Ulfrick Fenrisson

The darksome figure that stood before you had a deep melancholy creasing the rugged, scarred features of his bronze-skinned face. The wild cast of his features was undeniable, a lupine ferality that underscored the shape of his cheekbones and his firm jaw with his eyeteeth prominent in both his upper and lower jaw. The intense gaze that smoldered under his strong brow felt like an arrow to your heart, fired from the lupine yellow depths of his eyes. His thick sooty black mane was wind-tousled and fell past his strong shoulders in wild tresses, while thick muttonchops framed his face to play up his “wild” countenance. Yet, the most jarring thing to see were the scars that marred his features. Starting at his right temple, a long scar traced diagonally as it drifted over the inner corner of his right eye, bisected the bridge of his nose along the bone and moved downwards to the left corner of his mouth, and ended at the underside of his jaw. The scar had a precision and thickness to it that told that it’d been done deliberately, torturously. Across his throat was another scar, long and thin that traced from ear to ear.

His stature made him appear all the more intimidating, his wide shoulders and barrel chest thick with muscle with stout limbs and thick hands giving him a looming presence. His body was hirsute, with his body hair coarse and thick on his chest. His arms were heavily tattooed, his forearms covered in woad-indigo runic bands, and Nordic rune staves running down each finger. Eerily, each finger was tipped in a short, thick amber claw.

He was clad as befit his privateer profession. Dark knee-high buccaneer boots and Indigo on copper pinstripe breeches shod his lower half, while a long black waistcoat trimmed in copper piping with a heavy iron-gray sash bound around his waist garbed his upper half. He wore no shirt, letting his chest be seen proudly. A heavy belt of crocodile leather with a thick silver buckle bound his waist, which was armed with a number of deadly weaponry. On his left, he had a Viking long seax, with familial clan etched in runes along the blade. Both an heirloom and a deadly weapon. At his right, on an angled draw, was a thick cutlass in the make of a kukri. Its handle was made of lacquered elk antler. On his left, he carried a third blade, a short Persian kinjal whose jade scabbard was adorned with silver trim at the mouth and point. On a back draw was a short skinning knife. On a shoulder harness were two holsters of throwing knives, sitting on opposite sides of his chest. Around his shoulders was a long sailor's coat, raven black and trimmed in faded copper along the hems and cuffs. On the shoulders of the coat was a mantle made from the thick pelt of a grizzled bear, giving a savage flair to his grim demeanor as it hung down his shoulders and back. Around his neck, he wore a double string of black pearls on a vibrant red thread. He also wore a set of bear claws set between heavy beads of scarlet glass. From his earlobes dangled black pearls. Crowning his head was a cavalier's hat, adorned with silver buckle and whose upturned edge held a pair of large feathers, in alternating colors of black and white. Carried in hand was a Spanish guiterra, adorned in fanciful engravings and made of lacquered rosewood that gave it a captivating charm with each pluck of it's catgut strings.

Never far from his side was a massive wolf-like beast. At first glance, it could have been mistaken for a normal Eurasian wolf, except for the size. The beast was massive, standing four and a half feet at the shoulder. But when you looked closer, the differences from normal wolves stuck out with this beast. Its shoulders and neck were more muscular with a thick ruff of fur on the ridge of its upper back, its muzzle having a broader shape with much more prominent teeth. Indeed, the teeth of the beast seemed more hellish than natural. Its tail was longer than the average wolf’s, with a tufted end. The beast’s coat was as black as coal, with a sooty gray on the muzzle leading down to the chest. Most disturbingly, the beast’s eyes were a frightening fiery red with oval pupils, and when it howled the beast’s cry sounded like an ungodly mixture of agonizing human screaming and overwhelmingly deep lupine call.

Species: Hominis Lupis a.k.a. Werewolf

Sub Species/Breed/Ethnicity: Fenrisulfr-Blud

Physical Appearance

Body Type: Mesomorph

Physical Age: Mid-thirties

Physical Markings/Deformities: Elaborate tattooing on the backs of the fingers and hands of both hands in the form of rune staves. Runic bands around both forearms.
-Scars of ritual sacrifice on the width of the throat, and above the heart on the right pectoral between the third and fourth rib.
-Diagonal scar crossing from right to left across his eye and bridge of his nose

Height: 6'7

Weight: 236 pounds

Mentality

Demeanor: Predator- You divide the world into those who hunt, and those who are hunted, and you are one of the trackers and killers. There is no thrill like the hunt– you may sometimes pick weaker prey, just to keep your skills sharp, but the true game is the smart, cunning, and swift equal. You may hunt animals for food, but you live for the thrill of the chase of smarter creatures. You may not necessarily kill what you catch, but you love to prove your excellence by being able to trap it. You decry civilization as an amusing game, but ultimately something to be shed for the thrill of the hunt itself. You are not a Savage, of course; you're more than willing to use technology and to brag to others about your prowess, but you'll never let a machine or a trap get in the way of the hunt itself. Ban: Never resist a challenge; never surrender once you have decided that a victim must be selected.

Nature: Challenger- You exist to test the mettle of others, especially your so-called betters. You realize that most of the time, people pretend to be something that they're not to get what they want. Similarly, a lot of potential goes untapped because no one is willing to challenge themselves and test their strength. That's where you come in. You see yourself as providing an invaluable service to the individuals and societies around you, by forcing them to realize their true strengths and capabilities. It's important to take the poseurs down a notch, and it gives you a chance to figure out where you fit into the hierarchy, as well. You're not willing to accept anything at face value; you don't have to be overt, but you're always looking for a chance to size others up. Ban: Never resist an opportunity to size someone up, man to man. Never trust someone until you've tested their mettle personally.


Feral or Cultured: Cultured

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Phobias: Taphephobia- Fear of being Buried Alive.

Disorders: N/A

Quirks: Figits with pearl beads when thinking. Shuns the personal use of blackpowder as "cowardly". Can only be physically harmed by weapons made of gold. Unable to keep from transforming on the New Moon.

Hobbies / Interests: [RP to find out]

High or Low Maintenance: Low Maintenance

Language(s) Spoken: Common English, Greek, Russian, Spanish, Old Nordic, (some) Italian, (some) Portuguese.

Can they Read / Write: Yes, can write in languages they are fluent in.

Can your character produce magic: Yes. Is learned in Seidr and other forms of sorceries.

Talents / Skills: [Tricks of the Trade]

Profession: Slave-taker, Privateer/Corsair, Private Security

Character voice: Ian McShane

Character Playlist: Songs of the crew and the sea

Character Tropes:
Privateer,
The Professional,
East India Trade Company,
"What I do isn't kind, but I am not without a code",
What is Evil?,
The proof of his hardships,
"I can bring them in warm, or I can bring them in cold",
"I don't want to be cruel if I don't have to be.",