| Caelum L. Petrova

An aesthetic monstrosity with the celestial looks of chastity and pulverizing enchantment. The toughness, strength, and translucence of warm bronze caresses his skin, sharing the same resemblance to the translucent surface of a bronze shell that holds levels of glassiness, brittleness, and resonance. Lips that are sculpted to be thin always remain a nude hue, holding the soft touch of glaze like that of clay in a heated kiln. A straight nose is associated with this man's face, giving a lineal profile that is commonly associated with narrow nostrils and a pointed tip. Cheeks that are much defined—commonly known as 'high cheekbones'—play smoothly along this sin's face, adding more cultivation to his features. The color of exhilarating topaz scrapes the irises of this morbid being, heavily with the shovel of grueling nonchalance. Oblivious pigments of radiant caramel outline his ebony pupils, the wispy fingers of laziness holding himself hostage from within. In a disheveled manner, vines of wavy snow-white hair fall gently just before the being’s relaxed eyes, never having to be touched or bothered with. Standing at the peak of six foot two, the bulky young man towers those he encounters with pitiful simplicity, his weight of two-hundred and five pounds creating an intimidating appearance amongst his body. Underneath the heap of clothing that devours his bare body lies a long torso lathered with the smooth skin of warm beige marble, strong and flawless; not a scar licks this sin's vast torso or back. Every muscle is evidently visible, etched out carefully and defiantly with impeccable tone. Rather fit, though the werewolf takes little notice of the naturally flawless physique. At times when no shirt is associated with his outfit (only in the security of his own home) his pants hang low around his waist, allowing the vision of his lower abs meeting his hip flexors to be more visible, the v-shaped toned muscle quite exposed. A force of nature with its own direction and impulse, a variable left out of some major equation leaving him unpredictable; dangerous. Predator.


This being's attire is a style that is more so for comfort rather than looks. The twenty-six year old wears an onyx fleece that clings to his upper body, but not so in a manner that it looks immensely tight. The sleeves are messily pushed up to just before his elbows, bunched up in most occasions and rarely rolled up in a proper fashion. The collar of this fleece is popped slightly, leaning outward away from his lower jaw like a wilting flower. A pair of black pants occupy the lower half of his body then, brown leg holsters hugging each upper thigh. To match the holsters, dusty-brown mid-calf boots conceal his feet, three buckles clasping the outer part of the boot. As for accessories, he happens to wear two rings on his right hand: one on his index finger that has an emblem on its face, and another on his ring finger which has a rose design on its face, identical to the designs on his belt buckle.


He is like that of callous, a silent assailant. Tranquil and imperturbable, he radiates with a collected vibe, one that many make sure to stay clear of due to its unnatural way of seeming highly suspicious and brusque. A hollow-hearted fellow, as some know him as, Caelum could utterly care less about any other being amongst this world, seeing them all as trifling, greedy fools; though, because of his relaxed exterior, such cruel carelessness is hidden. With the results of his hold of disgust towards humans, the young male is very reserved, preferring to keep his past to himself. Though, if caught in a good mood, a sarcastic, witty side of him will be revealed. When there are those foolish people who try to speak to him, he just pushes them away by cruelly insulting them with his black sarcasm.


Foulmouthed. Arrogant. This demon carries a rather rebellious and sardonic side to him, despite his nonchalant, harsh exterior. A man who uses sharp, bitter, and cutting remarks when talking to just about any breathing creature, Caelum is the typical smartass (if in a good mood) who could care less about any other’s feelings. Usually using bitter gibes or taunts that are conveyed through irony or understatements, the man's ridicule is used harshly towards others, often crudely and contemptuously, for of course, destructive purposes. He will mock and belittle any breathing creature, and deliberately avoids working with others in favor of going solo. His most distinctive quality of sarcasm is presented in the spoken word, and manifested chiefly by his vocal intonation.


Caelum seeps under the category of being analytical at most times. This meaning that he analyzes just about anything and everything that stoops within his acute sight of eye. Although he doesn't have the perfect memory, his memory is rather close to it which helps with being analytical, for he can discern differences in appearances he may observe. With being analytical, Caelum tends to not get into as many fights or arguments as the common "male" simply would, because he analyzes his opponents and citizens, typically picking out their flaws and/or strengths; he feels that by being able to recognize these types of things it puts his possible opponents in a state of unfairness. In addition to being able to point out flaws and/or strengths Caelum is given a type of precognition in the sense that by analyzing his opponent for quite some time, he can begin to predict their next actions. Although this is nowhere close to being one-hundred percent perfect, it does help with assumptions.


To be as cunning as a fox, means to be very clever at getting what you want... Especially by tricking someone. Caelum can be utterly clever when it comes to twisting others' words and possible actions, always managing to sound so convincing with a composed tone of voice and no sliver of hesitance. His cleverness (or violence) is usually his escape route to getting out of tough situations as well as his dark charm, though it can sometimes cause a riot to those it falls upon. He's quick-witted and adroit, managing to manipulate any being before him if they push the envelope.

Hell's Grasp is activated by a collection of nearby shadows in order to create what appears to be a monstrous, claw-like shadow. The shadows in the area stretch out and draw towards the opponent's own shadow, adding to it and developing in close range. From there, the claw-like shadow upcast itself and wraps its wispy fingers around the opponent, holding them still within the duration of one post. In order for Caelum to summon the claw again, the shadows in the area must still be in close range, and the cool down is five posts.


Born from the womb of misfortune, one’s lungs would only breathe in the smothering air of pain, of misery, of sheer discomfort. Born from the womb of misfortune, one’s heart would only pump the cruel substance of poisonous guilt, of harrowing lies, of putrid enmity.


Galump. Galump. Galump. A rhythmic sputter of fluttering, new heart beats pounded within a newborn's frail chest in the midst of winter, frightened but alive and well. The infant breathed in quick, startled pants as he had been overwhelmed by the gift of life; the hot beats nearly pattered as fast as a humming bird flapped its wings, so flabbergasted by such a new surrounding. Tatiana Petrova, the single and young adolescent who gave birth to the weak suckling, focused her wary ice eyes on the new being; and suddenly, everything was absolutely clear... A smile broke the hardened shell that expressed agony upon her porcelain face, a weak laugh brushing off her brittle lips. The little, beautifully rounded head was covered in a thick layer of matted, snowy hair. Underneath the warm sheet of blood and protective vernix, his skin looked like a warm, beautiful caramel hue, that of his irresponsible father's. All inside his cheeks, it flared with great intensity of a rosy tint. The eyes of Tatiana's glanced at her baby's eyes, the smile on her lips suddenly disappearing as she soaked in the image of her son's irises. They were a smoldering amber, captured hints of gold flickering wildly around the black pupils. Just like his father's. The newborn's oculi of amber were now focused on her, his expression so shocked it was kind of amusing. No words lingered on his tongue; the only audible noise he made were quiet winces.



Tatjana (Tatiana) Petrova was a young Serbian miss who was born into the Northern Tribe, being the only daughter of Nataša and Lazarus Petrova. The Petrova clan was known for their odd chance of only birthing boys, so Tatiana's birth was a bewilderment. She was the youngest out of five children, her older brothers ranging from the ages of six to fifteen. Her father, Lazarus, valued strength and masculinity above all else, therefore mistreating Tatiana because of her femininity. Tatiana dealt with the lack of verbal and physical affection from her father by discreetly fooling around with other men in the tribe, finding comfort in any erotic act between she and a man. Around the young age of seventeen, this form of comfort had ruined the young beaut. Tatiana had seen a handsome broad who went by the name of Krios, a man who—for quite some time—she held romantic feelings towards and claimed that she loved despite him not knowing of her existence. On one fair night, she had finally crossed paths with the strong Krios, and unfortunately, the very young Tatiana became pregnant by the lustrous man who—without any word—vanished without a trace that same night. Although she was seen as a burden by the Petrovas, the young adolescent carried the child to term; but seconds after giving birth to a healthy son, Tatiana's father tore the child away from her. Lazarus had claimed that it would have been better for both she and the newborn to never see one another, and was immediately disowned by her own family for the shameful birth of an illegitimate son. Tatiana, who found unconditional love and warmth in her child, fought to keep her newborn. That child was all she wanted in life, for she herself felt like she had been reborn with a new purpose: to love and care for her newborn. But, it was a futile endeavor; days after giving birth, she was banished for her embarrassment of the Petrova family, having no control over her baby boy's unfortunate life ahead. "What if they find out, Nataša? Our daughter's sin is far heavier than any other sinner within this damned world. I refuse to take in this damned mistake—" "Don't you ever refer to our grandson as a mistake! Our daughter may have done wrong. But he is our blood, it is not his fault that she did what she did. You cannot blame the innocent soul. We will care for him. Together we can do this, Lazarus. Just think about it, we can watch him gro—" “I will not have this child anywhere near this family. He is a disgrace. We will leave him with a mortal family, he doesn't belong with us." "Are you mad? Mortals? Live with mortals?” the flustered woman snarled, pulling away from her man now in disgust. “Lazarus!” she hissed, her hands clutching the child closer to her chest. “They’d abuse him. Kill him if they ever discovered what he was. Mortals can't care after our kind! It'll be too dangerous!" she interjected with such poison. For a moment, Lazarus stared at the child, quietly at that before shaking his head in disagreement. "No, Nataša. They will not. He will not know of his burdensome mother nor his foolish father. He will not know of the Petrova Family at all. He will grow up knowing nothing."


Nataša had the duty of delivering the child to any mortal widow who resided in a city known as Jenar, a task that she found to be quite difficult. It was a long travel, and over the course she pondered on ways to keep the child and abort the task. Her heart was heavy with betrayal, not for herself but for the baby boy. He was a Petrova, nonetheless. He did not deserve such a fate, but she had no say in it. What Lazarus wanted done, was to be done with no questions asked. Having decided upon a home that looked stable, the woman left the child in its makeshift carrier, a note folded just beside the child. With that, Nataša left her grandson behind in the hands of Claudia Angelo, a young and beautiful widow who eagerly took the child under her broken wings. The letter that had been left with the boy was vague, reading, "This here is Kaelum Lividus Petrova. He is a special boy. Love him greatly, and he will love you greater." It confused Claudia, and she could not understanding what it had meant by him being 'special', but she took the letter very seriously anyway. Claudia changed the boy's name to Caelum Angelo, and she endeavored to be the most wondrous mother she possibly could, viewing his sudden appearance as a blessing and a miracle. Despite the fact that she had no other companion to help raise the child, and that she was fairly poor due to not having a legitimate job, she still tried her very best to give Caelum the world. It was no easy task—juggling the responsibility of her child and a low-paying job, and at most times she found herself mostly sallow and stale. But, that never ceased her from being the most affectionate and involved mother she could possibly be. Caelum was her most prized possession, her first and only priority. He was her air, her heart, her own life—everything. She felt as though she were the outrageously lucky winner to have been given such a beautiful and healthy child, despite their poor living conditions. It was a blessing, a gift worth giving from the God above. Having been a mortal in a world where many extravagant species coexist with one another, she had always been the taciturn, worthless woman in her own eyes. She despised what she truly was, specifically because she was pathetic and useless. Why had such a lurid curse befall upon her? A human. What good was a human in such a world she breathed in? It made her feel incredulously futile. Although her kind hated all others, such cruel thoughts weighed her down. It wasn't until one night where her thoughts all clicked—him being special must have meant that he was...not a mortal, but something else. But what? What was he? A changeling? A vampire? A werewolf? She had no idea, and it was tremendously difficult to tell because the boy was so young. She didn't know much about the other races and what determined their specie, so she had no choice but to just...wait. Wait until his true nature was ready to expose itself. This mystery, though, had not corrupted her love for the boy. He was her miracle, and that's what he will always be to the widow.

Motivated to have her child wield a positive state of mind, Claudia raised enough money to fleet to another city. At this time, Caelum was still an infant, and wouldn't know any different between races, nor would he know where he originated from. The young miss took her son everywhere with her after their move, letting him view the outside world and soak in its beauty and its ways. All she desired was a blissful child, not a child who was full of enmity like she once was due to her race. In her free time, the young mother had raised him to be very prim and kind to all, to be a fast learner and a great listener. As he grew older, Caelum was a very curious child, one who questioned almost everything and tried to soak in as much knowledge as he could with the answers that his mother fed him. With being around so many people and noticing how many children his age had a male figure with them, it had one day caused him to wonder why he didn't have that male figure, or so known as a 'father'. Though he was extremely curious to the fact, he never dared to ask about this missing link, because he noted how his mother always looked so despondent when families were around. To be honest, he didn't care, either. He had his mother, and she was all he needed to get through life. Assuming that this male figure was the one who left them in the first place, he soon came to never care for one.



The days turned to night, and the nights turned to day. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. And so, the months would turn to years... Over the long peaceful years, Caelum had grown to be an exceptionally well mannered and sapient young boy, making Claudia ever so proud of her son. He was irrevocably liked by all the kids due to his kindness, humor, and superb intelligence. The kid always had someone's back, standing up for them whenever they needed it physically or verbally, whether he knew them or not. He valued friendship to such an extreme extent, that he'd even get into fist fights with other kids for picking on his own friends. The thing was, he never minded taking the hits. Having a strong sense of justice gave him the feeling that everything should be fair for everyone in his brilliant eyes; so seeing people happy, just like himself, was a gift in his eyes. These developments and situations soon gave him a strong and dependable image, as well as a view of maturity by the age of just thirteen. No one even came to think that he was a true beast on the inside due to his goofy-smiling, kind-hearted self. Well, not yet, at least...


The beauty of calm years gently rolled on by, not a threat or harm meddling its care-free ritual. No one would suspect a bad thing to happen, due to the countless years of peace and prosperity. Not a threat stung the area, not a cry of harm whimpered. Sadly, all things come to an end, and it was the Angelos' turn to be flipped over... They say rage is the worst demon to carry on one's back. It'll eat one up, destroy them, infiltrate their heart and mind. A sin so deadly such as rage could ruin everything. Make anyone its  puppet and control them no matter what. And it sure as hell had ruined Caelum when he was just fifteen. All young teens get an attitude as they go through awkward stages of puberty. They all think they can handle themselves, and do whatever they want. At this time, the white-headed brute had a slight personality change. An odd one, at that. He rarely went out to see his friends, saying he never felt well. He rarely talked to his own beloved mother at this point, usually just locking himself up in his room and ignoring the outside world. He felt bizarre, he felt short-tempered and wild at random times. It was a crisp night in the fall, just when the air was beginning to feel cool and the leaves were crinkling to a burnt orange shade; on such a beautiful night had his rage tainted his hands in crimson. That night he decided not to listen to his mother when she kindly asked him to clean the dinner table off. Why? Why had he not listened? Simple... Claudia was concerned due to him usually doing it without a fuss, so she went over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, ready to ask her son what was wrong. His rage was like that of a heart attack, one that was sleeping in his chest and waiting for when the timing was best. And that time was now. Feeling the slightest touch of her little hand on his broad shoulder made Caelum's muscles spazz beneath his skin in disgust, and his hand lurched out and grabbed it, crushing her tiny wrist under his strength. Yelping, she yanked away in fear, confused and worried. What was wrong with him? What had gotten into him? But that's when she saw it, there in his eyes... The animosity. The despondency. The bloodlust and rage that was sweltering deeply within his cold eyes. He had discovered the letter. Caelum abruptly started to yell at her for never telling him about the truth and for keeping him in the dark for so long, yelling at her with a booming voice and throwing plates across the room. Why didn't she tell him? Why did she lie to him all this time?  There she stood so little compared to him, shaking in fear. She had let the beast get the best of her own son... Her eyes started to swell up with tears, only causing Caelum to become even more enraged. Snarling at her now about being so 'dramatic', he began to shake due to being so pissed off with this unexplainable temper, and with that, Caelum changed into what he and Claudia had both never saw coming before, and charged at his beloved mother...


Crimson. Why was it so warm? Why did is smell like rust? Why was it on the floor? Had he even been worthy enough to have his hands tainted with her blood...? Caelum's conscience was a faint, unpleasant sound. He was confused. He was scared. What had just happened? What had he done? Panic arose inside, fear crawling up his raw throat. So long to his innocence from underneath the evidence of this murder... In the beginning, he had tasted like heaven, but God knew that he was only built for pure sin. What will happen to him if people found out? Would they kill him? Ban him from this town? There was no time to sought out a plan; running away was the only thing he could do. Run away and leave his beloved mother, the woman who all these years accepted him for who he was, behind without a sliver of life in her lifeless eyes.



Fifteen years have passed since that incident. He was never hunted down. Never wanted. Perhaps the foolish mortals were smart enough to steer clear from the beast. Or maybe they never suspected it being a werewolf attack... Who knew. It didn't matter; Caelum roamed the earth as a free man. Over the long and strenuous years, Caelum had learned to control his temper during his travel to seek out answers of his biological parents, torpidly accepting his disgusting nature. Accepting the fact that he was a monster was very troublesome, very harsh; it was as though someone had shoved hot iron down his throat, letting it seep through his flesh and torment his soul in searing agony. There was nothing he could do except bare with it. The reassuring lie of it just being a nightmare was far too preposterous to fit in with reality. It had taken him years to control his temper that was fueled by acidic hatred. He had killed his beloved mother due to this being inside. The animosity that sweltered within, the sheer agony that shattered every bone in his body...left him all to be cold and ruthless, just like the beast he was born to be. On his travel, he had one day found himself in a bar located in Zalsabad, when he overheard two men speaking of a tribe. This had piqued Caelum's interest, making him listen more intently. Now, who was this person...? What was so great about them? Would it help direct him to where he needed to go...?