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Post by lost on Mar 14, 2011 11:45:12 GMT
The Revolution Has Begun 
"There's no need to call me sir Professor."
FULL NAME: Fenrir Greyback
NICKNAMES: n/a -- not to his face, at least.
AGE: 51
BIRTHDAY: October 16
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
BLOODLINE: Halfblood
HOUSE: Hufflepuff
YEAR: n/a
JOB: Working for the Dark Lord
SIDE: Death Eater
SPECIES/SPECIAL ABILITIES: Werewolf. Skilled at non-verbal magic and can do a few tricks of wandless magic (mostly because he doesn’t really like using wands).
CANON: Yes
"You don't know what I'm capable of, you don't know what I've done!"
GENERAL APPEARANCE: Fenrir Greyback, contrary to his name, is not yet greying and is pretty proud of that fact, claiming that embracing the transformations makes them take less of a toll on you. blah blah
blah blah
blah blah
MOST LIKED FEATURE: Easily his strength, transformed or not he vastly out-muscles any wizard, particularly because most wizards underestimate the advantage that physical prowess can bring you in a duel. With the added aid of Lycanthropy he can open any jar without using tricks.
MOST HATED FEATURE: Fenrir truly does not care very much about his inherent looks so it’s pretty difficult to distinguish any physical flaws that bother him. He does, however, vastly care about the quality of his clothing... being around all of these purebloods reminds him of how poor he really is. He might not keep the best wardrobe, but he tries (his clothes getting ripped all the time doesn’t really help).
HERITAGE: English
ETHNICITY: Caucasian
"The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure."
GENERAL PERSONALITY:
arrogant
fiercely devoted
observant
results-oriented
sincere
unlucky
HOBBIES:
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DISLIKES:
-Werewolves that play pet lap dog for the wizarding community
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-Milk, he’s lactose intolerant
-Owls. It's such a temptation to not kill them, but it tends to make people mad when you do
-Wizards that think they understand what pack means. They know nothing; pack isn't just family, it isn't just a social hierarchy. Pack is everything.
-Having to repeat himself to subordinates.
-Cooked food
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-Having to hide behind a twig. He practices his wandless magic regularly so that eventually he won’t need the wand at all.
-Being challenged for his role as leader of the packs. Not because he fears losing his position, but because it takes out a capable fighter for as long as it takes them to recover from fighting him.
-Having to unite all the packs in one place, no matter its practicality. The fighting that takes place is rather inevitable.
-Being denied the Dark Mark.
-Rather, being denied anything--everyone should just give him exactly what he wants when he asks for it.
-His children questioning him.
-Lucius Malfoy. Any Malfoys, really.
LIKES:
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-Musk
-Living underground. He prefers the cooler, damper air.
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-That sweet, coppery taste of blood gushing in his mouth and rolling down his throat. The thrill of the hunt.
-Smelling
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-Physical pain. It helps keep him grounded.
-Asserting his unquestionable dominance.
FEARS:
-Muggle weaponry as it actually poses the largest threat to him, being partially magic resistant.
-Albus Dumbledore
-Any of his children deserting his cause and defecting; he isn’t quite sure what he would do... but it would probably be best if the situation never came up.
-Actually, he'd probably just kill them. They wouldn't be a part of his family anymore.
-Losing his vitality and the inevitable weakening that comes with age.
-The ministry of magic, or more specifically the dementor's kiss.
SECRETS:
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-His house at Hogwarts. Few people remember it, and even fewer that do remember it would dare mention it. Most of them have children... and you know what that means.
"I enjoyed the meetings, too. It was like having friends."
GENERAL HISTORY: Fenrir’s early life is not something that he can recollect very easily; the years before he was bitten seem as if a different person was living them. What he does recall of his very childhood is a rather unpleasant remembrance of knut-pinching poverty. Born Samuel Jugson to a family consisting of his two elder siblings and parents, Sam lived in an old two-story house in the woods a few miles out of a muggle town named Carlton. A lot of his early years were spent in the woods, with Tanner and then alone once Tanner had gone to Hogwarts three years before him. He has very little wish to think about it and generally skips towards his Hogwarts years. Sam was, much to his humiliation at the time, sorted into Hufflepuff after a long and heated argument in which the sorting hat did not give in. His parents weren’t the type to really care about his placement, but his elder siblings (Sicilia of Ravenclaw and Tanner of Slytherin) were not quite as kind.
Despite having shoddy cheap hand-me-down robes and a second-hand wand (which he would defend fiercely if anyone mentioned) Fenrir had grudgingly gotten along well with the other fresh Hufflepuffs; they were a rather accepting lot and didn’t mind too terribly dealing with Sam's bitter ways when they came to a head. First year went by pretty smoothly, and it was on February 19th of his second year that he truly ostracized himself from the rest of his house. Frustrated with a second year female housemate he ended up calling her a mudblood in a fit of anger. While one of his yearmates continued to tolerate him (to the displeasure of the rest, which made their vague friendship strained) Fenrir truly began to hate his life at Hogwarts. He tended to blend in, maintaining only mediocre grades no matter how much he attempted to focus on school work. No one talked to him, no one noticed him, and he was bloody fine that way.
In those early years Sam would frequently curse the sorting hat in his mind--he remembered most of what it had said to him. Talk of loyalty, perseverence, a work ethic... bloody hat. It wasn’t until much later in life that he would actually accept the words as a positive thing; something most wizards wouldn’t understand. As fate would have it he was only destined to suffer through one more hellish year at the magical castle--it was the summer before his third year when everything changed. Sam was used to hearing the howls of wild dogs or wolves; they didn’t surprise him anymore and he’d even seen one or two out at night. What did come as a surprise on a warm and rather humid full moon in July was how quickly his lackluster life was picked up and torn to shreds.
Stretching and yawning with his eyes closed in the early AM hours, the first alert that Jugson had gotten that the howl he’d heard hadn’t come from a regular wolf came from the sickening sound of his own ribs collapsing and cracking under the powerful jaw of the first werewolf he’d ever met. The pain didn’t register at first, his eyes widening as he had started screaming, bringing his fists down on the gigantic tawny maw of the beast that seemed like it was going to tear him in half; it was futile. It was inhumanly strong and he was merely a pathetic little wizard that had never been accustomed to true physical exertion. Pain and genuine fear for his life faded in a haze, moonlit woods indifferently remaining standing as he eventually plummeted to the floor, vital fluids pooling out around him. He couldn’t remember anything more; just bits and pieces. He remembered waking up and seeing Sicilia’s face, waking up to daylight and screaming when he tried to move, someone trying to poor water down his throat. Not having a shirt or robes on, his chest was bandaged up, the ceiling of his kitchen...
His first moments of clarity had a sense of surreality. He was alone and in pain... but this time it didn’t feel wrong. The ropes that tied his wrists and ankles together seemed so feeble to him. They easily snapped as his limbs contorted and grew, freshly keen eyesight able to see despite the darkness inherent in the root cellar his father had undoubtedly left him in. They know. The beast told him. They know and they don't understand. Smashing through the wooden door was easy, murdering them and devouring limbs was simple, and making them scream was satisfactory beyond belief. One large canine foot crushed the dull, bent Head Girl badge into Sicilia's chest before the thirteen year old freshly-born werewolf left in search of the family he had been waiting for his entire life.
The Daily Prophet reported the deaths of the Jugsons within a few days and Hogwarts was forced to choose a new Head Girl for the next term--Samuel Jugson, assumed deceased and devoured by the same pack of werewolves (for there was no way a single werewolf could do as much damage as had been done) was briefly missed and quickly forgotten about. Fenrir Greyback, however, was very much alive and had successfully found a small pack of werewolves that easily accepted him into their fold. Here there were no grades, there was no pressure to conform to the standards of his classmates, no siblings to mock him for his placement. ...No parents to disappoint, no mudbloods to associate with. Blood didn't matter. Not among pack. Whether you were originally muggle or wizard the moon was their mistress and their equalizer.
The alpha of their pack,
blah blah
blah blah
FAMILY:
Francis Jugson, father deceased
Signy Jugson, mother deceased
Sicilia Jugson, older sister deceased
Tanner Jugson, older brother deceased
Sienna Greyback, daughter
Damon Greyback, son
Jaxsen Greyback, son
Hampton Greyback, son
Quentin Greyback, son
Parson Greyback, son
Denali Greyback, daughter
"Make way for the heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through..."
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: See the board
"Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate."
NAME:Lost
AGE:19
GENDER: male
YEARS ROLEPLAYING: 7+
LOCATION: MI
HOW DID YOU FIND US: Already here
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