Having been trained from a young age to learn information for kills, he has no guilt when it comes to even swindling the most innocent. With the eyes of a cold trained killer, having to wait a few hours for a target to appear has given him the patience to stomach being observant. Whether this be only for a few mere minutes, or stretched over time. Being quite stuck in his ways, the cult was the perfect home for him. Religion and strict laws, what else could one need? He had little patience for those who questioned the right way of living, and was more than happy to correct if allowed.
Being less warm than most wolves and having had no time for it as a pup, is not a trait that he learned in adulthood. Affection is a sour thing, and not truly worth anything to Arawn. He has his duty, soft feelings only get in the way. Both in his bark and bite, is the dark wolf rather poisonous. Words sinking into ones skin like venom from a snakes bite, it gives him no pain for upsetting or hurting others to get him what he needs if it's for the better of the pack. Being raised by a tempered mother, it isn’t a far stretch to see that he too grew to have a sharp tongue and short temper. Though he can be quick to prickle like a porcupine, he manages to not show it all the time though often its noticeable in his furrowed brows, and burning eyes. He knows it makes him a less likeable packmate but admittedly, he cares little for others opinions.

Pre-Group History:

The start of Arawns' life was chaotic, though he could not remember how it had begun - his brow scar was a reminder. A sharp sting, and he began to awaken. The pack, which they referred to as the Family, was often on the move, ritualistic and heavy in religion; they were killers for hire and they killed for their gods. The pack itself was secretive and did not accept outsiders that had not proven themselves to be trustworthy, which meant over the years their numbers began to dwindle. Though children were born into the pack, most fell from harsh training that was both cruel and outdated in its methods.
His parents were nothing other than ordinary, born and crafted into orderly killers. While the pair were not the highest in rank, they were well respected and held to high regard within the cluster. Though they were far from perfect. His father was falling from religion, seeming to be looking towards the outside more than from within. Then there was his mother, whose anger issues sent cracks through the foundation of their own family unit. The youngest of four siblings, there was not much of a family bond but rather children being raised to fill the falling numbers. There was no time for comfort or love, only training and the future of the Family.
Arawn grew to look for validation from the higher ranked wolves, rather than to look for it from his parents. Religion quickly grew to be of great importance to the growing whelp.
It wasn’t long before the crashing realization of the reality they all live in burned down upon him. On a cold Autumn night, his father was slain before him. Breath caught in his throat as his mother, his fathers’ murderer stood over the deceased form of her late mate. The acting court stood approvingly of the action committed.

He had tried to leave.
Tried to abandon the Family.
So his life was taken.

It was a wake up call, though young Arawn had never thought of leaving his family, the Family - it would never cross his mind now. With that night, the remaining innocence that plagued his body was ridden, washed away like the blood of his father in the grass.
The training was vigorous, cruel and demanding and many youth did not pass their first trials. One trial was to survive being hunted by the Family, could they outsmart trained killers while in training? Another method was to be left out in the freezing cold of winter, wading through the icy waters of the nearby streams overnight to show how strong their core was. Barely over a year old by this point, Arawns’ body struggled to cling onto life. One of his brothers died in the water, unable to stay awake in the cold blizzarding weather. They left his body to be reclaimed by nature, though the young wolf did not react. There was no time to react. Observing older wolves kills, to learn from them even if they caused their stomachs to twist. Over those two years of training, Arawn had begun to focus on the community and religion, rather than his dwindling family. In a way, without realising it was how the young wolf coped with the death of both his father and brother. Having something, others to focus on where it didn’t strike a nerve helped to push out the grief and pain. These wolves mattered more to him, it was far more important than blood ties that could bite you in the back at any given moment.
Trained, molded and formed into the perfect killer as he aged - his first hunting season began. True kills were left only to those dedicated. Having killed a wolf similar to his age, he watched the life drain from their eyes as he held them down by their throat. He first felt the urge to let go and allow them to stand, but the glistening of several eyes in the distance stopped him. If he allowed the wolf to leave, he would be executed alongside them on that very spot.
But he was stronger than this wolf. He was more important than them, filth that had abandoned their morals and dedications. Their blood clung to his tongue, as the Family congratulated him on his first kill. First of many, as he aged and seasons passed. The gods were simply known as The Void. They had no shape that resembled anything of the physical word, though they climbed with the wind in the leaves.
But this one would always live on, always be recalled. Especially on the birth of his daughters, though only one survived. Like most of the pack, the union that Arawn had with his childrens sire was nothing short of business. To bring more willing members into the Family. However, the gods deemed other paths.
An attack left the Family vulnerable, many of their strongest and highest ranked wolves were dead. They had been sought out to kill a white wolf, blood stained and stinking of death. The gods were not answering their pleading cries, as another wave attacked. If blood had not become the décor of these wolves, they would have merged with the snow.
Having herded the aged, pregnant and the pups into a hollow far from the attack site - Arawn returned to the fight. Blood and corpses of the Family decorated the forest clearing, faces frozen in fear. Something that he was not used to seeing on their features. Having helped take down two of the beasts, wounded and struggling to focus on anything but the rich scent of blood.. a quiet voice in the night air snapped Arawn out of the fight. His only daughter, Saoirse had followed the scent trail they had left and stood vulnerable in the open. Before her screams echoed through the forest as one of the white wolves snagged her, seeming to notice Arawn heading her way, before taking off with the whelp hanging from their maw.
The sound of his paws colliding with the cold forest floor pounded away in his ears, sharp, raspy breaths escaped the fear bitten father. For the first time, in several years, fear crept back into his core. But it was only for a moment, before a flash of white in his vision soon caused it to go black. What felt like only seconds, but in reality was likely half an hour had passed before the raven wolf regained consciousness with a startle. Vision was unfocused, shaken and failed him as he struggled to his paws.
Saoirse.. Saoirse. Saoirse.. Get up, you FOOL. His inner monologue snarled, blinking away the blood that trickled down his lashes as he tried to focus on the surrounding area.
It was too quiet. The prior sound of fighting had halted, vanished as soon as it had started. But he didn’t care. The Family was dead, though that may have remained scattered. The Void had turned silent, they had not aided them in this fight. They had let them all die.. They had let Saoirse be… taken. But no matter the searching, the trail scent led him nowhere, only chasing the past. Hatred and grief boiled inside Arawn as he focused on what he could do.
Attacking the pale wolves - any pale wolf was suicide in his current state. Though, he did know of a pack in the area that may aid him - at a cost. The cost of what freedom the Family had given him, to roam. But he had no need of it, he did need healing.. He needed something strong again. The last five years of his life had been a lie. The Void were either too weak of gods to be of any help to their followers, or they had been a falsehood.

Group History:
n/a

Other:
> Though he does not say it, Arawn has a soft spot for pups and younger wolves. Especially those who end up estranged from the others, a feeling he often felt growing up until he realised who he was.
> Will not eat until others do, his focus is on ensuring that no mouth before his goes hungry.