Braxis Blackmarsh

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Arctic Wolf
Date of Birth:
30th July 2016
Luperci Ortus
For all intents and purposes, Braxis is a giant white wolf. Standing at seven feet three inches tall in his preferred optime form, the wolf is an intimidating anomaly to his kind. He is covered from head to paw in snow white fur. Many small scars mark along his arms, legs and chest, covered by his coat and only becoming noticeable when he’s in motion. One exception is a blatantly obvious cut wound stitched across his abdomen. Surprisingly enough, the wolf’s face has remained unmolested from his previously violent lifestyle. Even with his natural coat, the wolf is noticeably muscular, lending to his monstrous figure.

Two parts of Brax’s hair are woven into braids while the middle is lightly pulled back into a ponytail, held together by twine. An off stripe of black fur on the top of his head and down the back of his neck gives his right braid a unique checker pattern. His attire consists of a pair of loose dark green ankle banded trousers, held up by a large three strap hard leather kidney belt. A small gold band adorns his fur below his chin, giving the semblance of a beard. The large wolf is usually seen wearing a welcoming toothy grin to compliment his bright emerald green eyes.
Past experiences have left Braxis with an almost unsettling upbeat attitude towards everything he does and everyone he meets. Though it might be mistaken for naïve optimism, the wolf is in fact very tense and suspicious towards others. He never lets his guard down, even among his most trusted “companions”. Despite this, the wolf can be very sociable, and would even welcome a frothing, roaring bear a seat at his campfire if it meant a good fight or even someone to talk too.

Whether his life is on the line or his task is as simple as chopping wood, Braxis meets it with a toothy grin. Every breath he takes is a gift in his eyes, every action a step towards his life’s goal. He does not get angry, sad, or even annoyed. And if he does, he will not outright show it. Instead transforming his negative emotions into inward and/or outward raw passion towards his work, and his toothy grin he always wears while burying his axe into another’s skull. Braxis genuinely loves life and everything in it, and woe to anyone who forcefully tries to teach him otherwise.

With a friendly outlook on the world, one would not suspect the wolf of being a savage fighter. Braxis loves to fight, almost religiously so. He approaches almost every violent conflict with an instinctual fervor for blood. A bit meddlesome, Braxis will rarely start a fight himself, but he IS known for ending them, whether he is an involved party or not.

With that said, Braxis naturally enjoys giving into his baser pack instincts and will occasionally prod those in higher positions than himself. He finds great respect in those that can put him in his place the old-fashioned way. Because of this, the wolf is likely to get into trouble with his peers, especially those of more civilized packs.
Mother: ???
Father: ???
Coyote Matron: Closest thing he had to a mother
Adopted Father: Last seen leaving his "son" for dead
The Witch: Dreams turn to mist sometimes...
Braxis was taken from his birth pack at a young age, the name Blackmarsh his only keepsake from a life he never lived. How young was he? The wolf does not quite know himself. He likes to think his parents fought bravely to protect him. But that is neither here nor there, so the young Braxis was brought up instead by a loose band of thieves, cut-throats, and undesirables. The wolf’s first eight months of life were not pleasant, only being tended too sparingly by a coyote matron who was caring for her own pups. Most others did not care for the wolf urchin while some took pity and threw him the scraps of their meals. It was a lonely existence. But one he learned to survive by doing what he was told and doing what he could when he could.

It all changed for the wolf on his ninth moon. Brax’s eating habits suddenly became ravenous to the point of feral gluttony. More often than not, he would trade scars for food, fighting the other pups, and even the adults for a chance at their prey or food stores.

He would have been fatally disciplined if the Leader of the group had not intervened.

The Alpha of the band of misfits had taken an interest in the wolf pup’s brazen behavior. With an impromptu speech to his fellow kin, the Alpha adopted Braxis, claiming him as his son. Like the flip of a coin, Braxis’s life turned from scavenging the scraps from the uncaring to being lavished with a bedroll of his own, a meal whenever he was hungry, and a father who did not hide the fact that he had plans for the still-growing wolf. Braxis had his suspicions, but what were mere feelings in the face of the wolf pup’s growing hunger.

Upon his first birthday, Braxis was a sight to behold. In his optime form, which he grew to love. He stood at an intimidating seven feet tall, casting a shadow over most of his fellow kin. At the sight of his fearful comrades, Braxis adopted a wicked grin, indulging the image of a monster within the skin of a wolf. Hunts comprised of not only regular prey for food, but Luperci caravans for goods. Though life up to this point was nothing new to the giant wolf, Braxis would soon realize that he was not part of any normal Luperci pack. He was in fact part of a band of Bandits.

Waiting, watching, and scouting the many routes caravans took became a common routine in the wolf’s daily life. Raiding became almost secondary to breathing, the thrill of fighting others of his kind a morbid sport. Despite this, Braxis had a soft spot for others outside his bandit life. Surviving merchants and prisoners of these raids were always first approached by the giant wolf himself. Not to fight for their freedom, but to talk, share stories, and even teach Braxis a thing or two about subjects he never would have learned amongst his own kind.

Three long years preceded like a hazy dream, the wolf never straying from the path of a wretched criminal. That is, until the pains started occurring. Braxis would wake to his joints locked in an aching agony after wintry winds and nightly rains. Through an ironic twist of fate, what caused the wolf to gain such significant size and prowess, had also come to haunt him with a torturous vengeance. His own body had become his own worst enemy, a nightmare in the eyes of a wolf who constantly moved when doing what he loved. He started losing fights to his smaller comrades, a dismissive shame in his eyes, but an unacceptable notion in his “father’s”.

He was betrayed. But not before receiving a vicious wound to his stomach. Luckily not fatal, but still bad enough to leave the wolf in a weak and vulnerable state. He would have died, never to find love, never to find a life outside criminal violence, never to find the one who would give him a TRUE DEATH!

As luck would have it, fate had yet to cast the giant wolf from the world of the living. Braxis was discovered by a wandering Witch, a previous victim of his many caravan raids. The Witch stitched him up and nursed him back to health. She spoke to him as he slept a dreamless sleep, whispering of pleasant prophecies, and others not so pleasant. She promised the wolf a fate fitting of a monster such as him, but it would not be bestowed by her own paws. Revenge was not hers to take on the white wolf, nor was he to take vengeance on the ones who betrayed him. The wolf’s fate lied to the far east. A land called Nova Scotia. There he will meet his “True Companion”. The one who is meant to give him that which he seeks.

Long after the Witch departed the wolf’s company, the former bandit awoke to set his eyes towards the east…
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14 October 2021, 10:32 PM
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