Viktor Ivanov

by **Admin** Mon Apr 15, 2013 11:58 am

Code:: [center][size=10px] [IMG]http://i50.tinypic.com/nxt0sj.jpg[/IMG] [u][i]"The greatest prey, is always your own kind."[/u][/i] [hr] [b][u]Name:[/b][/u] Viktor Ivanov [b][u]Alias(es):[/b][/u] The Hunter, Kin-Slayer, King-Slayer, The Northern Wolf, The Foreigner [b][u]Age:[/b][/u] 100 [b][u]Appearance:[/b][/u] 32 [b][u]Gender:[/b][/u] Male [b][u]Orientation:[/b][/u] Bisexual [b][u]Species:[/b][/u] Werewolf [b][u]Personality:[/b][/u] Viktor has a rather cold personality to everyone he meets, even for those he cares about. Raised in the wilderness of Russian he was taught by his father that the strong survive and the week die, a philosophy that he carries to this very day, claiming that those who rely on nothing more than ancient titles and rely on the strength of others are deserving of death. Even though having a rather cold and brutish demeanor, Viktor is rather intellectual gifted, at least in the art of combat and not full out smarts, he can easily identify an opponents behaviors and weaknesses in the midst of a fight and exploit them effortlessly, a skill developed over a century of fighting humans, werewolves, and vampires. [b][u]Likes:[/b][/u] Smoking, The Moon Pit, Drinking, Snow, The Cold, Fighting, Strength, and Honor. [b][u]Dislikes:[/b][/u] The Weak, Cowards, Royalty, and Beggars. [b][u]Slave:[/b][/u] None [b][u]Weapons:[/b][/u] An enlarged Russian Kindjal. The blade itself was soaked in silver in every step it was crafted, its sole purpose was to hunt down and kill werewolves, a tool his father used to slay many a werewolf, before dying to [i]"Fenrir"[/i]. [b][u]Bio:[/b][/u] Viktor was born in a cabin, in the middle of the wilderness, on the outskirts of Russia to a happily married man and woman. Raised a normal, but rather rural lifestyle, he worshiped his unyielding father, a man who seemed to have mastered the harsh winters, tamed the feral lands, and drove fear into the regional predators. His father taught him everything he knew, from making a fire, to handling a bladed weapon, and to that of a musket. His mother was a rather soft spoken woman, but she taught him how to cook, how to tend to his wounds, and how to love. Viktor would have lived a happy life with his father and mother, living a normal life in the wilderness with his parents tilled the day he died, if it were not for one fateful night. Little did Viktor ever realize, but his was born not in that cabin in the wilderness out of his parents free will, but because they hid in the middle of the barren wasteland that was the glacial wilderness. For Viktor's father, was an infamous Werewolf slayer, having killed to what legends speak of hundreds of werewolves, yet unlike the werewolves he slew, he would continue to age as mortals do, and in his later years he knew he could no longer keep up the fight, and with child on the way, he decided to hide away. Yet, a wolfs hatred is not to be handled lightly, for revenge and hatred keeps the blood warm in the frozen wastelands of the North. One night, when the moon was full, Viktor was fast asleep in his bed, a stomach full of soup and a heated blanket easily lulled the boy to sleep, yet even as he slept his father and mother sat worried. They knew when the moon was full that the wolves stirred restlessly, his father would have kept an eye out the window keeping watch as the woman he loved would pray to the heavens that they would stay safe for another cycle, but alas... their God did not have mercy on their souls for that night, would be the night everything would change. In the middle of the night as Viktor's parents finally succumbed to sleep, their little cabin would erupt into a world of chaos. In the silence of the night, beasts of fur and rage broken through the door and even ripped their ways through the very wood of the cabin walls, tearing and howling and clawing their way to where Viktor's parents rested. Within seconds they would be captured and dragged into the frozen night by these beasts, yet in their rage fueled quest to seek out the slayer, they over looked one terrified boy who hid beneath his bed covered in the stench of fear. Yet, that boy would swallow his fear as he would quietly make his way to the nearby hole in the cabin's side to watch as what seemed an ocean of fur and teeth had his parents surrounded, yet, standing tall and proud like a lighthouse in the middle of a sea, a single giant black wolf would stand above the pack. Its size dwarfed the wolves around it by such standards that it would seem a Titan among the pack. As Viktor would watch terrified from within the cabin, he would witness the giant black wolf let out a howl of victory as the packed joined in, their howls so deafening that it brought pain to the young boy's ears, yet even with this pain he could not tear his eyes away from the sight of his bloody parents, on their knees, in front of the massive beast, yet even as his ears rung he could still hear his father's mighty voice booming above the howls of the wolves, damning the giant beast to the deepest reaches of hell, calling the massive beast, [i]"Fenrir"[/i]. Yet, damning that massive beast would be the last words Viktor's father ever spoke as a young Viktor would watch his father's head suddenly fly through the air in such an arc that it would land perfectly back inside the cabin those horrified eyes of death, would stare directly at the boy, almost pleading to him as why he did nothing to help, those damned eyes that held the boy's for so long that only the sound of his mother's scream would bring him back from the abyss that was the dead gaze of his father, those screams of his mother, his poor poor mother, who [i]Fenrir[/i] had left to the pack, as the boy would turn his head back towards where his mother would have been, all he could see was a single arm lifted to the sky, skin and muscle falling from it as her body vanished underneath the sea of blood stained fur and teeth. The massive beast called [i]Fenrir[/i] by his father would begin to make its way back to the now shattered home, determined to retrieve his prize of Viktor's father's head. Completely overwhelmed with his victory the massive beast would not even notice the presence of the boy, to the point he didn't even notice that the same small boy had, in a panic, grabbed his father's infamous blade and struck it deep into the side of the beast. With a pained yelled the wolf's attention would turn from its prize to the source of the pain, then to the being who caused it. Yet this pained howl would bring the fury of the pack as they began to descend onto the cabin once more determined to slaughter whatever had harmed their precious pack leader, yet as they descended onto the boy who had backed into a corner, they would stop with the loud and demanding roar erupted from the giant of an Alpha what followed could only be described as laughter. The giant beasts' chest rose and fall as laughter escaped from the beasts' muzzle. Later in life the one known as [i]Fenrir[/i] would admit that he was impressed that the boy was able to harm him, let alone sneak up on him, and due to that was the sole reason that boy would survive that night, for in a swift action his humanity would be taken with a single bite. Centuries later after that night, that boy would now be a man, and not just any man, but the uncontested Beta of the same pack that killed his family so many years ago, and the undisputed right hand man of [i]Fenrir[/i]. Yet just like that night, the wheels of fate would turn once more as the lessons his father that burned in his soul would take root and blossom, for as the years passed [i]Fenrir[/i] would have grown weaker not due to age, but due to his own Pride. He prided himself that he killed the infamous werewolf slayer, that he felt no need to be threaten by any, not rival packs, not the vampire clans and not even by any other pack or clans in the world. This pride, would lead to the death of [i]Fenrir[/i] as of out of the blue that boy Viktor, now a man, challenged [i]Fenrir[/i] to a fight to control the pack, at first [i]Fenrir[/i] would only laugh at this challenge, but as the moments passed it would become obvious this challenge was very real. In a fit of rage fueled by his pride that the boy who he had "saved" would turn against him, [i]Fenrir[/i] would fight that very boy, but for [i]Fenrir[/i] that was the day that he would feel the embrace of death for the years of sloth would have weakened the massive beast, his strength would have failed him, his speed would have failed him, his entire body would fail him as he would fall to the one known as Viktor, who had not even shifted to fight the beast who slew his father. Even as the great beast [i]Fenrir[/i] fell to Viktor, who not only did not shift, but was armed with his father's blade. The others of the pack would grow enraged, their loyalty to the now deceased leader was beyond that of tradition, and so, they would descend onto the boy now turned man, and yet one by one they all would fall to the cold steel of Viktors' father's blade and by nights end the pack that had once slaughtered his family, that had grown to be the largest and strongest in Russia, fell to a single being. As time passed and more of his own kind fell to his blade, Viktor would soon find himself in North America, more specifically South Carolina where he was summoned to by the Alpha known as Falon Estus Black. What could Falon want with someone such as Viktor? Well, only time will tell what will happen now that [i]The Hunter[/i] has arrived. [hr] [b][u]Trivia:[/b][/u] - The jacket that Viktor wears, is actually the hide and fur of [i]Fenrir[/i]. - After slaying his pack, news traveled fast of his actions and other packs set out to not only kill him, but to claim the new pack less land. While the land was taken, all those who were sent to slay the [i]Kin-Slayer[/i] were all eventually found dead. - [i]Fenrir[/i] considered himself a King compared to other Packs and even compared to the Vampire Clans, so once he fell the Russian Vampire Clans gave onto him the title of [i]King-Slayer[/i]. [/center][/size]