o Character Name: Spyridon Vitaliy Russo

o Character Birthdate (including year): November 14, 2008

o Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci Ortus

o Species: 50% Canis Lupus Communis 50% Canis latrans


o Gender: Male

o A secondary form of contact: Only e-mail


o Currently played characters: Ever Mayawyn - Primary


o How you found 'Souls: A giant talking taco :O

o Initial post:




The leaves rustled fiercely, spraying a cascade of water as a figure emerged from the darkness. His black pelt was streaked with mud and his face dripped with the rain. Amethyst irises’ scanned the area with flaming confidence.

“Проклятие этой плохой погоды”

Spyridon spat in his native tongue, shooting a disgusted look at the ashen sky. He batted a paw at the weeping bracken and shook away the water that had collected in the brown fur. Just passing through, the Russo had found himself in the unfortunate position of wandering aimlessly in a storm. Unaware of where he was or why, the drenched male continued on without fear and refused to show weakness by shivering in his naked optime body. His hands were clenched by habit but immediately loosened as he felt pressure against his leg. Bright eyes looked down at the red figure cowering beside his frame.



Spyridon’s expression softened and he bent to scoop up the quivering creature. It was small with red fur plastered over a slim assemble and snout pointed before milky brown eyes. The pale fur was also splattered with mud and the male frowned, unable to distinguish the beautiful snow white chest.

“дный красный Прансер”

The Russian said sympathetically into his arms where the young fox had buried her nose. The red dog had been Spyridon’s only companion for the years he had been alone and the water to his flame that burned as instantly as lightening. He pressed a hand against his friend’s flank comfortingly and slipped the pup into his only accessory, a sky blue messenger bag. Inside, the male had various items he had needed over the course of his travels, none of which were a map.


It was true; the Russian had not known he had drifted into Canada or Inferni territory for that matter. He could smell wolf scent nearby but brushed it off as being stale. His paws carried him where his nose did and never back again. But these days time was catching up to him. He was becoming bored and found himself lonely although the Russian had too much pride to admit. Dwelling on the past was another thing Spyridon found a useless waste of energy. His past was none of the importance to him or anyone else for he had never shared it with anyone.


The male was woken rudely from his meandering thought walking as a brown paw sank into a puddle lined with mud. Rolling his unusually bright eyes that were suddenly covered by his wet bang, Spyridon searched through downpour for shelter but found himself hesitant to continue.

Lightening split the sky in a blue hue, brightening the area for a second. As soon as the darkness had enveloped the area once again a voice rang out weakly from beside the Russian.

Hey stranger,

It called in a thick accent. The wolf couldn’t help a smile from spreading across his maw as he slipped through the undergrowth towards the voice, his black pelt a perfect camouflage. Another streak of lightening opened the heaves and poured a streak of light across the man’s pelt in shimmering red.

“Hello,” Spyridon said, looking the male straight in the eye. They were both covered in a slick sheet of rain and their hair held the same meek shape, guiding water into their eyes. He couldn’t imagine another wolf being out in the storm. As if answering his offensive call thunder rolled through the dark purple clouds in a low grumble.


“Just passing through, I am.”

The male said, his gaze slipping to the newcomer’s utility on his belt. Bright lavender irises blinked away the rain and looked over the other male again wondering if he knew the territory well.

“A place to stay for shelter I am looking. Mighty strong rain is falling.”


The Russian let out a light chuckle and crossed his arms across his chest. An instant puddle formed in the crock of his arm. He was beginning to dislike this area for all the rain it held, but there were promises of prey on the wind cluttered with the scent of moisture and damp earth.

Spyridon watched the male suspiciously as he look him over like he didn’t belong. But the Russian couldn’t blame him. Even he would find it an odd sight to see a lone male wandering about the area. Or was it a territory? The red hued wolf shrugged off the thought as the stranger gestured him to follow. Staying a comfortable distance away from the male, Spyridon ducked under a low branch covered in heavy raindrops, trying to keep the other wolf in sight. He had not the faintest idea where this dry place would be, but as they traveled, the black male started to scent the markings of other wolves.


His amethyst eyes widened slightly; bright purple orbs in the growing darkness. So, he was a trespasser. The thought made him feel even dirtier than his mud streaked pelt. No wonder the Pack member had treated him so unfortunately. Spyridon closed the distance between the two creatures and looked in the direction the stranger as looking. Faux light pooled onto the ground from a window in the distance. The Russian looked warily ahead.

Staying close to male’s side, Spyridon followed him through the stormy woods. Along the way he had introduced himself as Silas Agata and led them into what he called D’Neville mansion. A thought snagged in the back of him mind for he was sure he had heard the name before. But instead of speaking, the black wolf let out a low chuckle as the pair entered the mansion, dripping with mud and rain. He instantly felt out of place in the elegant room. Still listening, as he should, to Silas information, his wandering thoughts were confirmed about the pack. He had indeed wandered onto a territory in which its markings were washed away by the water. Dragging his hands through his dark brown hair, Spyridon reached into his bag and pulled his companion. She had obviously seen better days for her fur was matted with mud and debris and the beautiful cream brown eyes at the end of her muzzle were dull and bleary with lack of sleep. The Russian stroked her while turning his gaze back to the male.


“Thank you,”

The red hued wolf rumbled with deep satisfaction in his voice.


“Inferni territory, dis called?.”

He said more to himself, looking around the mansion again at the silk drapes and fine stitched carpets.


“Spyridon Vitaliy Russo I am called. A Primrose this is.”

Spyridon spoke again, looking down at the female in his arms. She was shivering lightly and he pulled her closer into his dark fur. The fox was his most important possession after all of his family abandoned him, so he was prepared to go to the ends of the earth for her.

He felt as if his fur had been rumpled by the look on Silas’s face. The red hued male couldn’t help a grin as he placed Primrose on his shoulder. She was obviously interested in the new area and took off after a few lifeless seconds between the stare down of the wolves.

“Russo I did say, yes?”


Spyridon said, his voice thin with understanding. He moved his hair out his face in a single movement and brushed some of the mud off his pelt. With is head tilted down and eyes looking up, the male caught the flicker recognition in the other wolves’ eyes. The black male reached into his sodden bag and pulled out a dull dagger then began removing the thick tufts of drying mud out of his pelt.


He showed little interest until the Russian spoke something of a Rurik. This was when then man stopped his action and looked up again, an unasked and unanswered question lingering in his eyes. Besides Primrose, the men were alone. It was obvious as not a flicker of movement or a breath of sound came from around them.

“Spoke of him my mum did,”

Spyridon said weakly, working his fur with the knife again.

“Claimed she did him her brother.”

The male was now more interested as he pricked his ears for more information from Silas. So far he was being comfortable open and it made the Russian feel pleasantly safe. Amethyst eyes glanced around the room for his fox for a quick second. Maybe they would stay.

Spyridon watched his cousin with new interest. What were the chances they would meet like so? He shook his head in disbelief mirroring Silas and then went to work again on his fur. Feeling the other wolves’ eyes on him, the Russian stiffened slightly. His tail flicked in an amused motion as Silas, an excited note making his voice high, told the Russo about more family. It was an interesting feeling, going from abandoned to a reunion. But the darkest of thoughts came like a storm cloud.

“Here is my uncle?”

Spyridon asked more to himself, as if confirming the thought. Looking into the eyes of his cousin, despair crumpled his expression and he looked back down, amethyst irises staring at nothing.



“Mum wanted me not. Left me she did, quickly. Odd it is suddenly to find family. Mum didn’t want me if then won’t others not.”

His face was struck with anger and confusion, but the invitation still lingered. He already felt close to his cousin, which was just established. And he did say there were others. But the unwanted feeling darkened a side of his heart. Perhaps he would stay; him and his red prancer.


As if summoned by thought, Primrose appeared like a ghost atop a chair away from the one where Silas sat. Spyridon preferred to stand for his pelt was still layered in mud.

If anyone else would have tried to comfort him, the Russo would have thought them a nuisance. But he had a small feeling of affection for his cousin and nodded in a stubborn acceptance at his words. It seemed apparent that the clan of family he talked of were closely knitted and no one was oblivious to it. With one last scrape of the knife, Spyridon stared in satisfaction at his clean brown arms. He would let the rest dry and detach.


Silas seemed likely attached to his cousin as he offered once again the invitation of staying. Admiration gleamed in the red hued wolf’s eyes and he nodded his head again. The words of comfort had worked though doubt still lingered. But he was positive there was at least one family member he could trust.

“Would be fine, yes. Thank you,”


Spyridon said, replacing the knife. As soon as the flap of the bag was lifted Primrose appeared again and scuttled into the bag. He closed it as soon as her pale tail disappeared.


“You call your leaders, no? Wait I will.”

This time the male did sit. Settling lightly onto a maroon couch, its fabric bending with his weight. With a smile, the wolf just caught see the shine of adoration flashing in his cousin's blue eyes.

The male nodded and watched his cousin until he disappeared out the door and back into the storm scene. The wait wasn’t long but still he tapped his foot impatiently. He was an inpatient wolf, it always seemed to be one of his perks so he pulled out his container of beads and counted them; what he did when there was nothing else to do. With the rain beating against the window, Silas’s howl was broken up and muffled but still the solo trilled through the weather. Spyridon couldn’t help a shiver go down his spine at the thought of meeting the leaders. He had not thought about the possibility of being denied entrance to the so called Inferni pack. It wouldn’t be a terribly loss, he would just end up back wandering again; what he had done most of his life. Amethyst eyes slipping back over to the door, the red hued wolf thought of how Silas would feel if he left. His cousin was still young but not much younger than Spyridon.


He shook himself, feeling silly for worrying to much about something his cousin was so confident in. And when he was accepted, he could explore the new territory – something he had never had the time to do. He could know every stick and stone, the best places to drink and hunt. It would be wonderful! Not to mention the family. Another twist of guts and anxiety. Would Rurik know it was him? Probably not. Fayina most likely never told anyone about the child she hadn’t wanted in the first place. What about his coy father’s family? Off getting drunk at another party - Spyridon was positive of that.

He was nervous; an emotion he was not yet familiar with. From what he could remember, Fayina always reminded him that Russo’s were bred strong and fearless wolves. But one could believe so much more when they were just a pup. The thunder had dulled and the lightening was a decrepit streak against the mountains now; their white caps covered in gray wisps of clouds. Door slightly ajar now, Spyridon caught scent of another wolf. No doubt the leader, he thought. She was a female by the fragrance streaming through the door along with raindrops and leaves from the storm. The male could see his cousins back and broad shoulder but nothing of the Inferni leader. Silas spoke to her gently – but then again it could be the pounding of the rain drowning out their voices.


The Russian strung his hands together and stood, pushing the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder. Looking out the window for the first time, the Russo could see something of a pond or a pool, but impossible to distinguish for the windows were a magnet for water and there was fog covering the whole radius of the water hole. His brow furrowed, wondering what else he might find in this retreat for wolves. So far the ones he met were a luperci, bold and proud of showing his optime for. But this included his cousin, who came from a family bred with the body. Another shiver went down his spine as an unusually close blade of lightening crackled behind him. He could almost feel the electricity on his back as it lightened his black fur and shimmered its true color; red.