Varg Blackstone. An unusual name. The given name was actually Norwegian for "wolf." However, the person who possessed it was not Norwegian. And Blackstone was an English name, but again the young man in question wasn't English. In truth it was very difficult to tell what he was. He had no accent to speak of, and his mixture of features left guesses as to his heritage all over the map. To some he looked like a Slav, while others thought he was part Spaniard. Others thought he might be Swedish. More than a few had wondered if there was any gypsy blood in him. Either way, it wasn't like he was talking. Varg was a man of few words.
He stepped out of the small cafe, the steaming cup of tea in his hand an odd contrast to the rest of him. The coffee/tea cup had become a symbol of the artist, the yuppy, and the college student. But Varg was in tattered jeans, steel-toed combat boots, a black Type-O Negative T-shirt, and a biker jacket. His hair, a mixed dark brown with rusty highlights, hung loose across his back and front. His eyes were an interesting amber color and the irises seemed a little too large for the sockets they were settled in.
He sipped lightly of the steaming hot tea as he walked down the road to where he had parked his bike. He had assembled the whole thing frmo scratch over the course of a year and was most pleased with himself. He knew he was turning a few heads as he walked. He was a good looking young man with a confident swagger, head always canted back. He acted as if he owned the city. Or at least the streets. And as far as Varg was concerned, he did.
Varg rolled his eyes up toward the sky. Despite the city glow blocking out the stars, he still could see the moon very clearly. Full... and glowing brightly in the spring sky. He let a small growl slip out of his chest as he stared up at the gleaming disc in the sky. Starting tonight, he would be at his strongest this week until the waning gibbous moon dominated the sky.
And with that in mind he had some serious aggression to work out.
OOC: Open to one female player. If you haven't guess yet, Varg is a werewolf and lives in a city populated by other shapeshifters, vampires, and demons. At this point in his life, he's looking for a mate and needs a willing young lady, even if she is a human oblivious to the monsters around her, to join him.
He stepped out of the small cafe, the steaming cup of tea in his hand an odd contrast to the rest of him. The coffee/tea cup had become a symbol of the artist, the yuppy, and the college student. But Varg was in tattered jeans, steel-toed combat boots, a black Type-O Negative T-shirt, and a biker jacket. His hair, a mixed dark brown with rusty highlights, hung loose across his back and front. His eyes were an interesting amber color and the irises seemed a little too large for the sockets they were settled in.
He sipped lightly of the steaming hot tea as he walked down the road to where he had parked his bike. He had assembled the whole thing frmo scratch over the course of a year and was most pleased with himself. He knew he was turning a few heads as he walked. He was a good looking young man with a confident swagger, head always canted back. He acted as if he owned the city. Or at least the streets. And as far as Varg was concerned, he did.
Varg rolled his eyes up toward the sky. Despite the city glow blocking out the stars, he still could see the moon very clearly. Full... and glowing brightly in the spring sky. He let a small growl slip out of his chest as he stared up at the gleaming disc in the sky. Starting tonight, he would be at his strongest this week until the waning gibbous moon dominated the sky.
And with that in mind he had some serious aggression to work out.
OOC: Open to one female player. If you haven't guess yet, Varg is a werewolf and lives in a city populated by other shapeshifters, vampires, and demons. At this point in his life, he's looking for a mate and needs a willing young lady, even if she is a human oblivious to the monsters around her, to join him.
