The Henchman

The Henchman
Milite Seeing is Believing
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Date of Birth:
5th November 2015
Catagorised as large, bordering extra large, Wrath is a brutish, 4 year old, weathered canine. His most distinctive feature is what is not there. Half of his face is missing or badly scarred, leaving a lopsided, hideous and permanent grin on the left side.

His left eye is a clouded blue, damaged, and without sight. Its right side counterpart, however, is a distinct and monotone amber, with no variation except from the black of his pupil. Within that gaze is a constant alertness and wicked intent.

His build is tall and muscular; well defined from years of fending for himself and fighting. This physique becomes even more pronounced in Secui form, which is his preferred state. For such a large wolf and despite his age, his gait is surprisingly agile, almost catlike, having developed sinuous muscle through years of physically pushing himself to his limits of pain and fortitude.

Various scars dent his otherwise impressive ebony (and now grey streaked) coat and mane. His fur, when younger, was as black as his soul.

He has long, sharp claws, some of which are recently damaged or missing, due to the fact it is never more than a few days until his next altercation.

His left ear is missing a small notch, reinforcing his facial asymmetry, but both are continually erect, really an addition to an always dominant, deliberately slow moving posture.
Difficult to kill, although frequently testing the theory with his insatiable need to fight.

Wrath has very little to live for and a hunger for pestilence and anarchy. The only reason this wolf has survived so long is down to a dangerous cunning and selfish nature.

Impossible to befriend, and even more difficult to trust. His loyalties lie only to his own existence and entertainment. He also has a very short fuse; any hint of an attack to his code of living would prompt a violent response.

Suffering is his expertise, and he has in the past been recruited to inflict torture as a mercenary, and the activity never leaves a psychological mark any more significant than quiet satisfaction.

His downfall ultimately will be due to his inability to process and perform altruism. A sociopath without the ability to confirm to any moral code, Wrath provokes the darker side of life, frequently creating more danger to himself and any that choose to associate with him. He can, however be a powerful ally for the right price, if only until a higher bidder will gain his flaky loyalty.

With age he has developed a survival skill, to exchange his skills to torture for food. He enjoys fighting, and enters combat without fear of death or injury. To these he has been inured through time and the experience of flirting with the former and frequently encountering the latter.

Communication is one of his main issues. He does not have the ability to naturally function in a society, and so all of his behaviour in such situations is rather forced.
A 'careful connection' with Saphira.
Though he is not a young wolf, ultimately his story is brief and littered with frequent devastating occurrences.

Wrath made a handsome young wolf, always physically one of the largest for his age, yet he had major personality flaws, which would become more prevalent each month. Acting out increasingly since the death of his parents, he eventually became very violent.

On his first anniversary of life he took another, killing a younger pack member for crossing him; ripping out his neck and swallowing the flesh which came free during the attack. He fled the territory, never to be seen by any of his family again.

His first year in exile was difficult. His sociopathic nature meant he was rarely trusted by those that interacted with him. His inconsistent morals made him unpredictable and devalued any beneficial traits that could be of value to a pack. Initially other wolves would be impressed by his natural fighting skills when they confronted him near their lands. Often gravely injuring wolves that crossed his path alone, or in pairs, he was inevitably chased away from most new territories by the pack.

The most defining day of his life came 18 months after his first kill. Some 300km from his birth place, bordering a small island created by a meteor previously known by humans as 'the Eye of Quebec', hungry and having had no luck on his previous trajectory, Wrath had begun making his way South East, unaware how much his life would change in coming hours. Unaware, too, of the pair of green-flecked hazel eyes watching him.

In Secui form, lithe massive muscles carrying him with that almost feline bounce in his step, he brought down his nose, swiped it close to the ground, knocking the bell-like heads from some Blue-Bead Lilies, and shaking free the morning dew from the stems of Lobelias, when he detected a familiar scent of a foe he had previously encountered; with a hint of iron. He followed.

The large brown bear had a distinct limp, grazes down the side of one hind leg, and three or four deep cuts oozing blood into the fur on its back. It was seriously injured, and it was a large if not exactly tasty meal.

The psychotic, reckless Wrath, full of courage, malicious intent and lacking any kind of essential rationalistic fear, charged at the bear. He leapt, bore his teeth, aiming for the neck, but instead found its front paw rammed into his mouth, and its claws hooked dangerously up and into the side of his cheek. The bear span and, clenching it's toes down inside his mouth, twisted and ripped its powerful front leg in a downward diagonal path, spinning him in a long horizontal arc, attached to the bear only by his cheek. The corner of his mouth ripped first, widening that aggressive canine smile, lips coming free, parting from the pink of his gums. The section was torn away, part of the left side of his face now missing. The wolf landed in a heap.

The bear hobbled towards him. Wrath scrambled to his feet, carried by a surge of adrenaline and contempt for the beast that had stolen his meal. This wolf does not know fear, for what does he have to live for? He accelerated forwards. The bear lunged in an attempt to grab and wrestle the wolf into oblivion, but Wrath was too quick. Blood from his mouth spattered the front of the bear's coat of fur, and pooled around where Wrath sunk his teeth deep into it's neck. A major artery was torn, blood spewed forth from the bear's neck and it wavered on its hind legs, falling backwards with a crash that flung Wrath face first into the floor, knocking him unconscious.

Waking for a moment, he was weak from the fight and from the pain in the side of his face. His ear was bleeding and cut, and he could not see anything in his left side peripheral. He saw those eyes watching him.

Saphira was the only wolf in Wrath's life to whom he felt he owed anything. She was the owner of those startling eyes, and was a scout for a nearby pack. Seeing Wrath fade into unconsciousness she rallied help. Bringing the pack's healer pack fully prepped for the injuries.

When Wrath awoke, he was inside a small cave and laying on his right side. The left side of his face, though it would never be the same again, was covered in an antibacterial paste, topped with healing leaves. By the entrance, which was leaking in the molten orange of the sunset across the floor, was the silhouette of an elegantly framed female wolf. She heard him stirring.

'Rest', she commanded. Though her tone was strong her flitting gaze belied it. She was weary of Wrath.

In the following weeks, Saphira was ordered to watch over him. Ensuring he didn't wander anywhere he shouldn't and that he healed. In that time she developed a careful connection with him. She was clever and understood that to stretch as far as friendship with this wolf was a quick way to either a broken heart or broken bones.

He lasted only 6 months before a fight with another wolf had him expelled. Though the pack did not wish to lose the physical benefits he would bring, they had no choice due to the injuries sustained to the other wolf, who just so happened to have an 'interest' in Saphira.

He never did get to say goodbye to her.

His reputation spread, and he developed a name throughout the region as a wolf with half a face that would effectively kill, torture, and fight in exchange for any kind of payment, including food (a frequent requirement due to his heft), access to a water supply, medicinal herbs, and any other benefit he could coerce from his 'clients'.

The faceless mercenary was known only as Wrath. His use in battle was quite limited, but highly valued. His disdain to authority always his most prevalent downfall.

So onward he roamed, looking for a place he began to think may not exist; a pack that welcomed the minds of the malevolent, mischievous, and maniacal and where his short temper and lack of social skills wouldn't have him once again exiled and alone.
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