Lumiere De La Rogue -Ancient-

[thievesofmidnight]

Lumiere
is now entering it's all in yer mind

Image drawn by character’s creator coming soon.

About You;;
behind the RPer

Name: Jenna
Age: 23
Years of Rping: 8+
Contact: [e-mail];; [e-mail]

ID Tag;;

Alias: White Fang, Lumiere, Louis
Name: Lumiere Whittier De La Rogue
Gender: Male, obviously…
Orientation: Straight
Real Age: 752
Physical Age: A very handsome, roguish 32
Species: Were-Wolf Master/Ancient
Sire: Evelyn Harcourt
Religious Affiliation: I’m too much of a sinner to be affiliated—but, if I must… Christian.
Wealth: A ridiculous amount accumulated over the years
Job: Family heir, competition winnings—think medieval, model bodyguard, club bouncer, ‘doing favors’

Dear Diary;;

Specialties:
1. Quick thinker/witty
2. Wooing females
3. Hunting/tracking
4. Hand to hand combat—of course

Summary:
Lumiere is an exceptionally quick thinker. Having years on top of years to perfect his ways has given him more than enough wit to see his way in and out of tough situations. He enjoys playing with the minds of others, especially those who swear they are truly the smartest in the land. He takes pride in winning an old fashioned game of Chess. There are times he can be seen playing Chess alone. It helps him to play by himself, figuring out who is playing what position in tough times and what his next move will be. As for his intense wittiness: There are times Lumiere can be bold to the point where others think he is out of his mind. But he was born a Whittier man, bred to take chances, and what greater the chances taken than with women, life and death?

Women are hard for him to resist. Though his heart belongs to Amourah La’Vette, he can never resist a pretty face and will do whatever it takes to get what he wants out of them. He believes that women are like cats: They hold secrets and, the more secrets he learns, the more useful they are in the long run. Though he is oft times physically harmed by females, he knows they are very important in life, especially when it comes to things he needs. As stated earlier, secrets—dire secrets are what he loves to hear the most. He loves listening to their gossip… And he loves wining and dining them—the after party, even more so. Such pleasures to be had! But, at least, through gaining a heart, he can count on them to come to his aid when necessary. But, if he’s in trouble, that strong, charming English accent and his baritone voice is more than enough to stroke an angry woman’s heart and soothe her.

Hunting and tracking is, by far, one of his best talents. His nose is very powerful. Having years to travel and learn different smells has given him another foothold in life. With his keen sense of smell, he can discern emotions such as fear, lust, sadness and the sort. He can tell what is what before it’s practically right in front of the average lycan—survival has oft times depended on it. Having several ‘friends for life’ has made him perfect his knowledge of smells. For instance, to him, a certain vampire smells like Roses and Lemon drops. As far as hunting is concerned, he enjoys stalking anyone and anything—even if there are no true purposes behind it other than to tear them to shreds. His speed and his stealth are things to be reckoned with since he is an incredibly sized stark white wolf—that isn’t noticed very easily when he’s on the hunt.

Using his brute force to get his way is another talent. When it comes to actually fighting off those who wish to do him harm, be it man, woman, lycan or vampire, he will not hesitate to bury their skulls into a concrete sidewalk. He’d even go so far as to pin them against the wall will a fingertip, threatening to give them ‘the latest piercing trend’ with a smile on his face. He’ll never let his charm falter when it comes to showing a thing or two. He may not know all this Tae-Kwon-Do these vamps and hunters are inclined to spend years perfecting… But he does know how to block such attacks and strike back. Besides, he hates those perfected little styles and thinks them a waste of time. “How can you defend yourself with Billy Blanks when there’s a gun to your temple??! One bullet to your calf is all it takes to maim you!” Beware, though… There are times when he can be overly dominant, depending on what his victim says or does.

Weakness:
1. Constance, Amourah, Kiva—his leading ladies
2. ‘Feasting’ his eyes…
3. Hot Weather

Summary:
Lumiere only has three loves in his life, all which hold a very vital part of his heart. Though she is a vampire, he would come to her aid faster than anyone else. Constance is his life, quite literally. She was there for almost half of his life as his companion in death, his makeshift wife to bail him out of deathly situations during Medieval times, and his very best friend. Though she is a little batty in her years, he did come to her rescue and help her to cope with the atrocities she has had to endure as she has done for him. The two make an awesomely, unnatural team and wreak havoc wherever it is necessary.

Amourah Synestra La’Vette is the one lycan woman who takes his breath away. She is younger by quite a few years, but she can hold her own against him and her intolerable cruelty draws him in. The only reason she bears with him, after all, is the strange familiarity she feels when he is around—litle does she know he had been the reason her ancestors survived and flourished the way it had. After being her body guard for so long, he’s gotten to know her and, if anything were to happen, the perpetrator would never know peace, not even in death. As for Kiva, she is a young wolfess with no one to guide her. Her naivety makes him adore her and coddle her more than any other female he has ever come across. For a young thing, she is crafty and he hopes to, someday, make her his successor in the lycan realm.

Yes, he has an affinity for women. But they can be his downfall, as well. Constance, Mournah and Kiva are one thing… But women in general are an entirely different matter all together. He can never keep his eyes to himself, earning him a fight in the middle of public or a death match. He has been known to cause rifts between inseparable friends, end marriages and cause misery. Parents—mostly angry fathers, often come at him with shaking hands holding a loaded gun. A surprising amount of these are priests! Accidentally murdering a few men causes women to hate him and take their rage out on him. If not these women, then his leading ladies are wont to beat him to death—especially if they are on a date with him.

As a tall, handsomely pale British man with a burly, thick furred mammoth of a wolf to match, it is clear that Lumiere prefers cold weather. He can’t stand heat, though if he must endure it, he will. He will make no promises about keeping his complaints to himself. If it is too hot, he’ll stay away from his lycan form as it has so much fur and will shed ridiculously, leaving clumps of white that lead to the human when he changes back. He’ll try to avoid trouble when it is hot as he is prone to bouts of dizziness. He’ll go so far as to snatch a cup of frozen lemonade from a kid just to keep cool, tossing the angry mother a twenty over his shoulder. If need be, he’ll laze about in his wolf form, panting heavily and drooling excessively until Constance comes at him with clippers and gives him a shave—after fighting him… So much wolf to shave, so much wolf to keep cool!

Human Appearance;;

Hair: Stark white
Eyes: Ice blue
Height: 6’5”
Weight: 215 lbs
Marks: Several tribal tattoos. A very complicated, beautifully designed tribal tattoo on his back rumored to be branded on him by the Devil himself.
Race: N/A
Skin Tone: Pale
Body Type: Muscularly trim and well proportioned
Clothing Style: Elegant or high maintenance—he loves to don expensive clothing. He has a love for slacks, plain crisp shirts or expensive shirts—usually Mournah buys his clothes. But he will not go anywhere in Autumn and Winter without wearing his favorite, long, white coat.
Footwear: Normally seen wearing exquisite men’s footwear, usually for dress or suits—must be black or black and white—classic.

Summary:
Standing at 6’5” and weighing 215lbs, Lumiere is a sight to behold. Having been born to a family where height is a dominant feature, he’s incredibly tall and likes the attention it brings him. His hair has lost its pigment from his years of living. Once having lustrous black, now it is a stark white, often mistook for being a professional dye job that goes down to his shoulders. Very rarely does he let it grow down his back and he likes to keep it in a braid when he is out on business trips. His eyes were once a cobalt blue but, those have become the color of the wolf’s: a pale blue that stayed after years of lycan transformation and his time stuck as a wolf and not the man. Thankfully, it was the only physical aspect that changed.

His skin in very pale and he can oft times be taken for a naturally handsome albino without the rest of the common characteristics. He dresses in the finest tailored suits, preferring them to be crisp and of the extremities when it comes to color. He loves the white coat Mournah had gotten him for a birthday gift some time ago. He can be seen wearing black or white, depending on the day and the mood. If he is in anything different, it’s because Amourah has gone shopping and prefers her bodyguard to look as chic as she does. Along his muscular body, there are several tribal tattoos. One in particular is a large, complicated tribal tattoo that has been and still is rumored to have been branded on him by the Devil himself.

Wolf Appearance;;

Eye Color: Pale Blue
Fur Color: Stark white
Fur Length: Long—very long—think huge Husky
Fur Texture: Thick, incredibly thick and very silky—just like his hair.
Size: At full height: About 10’6” On all four’s: Approx. 5’9”--that’s crouching.
Marks: Can’t be seen but it can be felt—the devil’s mark on his back through his fur, black gums, surprisingly white teeth, black tongue.

Personality;;

Likes:
1. Women
2. Constance
3. Excitement

Dislikes:
1. Snobs
2. Other Male Wolves
3. Cats

Flaws:
1. Somewhat arrogant
2. A little vain
3. Vindictive

Summary:
Lumiere loves women! There is not one thing that is truthfully above him when it comes to women. He loves the attention. He is literally a dog getting his belly rubbed when he’s in the presence of pretty girls. In addition to this is his forbidden lust after Constance. It’s bad enough that they’ve had a lifetime and then some together. The worst part about it is the fact that she is a vampire and he is a lycan. With the open hatred of so many of their species, he knows it will put her in danger to act on his impulses—which really puts a damper on his spirits when she forces herself to turn him down. Life has to be exciting for this wolf—and since Connie has already made it so throughout the years, he expects his ‘game’ to be the same lest he think nothing more of her when he’s through.

A snob is only good for one thing, in Lumiere’s world. He thinks all they do is talk bad about the world around them, and mouth off at everyone they think is below them. He feels he can show the world that snobs’ mouths really ‘can’ do some ‘good’. Other than that, he’ll make sport of such individuals. Male wolves have done nothing but harm his leading ladies. As a result, he would go at the throats of any and all males who made the mistake of approaching any of the three ladies he holds dear. He doesn’t care who he offends since he knows he can back it up… And, if he loses, he’ll make sure the victor goes home thinking twice about going at it with him again.

Cats are another-- Were, wild, or domestic, he will not hesitate to avoid them. He’d even go so far as to destroy someone’s pet cat, pick it up by its tail, ‘accidentally’ crush it by sitting on it while it slept on the couch! What makes it worse is the cathair on his clothes, the dander up his nose and the stench of the litter box! He does NOT believe ANY animal should shit in the house! As for werecats, he’d show them why so many were afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. Habing had plenty of horrible experiences with such creatures and having one as a mortal enemy has severely altered his feelings toward them.

For a man like Lumiere, his so-called status can really get to his head. Believing that he is damn near the strongest causes him to seem more than arrogant. He’s so arrogant; he’d rather list the word arrogant instead of what he really is capable of: Pig-headedness! He says he’s vain but he’s more than that, often stuck in the mirror for hours at a time! This habit is due to Mournah’s pickiness, being a model and having the need to have her whole entourage look the part. As a result of his needing to be the dominant one, he can be a little vindictive. He’ll do what he must to be and stay on top—and this includes the bedroom!

Background Check;;

Family Members:

[/li][li]Marietta Elizabeth Whittier - Mother - Alive and Well
[/li][li]Donovan Whittier - Father - Alive and Well
[/li][li]Frederick Bane Whittier - Brother - Deceased
[/li][li]Adrianna Lenneth Whittier - Sister - "Quite Alive" and "Well" *laughs*
[/li][li]Brian Lancius Whittier - Brother - Alive and Well
Birth Place: Somewhere in Europe before we discovered England.
Childhood: I remember my first time looking at a girl’s breasts…
Transformation: I was bitten, of course… But you will hear about that later on.
Prey: I prefer livestock, deer, the occasional man
Moon Tidings: Well, I do transform whenever I please. After so long, I have no need to give in to the moon tidings—though I still feel a tingle whenever I am in its direct light.
Other Transformation: A bite is all it takes… One bite, perhaps a drop of my blood in a simple scratch—even a pin prick basked in a drop of my blood is all it takes to turn you into one of me. So, in a sense, I’m not much more different from the vampires, eh? Well, it’s dreadfully painful and a good deal much more so than a vampire, so I’ve heard. I know what it’s like to die—it’s not so bad. But to have ones form give way to something so enormous, to have your bones wrenched apart time and time again, to have your skin expand beyond belief and your fingers explode—such excruciating pain… Now, that’s something.
History:
1272 [A.D]
My Father always said: Better The Devil You Know Than The Devil You Don't. When he said this, he often said it to my mother whilst patting me on the head. I was always a quiet lad. I loved to read. I loved to write. I liked girls. And liked them even more when they forgot they had a skirt on. But enough of my perverted ways. I was a good lad, none the less.

I grew up pretty normally. In fact, yes, I was a normal little boy with long black hair that often had to be cut. My eyes used to be brown. But none of that is interesting, is it? You'd like to know about my turning, wouldn't you? I was born in the during the time of religious wars, really. Well, just before them. At the time, things were so much more peaceful. One could walk outside, heard the sheep and arrange a marriage for his daughter within an hour.

Yes, yes-it was a long time ago. I was about sixteen when it happened. We were considered aristocrats that people often looked to for a boost of confidence--or should I say they came to us for a boost to their status? I and my siblings were always said to have been the luckiest children in the entire divine universe. Some even said we sat on a pedestal of magnificence. We were well-off because of Father’s trade with people. There were times he’d sail away on boats and return with all sorts of goods, skins we’d never seen before, trinkets taken from kingdoms after making a successful trade with merchants and ensuring the survival of men with his skills in medicine.

I was considered the best in my class. I was a strong boy back then. I was always finding new ways to improve anything about myself. I wanted to be exactly like my father—whom I had no idea was actually a lycan. I had no such idea as to how he would often be the only one who was not bed-ridden with disease. The ships he sailed on had no rats and there was no need for a cat to be onboard but for superstition—or a snack for him. On the day he arrived back home from one of his trips, my parents decided to have a ball to celebrate the coming of fall. The Autumn Festival is what they called it. God, people back then celebrated anything!

The harvests were plentiful and there would be more traveling for father, more money to be made from other countries overseas. I was actually tired of it but it was tradition for the Whittier family. As usual, it was boring for me and my siblings. My older brother, Rick, had gone off to have a drink with the men. My little sister, Adrianna, had wandered off to the stables to be with her favorite mount. My younger brother, Brian, had gone off to play with the other boys.

It was a full moon that night and I was outside with a lovely girl... I was lost in her big blue eyes, but not for long. Soon, my eyes were lingering on her chest as it heaved up and down from excitement. As high up as my family was, what girl wouldn't be in a rush to remove my knickers and get me a little loving? And so I took advantage of Evelyn Harcourt, in the middle of my mother's field of roses, near her pond of 'youth'.

When I woke from my ten minute slumber, the figure I rested atop had the chest I remember--remarkably huge and furry! I looked up to the thing I'd just had my way with, shocked at the golden eyes and the face of a wolf as she looked down at me. Her clawed hands held me in place just as I had begun to panic and raised me up toward her mouth. Before I could scream, the wolf bit down on my shoulder hard as she could. The change was almost immediate. I was wracked with pain, feeling as if I were ready to burst out of my skin. My fingertips had begun to tear and warp themselves into long black claws, longer than the she-wolf beneath me. I was a hairy mass after a few minutes, shaking and adjusting to the new madness that had begun to run throughout my mind, my body, my soul.

I had accepted Evelyn. She had turned out to be a rotten apple. From her Tree of Knowledge, I would learn never to trust one's own lust. Evelyn panted steadily beneath my new wolfish form as I stared up at the moon and released a long cry of, what I knew, was ecstasy. I loved the feel of it, the freedom. But I would never be normal again. And that's what made me angry.

I tried my best to will myself to murder Miss Harcourt that night. But I was taken by her. I hated to see her go, but I loved to watch her leave. By morning, the change subsided and I brought my ragged form on home, ordering the maids to draw me a hot bath in the chamber. I learned that my siblings had been off with my mother in town to see the family tailor. As I made my way the rest of way in, I had seen my father, holding a saucer with a cup of tea, who stopped dead in his tracks, sniffing at the air. His piercing blue eyes searched for the source of this new scent before landing on me. His face held a familiar fury I, as a normal boy, had come to fear. But now I saw his expression in a whole new light. This fury was not fury at all... He'd known. It was a knowing look I beheld. Father sipped slowly at his cup of tea. When he was done, his youthful face reddened slightly as he smiled, winking a sparkling blue at me.

"Have you ravished Miss Harcourt's Charms, too, M'boy? Funny that her name should be Eve…" He said thoughtfully.

With that, father left into the next room and left me standing there in shock. I learned that Evelyn had taken my sister when she left me to deal with my new nature. Adrianna had devoured her favorite mount that night. And, as for Brian, Father took him himself. Rick had long since become a wolf--needless to say, Evelyn had a lust for us Whittier men. And I learned Mother was turned the shortly after Brian was born. This is not the last of my story. I have more to tell. Surely, you’d like to know how I survived for so long..?

1316 A.D.

I was seeing civilization truly take form here before my very eyes. Around this time, I had begun to travel far and wide with my father and my brothers. I loved how vast the sea truly was. I loved, even more, the salted winds running along my skin and through my hair which had grown incredibly long and curly. Father taught me the great art of brutality, how to swing a sword and deliver a death blow to my would-be combatants. I never knew where it was we were headed. By this time, men had risen beyond the power of women. There was no woman allowed to go without a husband. If she were to go unwed by the ripe age of twenty, she was sent to be a maid.

During our travels, we came across a land so different from our own. I was floored by the way their society was, so loose and yet so thorough! Here was a land that was ruled thoroughly, having no favor and high disdain of anyone beneath them, men and women alike. These people would live freely and happily. No crime went unpunished, here. Here, it was a leg for an eye. I was shocked by how freely the women walked about. I would soon learn that women were allowed to own their own property. They were allowed a divorce—if they had a good reason. Scandal was high and plenty! Father often hounded me about finding a bride with an admirable name and a good dowry.

There was lots of money to be made, plenty of wine to be had and many a woman to have my way with in secret. Here, we, as a family, stayed and relaxed, doing what we did best as men. We lived here for years. Father took pride in the fact that mother was allowed to own her own things, her own land—given to her by our father as a gift. He loved her so very much… But I didn’t love the women here so much as a certain female who fought me tooth and nail. God, she was lovely. With long, black hair that had been cut in order to humiliate her. No man would have her. I couldn’t understand just why or how they could resist those jade-colored eyes.

She was quick to spit and sass everyone who would stone her as they went by. I learned that it would take me seven years to learn the language—before I finally understood just what she was saying to me.

“What do you want?!! Go away!”

“I just want to know your name, woman.” I said, a little put off by her fiery nature. That same year I would learn that her name was Sara, she was going on 27, that she had been engaged to a prince, she’d been raped by him, framed, and her child hidden away in her home to spare him the humiliation of his truth. This was no way to live her life. I knew I loved her before I knew what I liked in a woman: spice. My brothers laughed at me, my sister was angered with me and Father would not allow me to marry her.

I would love her in secret for a pleasurable span of four years. Her son was ten when she was finally snatched away from her home with the simple pointing of a hateful finger. The same prince learned of his son after she begged him to raise him in his rightful place. The boy was being raised by me but he was doomed to a life of misery unless the Prince took him in. This prince could not marry and rise into power unless Sara was dead. Of course there was nothing I could do, since Father forced me into seclusion—with the boy in tow.

Sara died a liar’s death, stoned by the women of this province. The Prince lived just fine without knowing the whereabouts of his true heir. My family would leave with plenty of money, bronze ore, silver and gold to last us more than a lifetime. I kept the unnamed boy with me, raising him for another year before dropping him off at an orphanage. Interesting to find that orphanages existed this long ago, hm? I would not turn him into a wolf the way we all were. I would allow him to live a free life, with no guilt, no sin. He would live a life without exile.

1554 A.D.

By now, I was about 300 years old and we’d left France. I was desperate to discover the world on my own, to get away from my familial pack and be about my own life. Without a doubt, mother shed tears when I left. I took four men with me, one of them being a young boy in training. I let these men know that I would not be taking care of the boy, that if he posed as a problem, he would be left to his own devices. We traveled together long enough for the men to have aged, get married, have sons and daughters who were married off. The boy that had traveled with us caught himself a lovely bride. I released him so that he could settle down and have a family all his own.

The traveling continued. I’d run into several others of my species, mauled by few but I murdered a good number of them. My men abandoned me in fear, leaving me alone, especially after several found it strange that I did not age. Left to my own devices with plenty of money and goods to trade, I went about my life, having as much fun and learning as much as I could about my surroundings. In time, I fell in love with a land so vast that I vowed I would never leave until I found out everything there was to know. I discovered that there were other were creatures like myself, of different species. It was here that I would meet my nemesis…

I would find that I had a hatred for cats. Seris was as bold as I was, as loving of the world as I was… But there was one problem with him. He was too much like me and, to us, there could only be one to run the show. It was here that I learned how territorial I truly was. Seris was no werewolf, though I sensed in him a power and prowess as wild as my own. I met him in a town that lived on water, where women were loose and wine was free at revelry there was. These parties would last for days. I was busy tending to the needs of women. I was making sport of him, counting how many women would leave his sides for me. When he’d had enough, he approached me and challenged me to a duel.

The duel didn’t last very long—not in the face of public, anyway. I would not be the one to turn tail and hightail it for the hills. Seris ran first; I merely followed out of mild curiosity. In a clearing in a thick forest, near the sea was a leopard far greater than any big cat I had ever seen in my travels. His fur was sleek and shiny, his eyes like jewels and his head inclined as he lowered himself for the kill. Bursting out of my clothing, the beast I’d hidden was ready for a battle. He leapt at me with precision, his claws digging into my flesh for good grip as he rolled onto his back and sank his claws into my nose.

The pain was like no other! I could not deny the canine shrieks and whimpers that echoed through the night air. All I could do was lift my paws and swing at him as hard as I could. Lucky for me, Seris had no true tolerance for pain. Releasing me with a roar, he sought to remove my eyes with those long, pearl white claws. I lifted my head just enough to miss his swipe and, with that, I lunged at him, pushing him over with my paws and pinning him the ground. I sank my teeth into his throat, ready to tear it out. I relished in the sweet and salty taste of his blood as it touched my tongue.

The throat was shrinking in my mouth. The leopard was leaving its place beneath my paws. A man laid there with a nervous look on his face. Snapping my teeth at him and letting loose a guttural growl made him throw his hands up in surrender. I knew better than to stay there and let him run off. If I’d given him the chance, he would have ambushed me, probably killed me. I made a run for it, instead, running until I’d found where I’d burst free of my clothes. I took the small satchel of coins in my mouth and ran until I could run no more. I was sorry to leave this beautiful world on the sea but I had to… I certainly didn’t feel like grabbing any more attention!

My curiosity for the land made my travels long and tiresome. I suppose a few decades had gone by without much notice. When you’re immortal, you fail to keep count of all the years.

Constance, 1733

Here, time never ceased. The sands ran endlessly, covering all that it chose to remain a secret, devouring what was meant to be forgotten… But not her. I met her in Cairo, Egypt. She was so fair, eyes so blue and hair so pale yellow that I could not help but take pity on her. How anyone could leave a child new to such power alone is beyond me! I have come to realize that to leave a new one behind is to leave scraps for someone else with more experience to mold it into greatness, something splendid… And unimaginably horrid to those who prove cruel. Constance had no idea just what to do, where to go. She had no idea exactly what had happened but, she did tell me she was sacrificed. She’d been chased far and wide with stories of her existence as a demon following her wherever she went.

She was certainly unorthodox for someone and something that lived off of the lives of the living. I call her something because she is considered the biggest abomination known to man. She truly is a demon in her own right. But to be so righteous, so believing and free, so spirited and kind—that was beyond her species. I knew most of these were killers, haters of my kind, tormentors of humankind. But Connie was someone. She was someone with dignity. Whilst dignified, she still managed to have fun and never once did she deny anyone the right and opportunity to be a part of it.

It was Constance who taught me that life was so much more than morbidity. There truly was happiness. And, since we were alive to experience the unlife of this land, this world, she made herself a part of me, showing me that the world was truly our playground. She could not kill, no. She was frightened of it, always taught that killing was still murder, even if it was for ones own survival. I had thought right that she was innocent… And so, I murdered for her until she could get her bearings. I would be sure to bring them back whilst they were dying or dead and she would feast hurriedly whilst they were still fresh.

By daybreak, I saw she vacated to another area in the village. She would leave money out to pay the Pharaoh of the time, pay her taxes and leave extra for her maid servant to take care of her small hut. But the sun still bled through the curtains and I saw that she could not live this way for much longer. The summers were quickly approaching and, while it was hot year round, the sun did have its limit. In the summer, Constance would certainly die in this hovel… Just before the worst of it had come to replace Spring, I stole her away into the desert, stowing her in a hidden cavern made of glass, courtesy of a monsoon and lightning. I had kept this place as my own in case I needed somewhere to hide, since I had to murder and feed myself.

There, she would sleep, protected by the marble-like glass that was hidden in the sand. I would take sheets and heavy linens to cover her hiding place and, for days when she was exhausted, I would sit like a Jackal guarding its king—a giant white wolf barely noticed when the wind kicked up the sand. She was young and I loved her for so much… At night, she would sit her tiny frame upon my back and we would roam, usurping homes and cattle. Needless to say, whilst guarding her, I had seen a few Syrian Traders making their way to Cairo. Upon seeing me, they were fearful and hopeful—hopeful that they could slay the white wolf and show off its pelt before selling for a high gold coin.

We traveled for years with each other. I found I could not bear life without Constance… To my pleasure and chagrin, she could not bear life without me.

We were entwined in the spirit world, but still around to live the unlife of the Unliving.

Religious Ages

I know I’ve skipped a lot of years. You may spear me for it, later—if you can. It’s not that I didn’t have a lot go on in the years we spent together. In fact, I had a ball with what all we’d gone through. We lived to see ages rise and fall, to see the survivors of such great empires that had crumbled adapt to another in power, suffer, raise their families who were doomed to the same fate—and die. The two of us found this hilarious, watching history repeat itself. In many villages set miles apart, traveled by foot , hoof and carriage, and paw, we watched people be flogged nearly to death with the vicious cat-o-nine tails. We watched hangings and burnings of so-called witches—this was a new fad. In our day, witches were revered and sought after!

We watched the tormenting and spearing of our kind and others of the like. Soon, Constance grew weary of watching the same thing. She could not bear the cruelty and the hatred. She could not even bear her own kind. In fact, she loathed and despised them, and often killed many who sought us out, calling us blood traitors. Now, I will admit that we had our differences but we both had so many similarities. Looking at her how could you not fall in love with the one who didn’t fit? I knew that I had but we could never truly be. My greatest fear would be the Ancients of clans all around. I had seen the same thing happen over the years.

Much to my surprise, Constance had fallen deeply for me as I had for her. It was this horrid discovery that made her wane from me, take heed and slumber until she had forgotten:

It was long after Jesus had supposedly walked the land. Different cultures had taken their sides; Christians had their God and Savior, the Jews had had their King crucified. Everything that had no heartbeat or fed on the living was naught—should have been naught. Connie’s kind was supposedly created by the traitor of Christ—but this was untrue. She was with me long before and I prayed she’d be with me long after. Hereafter, we’d come to the realization that their truly were differences.

England had its land, its king, queen, Dukes and Duchesses, Knights and religious villages in different provinces under these mini-monarchs. There was not one individual who did not believe in Christ or that dark creatures should have been burned, staked, hanged, pelted and scalped. I lived my life as a man, here. Now, I do have a weakness to women. I love a pretty face. I love when a pretty face gives in even more. On more than one particular night, I’d been caught having my way with married women, women in high positions. At nightfall, Constance would come with enough money, drop to her knees, beg and plead to the king and queen for my release.

Her acting was amazing! There were times she would sing her begging to the rulers. When I was pardoned after being beaten, she would give me a look and pretend to yell and pick at me, beating on me with her tiny hands. I would go along with it. We’d had enough time, by then, to get a farmhouse built, supplying ourselves with horses and the cattle of men that we’d fed from. We lived as husband and wife for the time being, having paid a writer to make our marriage license. Connie would make herself scarce during the day whilst I made my rounds and harvested the grounds we lived on.

After a while, we’d come across a pair much like ourselves. The tale of Robin Hood is true, I must say. But there is a viciousness that is hidden beneath the man in green who sports tights. After hearing these stories, one finds that there often those who would assume the part of what ever character have you. We were honored to see such a repeat of the past… In these days, the man had men so loyal to him because he was the Alpha of a pack. He lived in the woods and in “Loxley” half the time because it gave him the opportunity to hunt and keep his home safe. He did rob from the rich and give to the poor—mostly wolves chased from different places. Now, Marian was different. Much like Connie, she was a vampire. She was never seen before eventide. Sorry to say, children, but they are just stories, after all. I mean, you must face the fact that his Men were only trying to keep him alive—not Marian. In fact, did you ever notice how much they disliked her? How about how often they acted as if she never existed?? Told Robin that she was trouble???

Have you ever wondered what happened to them? Did they have a happily ever after? I guess so, but it was short lived. His Merry Men, having found out that Marian was indeed a vampire seized Robin at the order of an Elder of the packs in both the Highlands and England. The vampires had come together with their Ancient, gathered around Miriam. They had sensed Constance and me as we wandered through the woods that same evening. To our dismay, we were whisked away from each other as if we were two magnets being pulled apart. The vampires held Constance with their kind whilst I was humbly asked to stand by the lycanthropes.

That night, we watched the torture and deaths of the legend of Robin Hood and his Maid Marian. Looking over the roaring lycans and screaming vampires, I watched as Constance stood silent, tears running down her beautiful pale face. The wind blew away the ashes from the red-hot silver spade and the fire set beneath the forbidden lovers, and pushed those pale strands across her wet face. It was as if the God above saw that she needed a moment alone and shielded her.

I could not console Constance that night. She kissed me softly and I relished in the softness of her, high from her scent and loving her taste. Hell washed over me when she pulled away. Placing a finger upon my lips to shush me before I could speak, her sweet voice sang its melodies in my ears. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for my Constance… and so, as told, I stayed like a loyal dog as she walked away, disappearing into the night.

I would not see my Beloved for epochs.
1800’s

Reuniting with Constance—was, by far, the most wonderful thing I could ever have hoped for. We happened upon each other in a tiny village that lacked many men due to warring in France by accident. I had seen what life was like in that tiny province, so religiously guided and based. It was beautiful in the archaic sense that nothing much had changed. I had been through this place time and time again over our years apart. She haunted this little town for nearly a century having taken a fancy to a family line and their Priestly men. I had come to terms with religion, knowing full well that I had much to answer to upon my time—when it finally came time for me to Answer to The Lord.

For Constance, however, she was stuck in a world of confusion and the future, upon death, was bleak. She had changed so very much during our time apart. She seemed preoccupied… And my heart was torn the moment I discovered her love for these Holy men. Keeping my distance but staying near enough to advise her, I watched her capture the heart of the first—and when he knew of her truth, he had had it with her and went on to his duties as a pastor to his chapel. For thirty years, she haunted these men—until Mikelo came to be.

He was a thin man, his hair black and oily with hazel eyes that stuck out through his dark eyelashes. His cheeks were healthy and rosy with life. He was a sweet natured boy with nothing but the best intentions for his family and the Church. Mikelo studied beneath his father—and was often distracted by the wondrous malady that was Constance. Without his father knowing, she swept his heart away. From the familiar look in those eyes I often seen in my own, I knew he was lost as I was in her angelic tenderness that did not match the coldness of her hands.

Jealous but quiet, I watched the two of them carry on before the young Church hand decided it was time to marry. This is where things turned dark for her… Where our love was forbidden by circumstances older than time itself, theirs was damned from the start. I could not help but pity her. She was such a sweet girl. She didn’t ask for this life—she had been innocent before it. Under her spell, Mikelo defied his parent and fought him when he tried to do away with her beautiful pestilence. The horrific events that followed led to her undoing—her need to have him with her as her love had caused his death.

To save him, she gave him the blood she’d taken, thus ending his physical torment and beginning his Hell. He knew his soul was lost but needed solace, needed the Lord and the consolation from his father to make it. His father Michael had known what would become of his son. For twenty years, Mikelo had failed to age. He’d become one of us, cast away and forced into competition for survival among those who were alive and dead. Michael sought to console his son and save his soul. The crossbow was fired, Mikelo caught it… and accidentally did away with his father with the same arrow cast his way.

That night, Mikelo was lost. For years, we wandered wherever our feet carried us. Mikelo was still very much a man of God. He stopped talking. He stopped smiling. For the first eight years, Constance fed him with her erotic ways, bringing him pleasure whilst she dined on their kill and his need. He refused to get any stronger, refused battles. Vampires picked on him, teasing and pushing him to see what they could get out of him. And so we took to resting in mundane areas. In fact, every time we rested near a chapel, he would feed.

He had a nasty habit of carrying his dead on his back and shoulders. As a lycan, my nose was ridiculously acute. The stench of death and rotting flesh never fails to make me queasy, even after epochs passed. When we reached the chapels, he would sit his dead in rows in the pews. He would dig up graves and sit the dead up in the pews. He would kill and line his freshest kill up in the front to be ‘blessed’. Being of musical background, Constance would sit and play the instruments available… and Mikelo would preach and scream into the night.

On a particularly nasty night, I decided I would sit and bear with the stench, to bear witness to the madness of Mikelo. Constance sat in the very corner of the chapel, playing the organ. Such beautifully macabre tunes echoed through the walls of the church as he preached. Dissatisfied, he stopped short of finishing what he was saying and approached her with minor frustration painted upon his sweating face. I knew that tonight he would burst; he would cry out the Lord’s name until he finally fell to his knees and cried until he could cry no more.

Jumping to my feet to come to her aide if he attacked, I watched as he grabbed her wrists and pushed her hands three keys to the left. The melodies were a cacophony of notes, dark, eerie and sadistic as she played. Satisfied, he threw his hands in the air and preached to his dead. He beat down his dead, screaming that he’d blessed them, screaming for them to thank him for saving them. As a result, I found that I shielded myself from the defiled, rotting innards of the ‘church people’, some squirming with the life of insects. But, that night, he’d gone too far.

Yes, he screamed his long winded cries for The Lord to acknowledge and forgive him his transgressions. Yes, he beheaded and broke apart his dead… Yes, he often destroyed the chapels we went to… But the sun had come up and, in his rage, I watched his fingers grip the heavy red velvet curtains over the windows. In a hurry, I whisked Constance away into the cold, damp basement of the chapel and locked her in for her own safety. When I surfaced, I heard Mikelo’s shocked screams as he was set aflame.

I smelled him burning before I saw him, a walking torch moaning and screaming in agony. He thrashed about the chapel, setting the old wood aflame. To protect my Ethereal One, I crossed my arms in front of me and shoved him through the window he’d bared. I watched him fall down the stairs, a silver crucifix in his right hand as he tried crawling back up the steps. I stood at the top, watching him burn, listening to him as his cries settled. His hand grabbing the leg of my pants, he set those aflame and I kicked him. The flames had consumed all but the hand that held onto me. His body turned to black soot and ash when I kicked him, and I used his burnt hand to hold the crucifix it held. I would give it to Constance…

When it was over, I dropped to my knees and cried. I knew she’d loved him. But I loved her and, even if I had managed to put him out, the fire would have already consumed the church and Connie would be lost. After a few minutes, I unlocked the basement and descended into the darkness. She waited for me in a heavy cover I’d shielded her with, burns from the sun being red and peeling as a result of the split-second exposure. Her face was red with tears. She pounded her fists against my chest and cried, wondering where he had gone. What had happened to Mikelo..? I could not bear her pain. All I could say was the village people had come and attacked him, pulling him into the sun. I handed her the crucifix and felt her spirit break in my arms as she cried herself to sleep.

She was never the same after that. She would collect the hearts of every many she’d loved, keeping it to help fill the void in her chest left by Mikelo. Occasionally she would ask me to tell her what had happened. What truly happened..? It was the first and last time I would ever lie to Constance. My conscience could not bear it. My soul would never truly be mended afterward. We traveled together, though there were times she was silent and brooding, mourning the loss of her one beautiful soul that had shown her purity, mercy. I would let her have her time—even when she killed without mercy and tortured many to death and those beyond the reaches of death. She had become what I now feared—a sweetly merciless harbinger of death.

And so, our travels continued—partings were short lived—but we were always together afterward. To this day, I still feel guilt for having lied to such a pure woman. To this day, I still cannot survive the Unlife without her presence. I never will.

Today, I call myself White Fang. White, because it's a shorter version of my true last name. Fang, because of the wolf within. My last name, to others, is De' La Rogue. Wolves are natural rogues, are they not?

I still keep in contact with my family. Adrianna is a Playboy model. Thanks to her, I get laid plenty when I visit with her. Brian owns his own company. He has a clothing line that is very distinguished and quite successful. Mother and Father live together in a mansion on the far countryside of Washington. The hunting grounds are perfect.

As for Rick... I learned, from mother, that Rick had been killed by his potential mate. I grieved over him when they said they'd found him mangled beyond recognition. His killer was a very beautiful goddess turned wolf that I still keep in contact with. Oddly enough, upon meeting her, I knew who and what he’d come across. Her ancestor had been my lover, after all… I’d sought to protect them from a life of Undoing but, it can’t be helped seeing how star-crossed we seem to be! One day, Mournah will come around and stop being so mean. She is so unforgiving. It's sexy. I pick at her whenever I can.

While I am a body guard to her, I am a role model to another lycan named Kiva. She’s an innocent thing, short and curvy, beautiful and sweet. I may yet give in to temptation and take advantage of her innocence and naivety—but it kills me to wait. The girl is only 17! Connie helps me with her upbringing as I did when she, herself, was a fledgling. I can’t wait to see what she’s like in the centuries to come. While I have my own unorthodox pack up and coming, I still can’t help being an old fashioned, flirtatious bloke. Maybe she’ll take over when I’m gone..? She’s got such potential!

A pack of wolves is forever. We may not be together... But when we are, it’s a real sight. But that's my story. I guess I'll go out and charm another lady into my den for a long night of passionate sex. Who knows? God, I can never get enough. It's fun to learn about the new things the world has to offer as the years go by. And I love being a wolf. In fact, given the opportunity, I wouldn't change the way things turned out.

Another day to do as I please is a blessing.[/color]
Code Word:

Mad Skills;;

[Example of your Role-Playing]
[Yes, I know it's cross-rp or whatever you call it. I love my charries and they love me!]

The oceans roared In the distance, playing their eternal game of tag as the waves crashed upon the shore and ran away. The smell of the ocean washed through him, sending chills down his spine as he wandered the beach, sniffing gently at the sand with blood that had taken hours to become another clot. The breeze sent his long white hair flying back and gently tapping at his bare back and shoulders.


Those icy blue eyes narrowed as he looked to sky and the fading constellations: Leo was beginning its slow retreat and the sun would rise soon. A whimper and a rustle in the bushes had managed to grab his attention and he approached with caution, his heart sinking as he knew exactly what he was going to find.


Constance had yet to find safety. She had been laying there, whimpering in pain as the blade, long since impaled, held her to the palm tree that acted as extra shade. She’d seen Lumiere approach her, watched him as he sank to his knees to take a look at her. “Lumiere, it hurts…” she whimpered, cold, bloody hands going to the wound the sword had gone through. “I’m burning, Lumiere… Please.”


“Oh, God, Constance…” He said as he dropped, hands went to work on the sword, pulling it as hard as he could. But he knew that the tip would pierce her on its way out and he couldn’t bear to hear her cries of agony. “Stay still.”


“I don’t think I have a choice…” She said with a smile, tears beginning to slide down the sides of her face. She ran her hands through her pale hair, grabbing locks and pulling to set her mind away from the pain… She could feel the sun beginning to rise before it was even seen. Those icy hues were closed tightly as she wondered if she would follow in the path of Mikelo… burning, screaming… becoming nothing.


“Still having a laugh… even now?” He asked her. With a quick movement, the sword sang softly as it was snapped in half and without hesitation, he carefully gathered her up in his arms and lifted her from the broken half that still impaled her being. “I’m sorry…” He said.
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[Isi Runasimi]

Approved.