The moon is my only guide... and it is by her will that I Hunt
Laughs a lot. Very decisive. He doesn't associate with many, but those he does choose to call friend, he keeps close. And his enemies, he has none. Anymore.
Human form:
x2 .45acp Colt pistols with 14rd clips
A double sided ceremonial dagger
Werewolf form:
What the hell do you think werewolves use....?
Chet Vyrus was born in what is now known as London on planet Earth in 427AD. He was born into a life of Shamanism, learning the ways of compassion and the ancient seraphic magics of his culture. When he was eight years old he was sworn into the Sanctuary. And this was now his life, Chet would spend the next few years of his life helping those of the village, healing the sick. But this life style... however, knew nothing of protecting the weak. in 449AD, in the dead of night as the village slept a pack of strange creatures entered into his sanctuary.
Chet awoke to the sounds of screaming, snarling, and the most guttural roars he had ever heard. He took up his staff and charged from his chamber, immediately coming face to face with a monstrous, wolf like creature. Before Chet could react this massive beast sank its fangs into his left shoulder and chest, throwing him to the wall like a useless rag doll. And that was the last thing Chet felt.
He awoke sometime later, who knows how long it had been. He lay under a pile of gore, bodies and tattered rubble. He forced himself to his feet, rolling the corpse of a fallen comrade from his back. He reached for his chest, the wound wasn't there. How long had he been unconscious? He was horror stricken to see his sanctuary, walls covered in blood. He ran through the halls, trying to find anyone alive. But there was none.
With a dreadful fear in his heart he ran to the front door of the sanctuary and threw it open. The sight he beheld caused him to fall to his knees. His entire village was a pile of smoldering huts and piled bodies. The villagers had tried to fight back with fire. In the center of the village Chet saw something strange. He ran towards it, what was this? The body of one of the titanic werewolves lay dead in the town square. And Chet felt a new feeling.... Rage. He almost startled himself when he heard a growl come from behind him, jumping and turning around he realized it hadn't been behind him. He closed his eyes and looked down towards the ground. The growl came again, this time.. deeper, louder, and more guttural. As he opened his eyes his vision began to blurr, sight heightening immensely. He could hear.... everything. The blades of grass waving in the wind, even the soft crackles of a few still smoldering boards. As his bones began to pop, and crack, and grow, he did as well. A thick matted fur beginning to form on his body, nose and mouth elongated into a wide, carnivorous muzzle. He more than doubled in size.
This is where Chet's story began. He spent the next few hundred grueling years alone, learning to control this creature he now was. He would then spend a few hundred more years trying to use his new found strength to protect the weak, only to be shunned, hated as a monster, many attempted to Murder him. So he went into hiding. Living off the land, and still practicing his old ways. But adapting to the new, acquiring more modernized apparel and tools. His seraphic tattoo's, which held an odd blue glow to them since his encounter, he would cover. And his journey begins anew. He has learned he cannot do this alone....
One day he will have a family..