A Werewolf Prince in Exile

"You think you know what monsters are. You think you are a monster." Eyes begin to glow bright yellow. Voice deepening, sounding inhuman. "I'll show you a monster."

--Jason Christopher

If playing a werewolf and interested in information on the Children of the Moon civil war. Feel free to hit me up for information.

Personality Edit

Jason is in many ways a very damaged person. Each time he has experienced happiness in his life, it has been very violently and brutally ripped from him. However he has been taught for many years the ability to control his emotions and his anger. The result is a like a lake, with a placid, serene surface. But hiding a turbulent and deadly undertow beneath. He has controlled his emotions for so many years, through so many damaging experiences. That he has in many ways forgot how, or chosen to simply not, open up to anyone. Like a defense mechanism he doesn't see people anymore. Just opportunities and ways to further his agenda. In that manner his father finally got exactly what he was looking for. His son has become just like he is. But you should sometimes be careful what you wish for, you may just get it.

His inner turmoil has left him in a place in life where sadly he has indeed become more like his father. Losing his sense of self in many ways. Ever more with each passing year since the loss of his family. Having stared into the abyss for some time now, it has stared back into him as well. He is ruthless, and quite chilly when he wishes to be. With more than a passing disdain for humans and vampires both. However there are still hints of the person he was before. His affinity and love of animals hints at a very different person. Likewise when he loses himself singing, he occasionally soothes his own savage beast, and some of who he used to be peeks through. In addition he can wear a mask of a sort, and come across very charming, sincere, and genuine. Traits that have been false, used to accomplish a task, ever since his family's death.




Jason has learned to play several musical instruments as a hobby over his long life. He is quite skilled with the guitar, and piano. Though not as skilled with drums he enjoys them and often will play to get better as well as to blow off steam. He knows how to play the ocarina and several similar wood wind instruments as well, though infrequently practices.

He truly excels though at singing. His voice is of a quality that he would be a strong contender for a first place finish on television show such as The Voice. Given he expresses himself more readily and easily through music. It is at least something worth listening to when he does.

on par with his skill as a singer is his ability to dance. From classical ballroom dancing, and ballet, through more modern and interpretive dancing. His natural athleticism and background in acrobatics and martial arts makes him limber and quite a natural to impress on a dance floor.



Jason has made a name for himself in certain circles over the last 65 or so odd years. As someone that can get to anyone, find near anything. He has worked for government and private individuals in the past, array ing a rather large fortune as a result. Money he happily spends to screw his father's plans and hedonistically in that order.

Typically he is called on for a simple and short term range of missions. Retrieve this information. Make sure this person stops breathing. Things of that sort of ilk. He is still very selective about what types of things he does. In particular if it involves someone shuffling the mortal coil. A throw back to the person he once was.

In his time working as a spy and assassin he has learned how to use technology fitting those roles. A number of weapons beyond the martial types he learned centuries ago. Firearms of various sorts for example. Computer use, and various electronics from locks to surveillance devices. He is quite skilled at breaking and entering, and over all getting places people would rather he was not. Through traditional means of going unseen, subtle and overt manipulation, as well as alternative methods such as seduction. He is hardly above capitalizing on his looks to get his way.

He also developed a fascination with spy "gadgets", and cultivated connections to build certain things for him. Some of which utilize vampire venom and other rare ingredients that he has had the opportunity to gather in his travels. With his knowledge of poisons and venoms, as well as potions and elixirs from Druidic herbology. He can be quite effective at setting deadly or just debilitating traps as well.



Perhaps it is just the sheer number of bodies that have been left in his wake through the centuries. Something that can not be seen, but felt when he looks at someone, or even when they look at him. As if the weight of all that death never truly leaves, and those ghosts still follow him in droves. But their is a palpable air of danger, of dread around him. Even without attempting to be intimidating, in his natural state it makes itself known just the same. That shudder that rolls down the spine while standing inside next to a warm fireplace. While watching a bitter cold winter storm through a window. He need not even speak, just a casual glance, o locked eyes will often achieve the result. Something that is especially true when he is angry. While he always seems in control, his bretahing hardly even shifts to register annoyance. When he is truly enraged, there is something in his gait, and his eyes. Promising the one that made him such, that violence will be coming soon.

In nearly equal measures, and seemingly diametrically opposed to his ability to intimidate. Jason can be disarmingly charismatic and charming when he tries to be. That same smile that can virtually freeze the blood is quite capable of being every bit as regal as his one time station would suggest. His capacity to be so warm, and endearing actually makes his intimidation worse. As he effortlessly, and fluidly combines them to manipulate and cajole others into doing as he wishes. In his natural, relaxed posture he has that air of menace about him. Only by actively trying not to be, does he suppress it. The only time this is untrue is with people whom he lets his guard down with. People whom are very few and far between.



After being alive for over 400 years, and traveling the world many times over. You tend to pick up a lot of things. Jason was taught extensively about the supernatural and the creatures that inhabit it. In the intervening centuries he has encountered and learned of creatures that even his father's scholars did not know of. But the bulk of his knowledge is about vampires and shifting breeds. though he also knows more than a passing bit about the legends of the fae and various creatures familiar to the Druids.

He knows the fundamentals of druidic magic, and more than a passing amount of their secrets and herb lore. Ways to replicate and cure the various ailments that they can inflict. While not as well versed as an actual druid, he is more than capable of assisting them in rituals. As well as performing some of them himself if necessary.

Jason can read, speak, and write in English, Japanese, Russian, Modern Standard Arabic, Mandarin Chinese, and Spanish. While not a stunt driver, he is able to handle himself in high speed chases as well as or better than trained law enforcement. He is able to pilot a helicopter, small jets, and knows his way around a sail boat very well. He can at least do basic to more advanced mechanic work on anything he candrive or pilot. He has a fair knowledge of banking and stocks, laws across various places in the world. He has studied basic first aid and knows enough about the topic of human anatomy to use his senses to detect lies. His manners in a restaurant and public settings are always flawless, he always over tips, and his check book is always balanced to the last penny.



After literally centuries of practice and practical use of a variety of martial arts forms, Jason would qualify as a literal ancient master of hand to hand combat. He is an utter master of the tenants of ninjitsu as taught in Japan in the early 1600s. Body skills, karate, spear fighting, staff fighting, blade-throwing, use of fire and water, fortification, strategy, and concealment. In addition he has spent time learning a variety of other martial arts forms both ancient and more modern over the centuries since then.

Over time they have all rather blended into an acrobatic fighting style that is pretty much all his own. Particularly skilled fighters may note elements of other styles incorporated. But it would be a challenge to pick out one defense against a form that seems to shift every bit as well as he himself is able to. Worth noting his martial skills are not absent in his wolfman or manwolf shapes, making them even more deadly. His most recent passion has been parkour, which given his abilities he has taken to incredibly well.



Jason is very capable of surviving indefinitely in the wild, pretty much anywhere on earth. From barren desert to arctic tundra and every type of woodland or jungle in between. He knows the proper shelters to make, the right things to eat, where to find them, and how to spot oncoming weather systems even days in advance. He can find medicinal herbs and plants when needed, and knows the best uses for any flora and fauna in a given region based on the clear and present needs.

Even without his animal based supernatural abilities Jason is a master animal trainer. He is an over all animal whisper, with the ability to recognize hostility, moods, and behaviors in a variety of animal types. If the




Jason has the capacity to intuitively understand and communicate with animals on an empathic level. This ability applies to all mammals, and avian species. He has a harder time connecting with reptiles, and aquatic species though it is possible in some animals. Particularly the very intelligent ones, or predators which recognize him as an alpha predator as well. Insects and arachnids are nearly impossible, save for ants and bees who he can communicate with through a queen.

Jason's blood, reproductive fluids, and saliva is where his strain of lycanthropy is most concentrated. Though it is present in virtually every fluid in his body to some degree. It is aggressive like few others and will even alter animals that are exposed to it. A drop of blood will alter an animal's physiology, and create a bond between them. Much more than just empathic at that point. There is an understanding, and connection. The animal grows more human like it it's ability to reason. They heal faster and have indefinite life spans. Communication now happens to the limits of the animals ability to do so. They are able to share memories, sensory input and after a time 'speak' to a limited extent to him.

He uses them to watch people, and places. Guardians and early warning alarms. But he won't use them to fight or put them in any undue jeopardy. In many ways he is closer to animals than people. Particularly predatory animals, as herd animals and herbivores tend to be very skittish In his presence even with his empathy. Humorously in addition to canines of all sorts and varieties. Jason Christopher the big bad werewolf prince has a soft spot for itty bitty kitty cats.



Jason knows a number of Druidic rituals that with time he can cast. Typically those he is aware of have to do with nature and the animal kingdoms, with few exceptions. He is ironically, quite adept at healing. Through various potions, salves, elixirs, and other means. He is able to cure various maladies and dispel a myriad of other effects. Typically with ingredients that can be found in any wooded area. He can see through the eyes of animals some distance away from him when needed, and create basic protection magics that only effect animals. The most extreme extent of his Druidic abilities is to influence local weather patterns. With further teaching or practice he could likely learn more still.



The lycanthropy he was born with has prevented him from aging since he was physically about 19 years old. Given his regeneration Preventing any damage to his cells, indeed routinely restoring them, he is functionally immortal. He required respiration in order to remain active, but he can not die from lack of it. Likewise frozen or even burnt to a charred state he will become active again when the effect ends and he's heals. They are at best ways to delay or incapacitate him. Legends suggest that even if one of his bloodline were to die, they can spontaneously resurrect under the light of a full moon. However he has never been in any position, nor had any inclination, to put the theory to a test.

Immortality has also afforded him plenty of time to learn and grow. Explaining much of what he has learned as well as his mastery over his various abilities. His memory is flawless, so he forgets nothing that he has ever learned. Also contending as he has with his father (who has the ability to compel the obedience of other lycanthropes) has given him centuries of time to likewise hone his willpower. Attacks made against him that rely on willpower as an operative defense will be blunted, or in some cases ignored even when he is not using his night stalking abilities to avoid them.

  • Human abilities: Basic Toughness. Enhanced levels of Strength, Agility, Regeneration, and Superior Senses. Running speeds about 6x faster than naturally occurring human ability. Jumping distances about 2x better than world record human maximum. Both horizontally and vertically and without a running start. Distance of about 4x with a running start. He can see in the dark, but his eyes will start to glow a pale yellow when he does. Lethal damage in this shape will force a phase to another, usually Manwolf (See Beat Within Flaw).
  • Wolf-Man abilities: Enhanced levels of Strength, Agility, Regeneration, Stealth, Toughness, and Superior Senses. Running speeds comparable to an average sports cars. Standing jumping distance is 4x human world record maximums for both distance and height, allowing him to easily leap the distance of a school bus and multiple stories high effortlessly. Running a short distance allows him to jump up to 5x human maximum for both. He can see in the dark naturally in this state. His bite can injure other supernatural beings in this form, as well his claws. He may cause lycanthropy in human beings in this form as well with a bite. This is the first form that he gains his blow through invulnerability as well.
  • Man-Wolf abilities: Enhanced Agility and Toughness. Supernatural levels of Strength and Regeneration, as well as Stealth (See: Night Stalking), and Superior Senses. Running speeds comparable to a high end sports car, upwards of 140-160 mph depending on surface conditions. Only his dire-wolf shape is faster. He may leap vast distances in this shape, at least a 100 feet in length and 50 feet high. He can add upwards of 25-30 feet to either distance with a brief sprint before hand. He is naturally able to see in the dark. His claws and fangs are horridly wicked in this shape. With his strength behind them they are able to rend through brick work and some metals with minimal effort. Scoring harder surfaces still with moderate effort. Composite body armor of the types worn by military and law enforcement is like a butter knife slicing through jello. He may cause lycanthropy in others in this form. His blow through invulnerability is most effective in this shape, with even damage from shrapnel grenades and similar ordinance showing no ability to slow him down. Though he is able to crouch to operate in a smaller area, fully erect he is nearly 14 feet tall in this form with hands large enough to palm a human sized head.
  • Dire-Wolf abilities: Basic level Speed. Enhanced level Agility, Stealth, Toughness, and Claws. Supernatural level Strength, Regeneration, Superior Senses, and Bite. In this form his running speed is amazing, with his supernatural musculature propelling him forward at speeds none of his other phases are capable of. He is able to make jumps equal in length to his Man-Wolf phase, though his vertical leaps are only about on par with his human phase given the alteration in body mechanics. While his claws are less impressive in this form his bite is horrific. Able to exert from 35k to 57k newtons from the front to the back of his jaws. More than 10x that of a full grown alligator. Enough to crush the engine block of a car. His bite in this form can cause lycanthropy, assuming anything lived through it. His blow through invulnerability is as effective as in his wolfman phase, more than enough to heal crippling wounds in seconds.
  • Wolf Abilities: Basic Speed (low end), Exceptional Strength, Agility, Stealth, Toughness, Claws, Regeneration, and Bite. Supernatural level Superior Senses, including the ability to detect natural disasters, like earthquakes and tidal waves and natural lie detecting. His bite in this form does not transmit lycanthropy, and like his human shape he does not have his blow through invulnerability in this phase. However if he is hurt badly he will automatically phase to dire-wolf from this form. It is largely used to blend into natural settings, without drawing undue attention.



More of a Blow Through Invulnerability than the classic sense. Injuries that seem as if they should be fatal tend to heal so rap



It's a very big world, and even in 400+ years of traveling. Jason has hardly seen a fraction of it. But he has traveled some areas more extensively than others. Most of the major cities in different areas of the world where he has learned to blend in and speak fluently for example. Much of the east and west coast of the United States for example are very well known to him. Such that he always seems to know where he is and what direction to go to get where he wishes to be. This is especially true when also factoring in his survival skills.


Jason carries with him routinely, or has fairly ready access to a number of debilitating or outright deadly objects. He routinely carries small canisters that appear to be pepper spray but in fact have vampire venom in them. Lethal to humans naturally, but also momentarily debilitating to vampires when sprayed in the eyes.

Likewise he carries shuriken coated with venom. Even a nick from one will set a human beings blood on fire as the venom spreads. Through druidic means he has limited the toxicity of the venom so that they can be used to kill or merely debilitate through excruciating pain. He also tends to carry varying Druidic salves, elixirs, and potions tailored to specific goals that he will prepare in advance when he knows he has something challenging in the offing. As well as more high tech gear which he can readily afford to purchase.


Jason was one of those lucky ones. Those that hit the genetic lottery. Gaining the best traits possible seemingly from both his mother and his father. Naturally his capacity to have a gift was one such boon. But the combination of Spanish and Romanian blood, with the best features from both of his parents also made him quite exotic looking. However those same exotic looks that so easily seduce and entice other people. They also speak volumes to those that know what to look for regarding his supernatural nature.


Jason is for all intents and purposes fearless. He has a certain respect for other alpha level predators to be sure. But he has no true fear of them. Those attempting to incite fear in him are more than likely to just piss him off. It is simply not in his personality make up to experience genuine fear.


Jason's phasing and indeed just seeing him in anything other than a human or wolf shape, has a psychological impact on those witnessing it. For those that are not awakened to the world of the supernatural, or at least the possibility of it at least. It tends to cause them to have small psychotic breaks. The inability to accept that what they are seeing possibly exists in the world they know. So it is replaced with something in their mind that can or does. No matter how ridiculous or inconsistent with the surroundings the new memory might be. Only a small percentage of people with exceptional willpower or other similar traits will see him as he really is when he shifts, and they are not always happy that they can afterwards.


Jason has many contacts he may call on cultivated over the course of many human life times. Some of them are long lived as well. Others he maintains contacts with families that he may call on in times of need. Old blood debts and ties reaching back generations. Sometimes they call on him though as well. Political favors, information, special items or gear, counsel, identification, entertainment, and various other favors. He has contacts in a number of fields, all carefully developed over the years. There are few occasions in which he doesn't 'know a guy' that could help.

He is likewise very very wealthy, thanks both to many years of life and many jobs he has taken in the last near century to build up his own personal wealth. He is quite capable of living in the wilds comfortably. But it is not for lack of a number of places to call home if he wishes. He has at his disposal private planes, many cars and motorcycles, and at least six public addresses in the United States. To say nothing of those off the grid so to speak.

In the supernatural world he is also rather well known. This can be both good as well as bad. The exiled princes reputation often proceeds him. It can afford him a measure of respect. But also create enemies in a new location, often before he is fully ready to deal with such.



An old Druidic trick to ward creatures of a supernatural nature. A ring of black mountain ash creates a barrier creatures of the supernatural can seldom pass. Only the most powerful, and then the act of doing so can leave them physically weakened for the effort. Naturally there are ways around such barriers among the Druid's recipes and tricks. Given the act of passing through such a barrier can even leave him weakened, Jason prefers finding other ways. So at the very least such a barrier will typically impede and delay him. Potentially for some time if he lacks the components to effectively dispel it with a ritual.


Jason likes to be in a position where he is in control of the playing field. Situations where he is manipulating the outcome to his liking or at least knows how it is all going to end up. When he isn't, he is uncomfortable and striving to get ahead of things and be in control. If he even feels anyone is within three steps of his lead, he redoubles his efforts to stay ahead. Situations where he is unable to be, or where others are attempting to contest that, tend to make him testy.


Jason has a few lingering issues with his father. Murdering his mother, kicking him out of a castle window, and killing his wife and son tend to produce those. His father was a very dominate and domineering figure in his life. Those that remind him of his father, particularly if they attempt to be dominate or domineering towards him. They are seldom well received. Despite having immortal patience this type of personality strips away at it like a cheese grater over fresh mozzarella. Prolonged exposure to someone with an alpha personality behaving that way seldom tends to end well for them.


Jason has a unfortunate level of disdain for human beings and vampires. While capable of respecting individuals and over all capability to inflict harm in the latter case. He still has a tendency to consider them beneath notice or consideration unless they prove themselves otherwise. Which can often be a negative thing if he sees them as in some way impeding something he is trying to accomplish. Obstacles are not something he responds well to.


Jason is recognizable, and his father has started to realize the need to learn of the outside world. He has started sending spies to find and at least follow his son. If the moment was right, possibly try and eliminate him for the threat he poses to his plans. As such, Jason tends to watch his back and seldom stays in one place very long without a compelling reason. Having found such a reason in and around La Push national park, he knows it won't be very long before he is discovered once again. A confrontation with his father or his allies is unavoidable.


Jason does indeed have exotic looks as detailed above. He is unusually attractive, in a way that seems to scream he is dangerous and yet still draws people in. However to a trained hunter who knows what to look for they can see what he is on sight. His werewolf traits are so strong they bleed over to his human phase. His unnaturally colored eyes, naturally sharp finger nails, index finger longer than his middle finger, enhanced physical acumen, and elongated teeth. All traits which mark him easily and readily as a powerful lycanthrope.


The loss of his mother at an early age and then his wife much later had a lasting impact on Jason, as one might expect. He is always loathe to harm women, though he won't hesitate to if he must. However small, petite women and motherly figures tend to give him the most pause. If they are threatening someone or something he cares about, he will not hesitate. But if the threat is a more personal one he may hesitate longer than he should. A fact that his father is more than aware of.


Jason has had several terrible traumas in his life. Losses of family, teachers, friends, and terrible betrayals. He has a lot of anger bottled up that has yet to be properly dealt with. That rage occasionally leaks out of him in moments when his natural skill at controlling it is at low ebb.

If Jason is forced to shift from excessive injury or pain, or if he becomes so angry that his inner rage is allowed a path to surface, he will phase into his Man-wolf shape. However under these circumstances he is a mindless monster, a beast. Hell bent for leather on the utter ruination and death of whatever caused the phase. With just enough restraint present to not harm a loved one or animal.

The beast is his complete potential as a werewolf unleashed, and unchained. The capacity he still holds in check, since the first time he shifted back in Japan. What he could be all the time if he ever found a way to deal with the inner turmoil he keeps locked away. Larger, and physically more powerful than he allows himself to become now. The Beast is rage personified, given breath and skin, fur, fangs, and claws.


Aconitum, long connected through history to the werewolf. A highly poisonous plant that can kill within hours when ingested. As with most poisons and diseases Jason is quite immune to it's lethal qualities. However that is not to say it does not have a pronounced effect on him. Simply put, it has a narcotic effect on him. Wolf's bane makes the big bad wolf mellow, and toothless. It gets him high as a kite, potentially for hours depending on how much is ingested. Give his nature to be in control,MIT goes without saying. He utterly hates that feeling, and avoids it at all costs.

My mother was one of the few of my father's brides to be a werewolf prior to meeting him. She was one of the 'special breed', one of us born with a gift. I was born with a gift, as well. It wasn't terribly unusual given both my mother and father had them. In my case, it served me well, manifesting as it did at a very early age. My father took to calling me his Night Stalker, for two reasons. My hair was jet black, as black as the night, like my mother's. But more so because when I was stalking my prey, nothing could find me. Oh there were limits to it, I could still be seen if you were looking directly at me, making eye contact. But no other senses, or even gifts among my father's court, could find me when I chose not to be found.

My mother kept me out of the politics of my father's court for almost the first decade I was alive. My younger brother Roberte was protected by her as well after his mother died in child birth. But after my power manifested, there was nothing she could do. I went to bed one night, my mother's face hovering above me. That was the last time I ever saw her.

In retrospect my mother did me no kindness insulating me from my father's court. When she disappeared in the night, I was quite literally thrown into the deep end. Without it being my actual intention though, I shielded Roberte just as my mother had before me. If only because my father, and thus my older siblings, were far more interested in me. Roberte was just another one of my father's many children, and very much beneath his notice.

My siblings moved against me often enough that it became something of a routine. They would come for me, or plot some truly epic demise, I'd escape from them. Early on my gift kept me safe enough, just using it to avoid them when I was their target. But as time passed, I started to use it for my own gain. I wasn't content just learning the rules of the jungle. I became set on becoming lord of the jungle.

My gift made me an excellent spy. I started following them, learning their habits. Learning their secrets and alliances. From there it was simple to play them against one another. They walked a razor's edge between open hostility and all out war, and that was a state my father seemed to have little interest in changing. I gave him a reason to think otherwise.

It took nearly no time at all really, to cause an all out war. The right ears hearing the right things. Some planted evidence and knowing where certain people would be at certain times. Once I had decided to do it, it took me less then a year to destroy most of my older brothers and sisters just by playing them against each other. Not bad for nine years old, but then kids always know how to make each other look bad. Especially in order to get the praise of a parent. Some are just better than others at it. Me, I truly excelled.

My father ultimately stepped in to stop the war, though he was truly impressed. But he wasn't entirely happy either. The war I had started resulted in a dramatic reduction in my father's bloodline. That time marked three firsts for me. The first time my father actually praised me. The first time my father without restraint beat me. And the first I heard of my father having a mission, his crusade. I was apparently going to be a big part of it, I just needed to be molded first. Something he was going to take a hand in personally from then on.

He had been impressed with how I used my abilities prior to even my first change. But he was also intent on seeing me use them as more than just a spy. He wanted me as his assassin. To that end he tested me, I was to 'poison' my older brother Valleri with wolf's bane. Valleri was my father's favorite son, by doing this I was certain to take that spot from him, and certainly earn his lasting enmity in the process. I did so with out a moment's hesitation. It was a small price to pay for my father's affection after all.

It was actually rather easy with the skills I had already learned. My eldest brother was a light sleeper, a survival trait in our family. But he did still need to sleep sometime. Hiding in his room, I simply waited for him to go to bed. The guards outside of his room never knew I was there, and neither did he. Then I scrambled along the rafters and lowered a piece of waxed thread down to just above his mouth. You have to slowly allow the droplets of liquid to slide down the thread when poisoning someone, patience is a virtue. But Valleri even helped out by licking his lips. Very considerate of him really.

The wolf's bane did it's work, drugging him and sending him on a inebriated rampage through our mutual home. He really made something of an ass out of himself, doing significant damage to his reputation in the process. When it came out that I had been the one to drug him, in his own room no less, his reputation suffered significantly more with our remaining family. My father was very impressed yet again. But the skills I was going to need to refine my natural talent I couldn't learn in Romania alone. I was 10 years old when I was sent to Japan, to learn to kill more effectively.

My father was ancient, and for many years had been a recluse. But he had cultivated certain contacts and maintained them, as befitted a royal family. Ancient lineages and contracts with other very old families had their uses. In the 1600's Japan was going through a period of change. Expanding commercial contacts with the west, the Portuguese, Spanish and the Dutch and English. Even the defacto rulers of Japan, the samurai, didn't remain unaltered. They changed from becoming a military class to that of a bureaucratic class. But in the shadows, things stayed as they were. That was where my father had contacts. That was where I would learn the ways of the shinobi, the ninja.

I arrived in Japan at the close of a turbulent time. The country was at peace for the first prolonged stretch in nearly a century. The Edo period beginning around 1581 marked the end of the need for the skills the shinobi possessed. In this time of peace, the ninja was no longer needed. But it did not mark the end of the ninja. Those skills and teachings would carry on and survive through the ages.

My jonin was famous among his peers for an act of defiance in 1600. Sneaking through a group of Tokugawa's defenders at Hataya castle, he planted the flag of the besieging army high on the front gate. I would never know his name, nor was it required. He was simply my jonin, and I was just one more genin in his ryu, hidden away in the mountains of Kii. If not for the documents I carried, I would never have been accepted. I was deemed to old to teach effectively. Yet, when I was accepted, I quickly prove my worth. At 11 years old I began training. I learned quickly, and well the lessons presented to me.

There were eight methods taught in the ryu. Body skills, karate, spear fighting, staff fighting, blade-throwing, use of fire and water, fortification and strategy, and concealment. I was young but my gift made me an unparalleled master of concealment. Just the same I learned methods to remain hidden even without it. But that was hardly the only thing I learned. Throwing myself into all of my studies with a ravenous desire to learn, to become the assassin my father wished me to be..

By the time I was 19, I was long since chunin. But with skills in some areas that would allow me to open my own ryu if I so chose. But I had no interest in being a jonin, in passing the skills I had learned onto others. Instead I resolved to continue learning still more from others. To truly be a master, but of many techniques and forms rather than one. It was on a simple mission to seek out information that I decided I would ask for permission from my jonin to leave the ryu and travel the world.

The discipline I had learned studying helped me keep my rage in check. In all the years I studied with my jonin I had never changed, despite long since feeling I was capable of doing so. I knew what I was, I had seen others in my father's court assume the various phases of the wolf. But I had found no need to phase. I had found no human my equal in years now. However, when I returned to the ryu, that changed.

Returning to the mountains of kii, the ryu was destroyed. Burnt to the ground, with the remains of the army that had done so picking though the remains. Years before war-lord Oda Nobunaga had attacked the power base of the shinobi at Iga and Koga, believing their strongholds their to be a threat. Now the consequences of those battles had found their way to the mountains.

Part of me would like to say I resisted the savage, blood thirsty need to kill those men. That I fought them with the very skills of those they had slaughtered as opposed to giving into the nature of the beast within. But I didn't. The anger was over whelming and I made no attempt to resist it. The tears in my eyes over the sense of loss I felt were hot. The blood I tasted, their blood, moments later. That was far hotter, and far more satisfying. They screamed, they tried to fight, they ran for their lives. But ultimately, to a man they bled and they died. They believed me to be an oni, a demon. They were wrong, of course, I was no demon. I was a werewolf, though for them, I was nothing less than death itself.

I wandered after that, staying true to my goals of learning. My father grew impatient with me over the years, waiting for my return. But he was immortal, so while he did not precisely care to exercise patience very often, he was capable of it. Not to mention finding me, especially now, was not so easy a task. He waited very patiently for the next dozen years, as I refined my mastery of ninjitso with the study of other techniques and styles. For the next 84 years though, he pretty much hunted me regularly across Japan, China, most of Asia, and Europe as I continued my studies. I also continued to phase regularly in that time. Exulting in the power, learning the phases I knew existed, and slowly mastering them. By the time my father would lay eyes on me again I would be able to flow fluidly through the various guises of the wolf. But that was not the only thing to change.

Time hardened me, I saw how the world was changing, how humanity was changing, and I was glad to be apart from it. At least until a chance encounter in Europe. There I encountered a cabal of druids. They revered nature, and new many secrets of the natural world. Secrets I desired to learn as well. But staying in one place also made it impossible to go overly long without being found. Though I wished to remain longer to know more of their secrets, I was compelled through discovery to return home.

In the year 1704 I returned to my father's court in Romania. I was over a 110 years old now, but didn't look any older then I had in my late teens. Though my father was pleased to see me, others were not so much. It had taken Valleri many years to live down his embarrassment at my hands, and now I was back to remind everyone of it once again. The night of my arrival he coerced several newer members of my father's court into trying to assassinate me in my bed. These were no siblings, my father had stopped that after the war I had started. I left their heads in a bag hanging outside of Valleri's window. I was my father's assassin, his killer, his general. All he had been I now was, and the sooner Valleri understood that, the better.

For all I had learned over the century I had been alive, there were many things I did not know about my own world. My kind, are violent by nature. But we are also immortal. Though it was rare, some of our kind were simply ill fit to a life of conflict. Often they simply died, unable or unwilling to properly defend themselves. However in my father's court they sometimes became the scholars, the keepers of the history. They were my next teachers.

From them I learned the lore of my kind. Much of it I knew, such as the phases of the wolf I had mastered in my time away. But there was much I did not know, and that knowledge I devoured. For my father wished that I should know it, and so I would. With my interest in druidism discovered, I was schooled in deeper secrets of their order. Learning that many werewolf packs cultivated relationships with druids. Relationships that were mutually beneficial to both groups. My father had long since abandoned such in our home. But my teachers knew of those that could teach me still. I also learned much about the history of my family, and how it connected to another topic. Vampires.

Long ago my father had two brothers. One was never spoken of, having suffered from a rare condition where he was lost to his wolf. He had been taken to a primeval forest far from our ancestral home and released into the wood to live out his existence. His other brother was named Alexi. He was to be the king of our house, groomed for it for since birth. Around 490 BC he fought a powerful vampire, named Caius. The origin, the reasons for the fight were lost, as ultimately was my uncle's life. Caius himself was nearly slain as well, leading to him developing a paralyzing fear of my kind, of werewolves. A fear that would ultimately lead to a war between the species when Caius' coven, The Volturi, rose to power over the vampires.

It was a slight my father would never forget, nor forgive. He took the reigns to our family after my grandfather abdicated to him. He took our family into hiding even as the war began. Planning his vengeance for my uncle, and for every werewolf that fell to their war against us. My father would launch his own crusade in retaliation, when he was ready. I had inadvertently delayed that, manipulating the events that lead to the slaughter of so many of my siblings. But in me my father felt he had found a general to lead the pack that he would form to kill our enemies. It was a mission I accepted without hesitation. A choice I would come to regret.

For another 84 years, I performed as the good soldier. Teaching my father's army much of what I had learned. I particularly trained Roberte, taking him as my pupil and teaching him most of what I had learned in the ryu I first learned at. I would lead strike teams to kill vampire covens using the stealth techniques of my ninja masters. We fought a shadow war, always staying hidden from our enemies. More rumor and nightmares then anything like a fact. Our actions attributed to rival covens and nomads among our vampire enemies. Through our actions many fables were created among the vampires, myths about our kind and weaknesses we wished them to believe existed. We enjoyed great success, but not every victory was a clean one.

We had begun traveling far abroad in our strikes, even as far as the American south west. Vampires had been especially busy there for many years, creating armies and battling for territory. Those with me were veterans of many conflicts, we created much dissension between rival covens and sent many vampires to their final deaths there. I learned first hand the sheer power the new born vampires have, as many of them were created and used like weapons in the deep south. But most of all I learned to respect my enemy.

Like us, many of the vampires we encountered had special abilities which made them even more dangerous than their kind usually was. In an encounter with a coven made up almost entirely of such special leeches, my strike group was wiped out. My own ability allowed me to escape, with a new found grudging respect for the blood suckers.

Returning home after such a loss was difficult. My father's rage was palpable, almost madness it seemed. That was the second, and ultimately the last time he would beat me as a father would a child. He brooded for several weeks after that. Before coming upon a new way to wage his war. He would find those humans that displayed psychic talents and take them, turning them into werewolves. Stacking the deck in much the way that our enemy did. That then was my new mission. To search for human beings with psychic potential to turn into werewolves.

I had seen much of the world in my travels. But this new mission for my father took me to places I had never been. One of those places was to visit an Indian tribe in the American north west. I had heard persistent legends while traveling of giant wolves that haunted the rain swept coastal forests there. There I found the tribe, with whom I remained for over a year. I was something new to them, but of the wolf. This much they knew. There was no giant wolves there then, but I learned of their history, their people and their legends. Some of it sounded very similar to legends of my own people, my own family. The Quileutes would leave a mark on me, which would not surface again for many years to come.

For 129 years I searched the world for my father. Bringing him human beings with special abilities. The advent of faster means of travel by those oh so industrious humans made my work simpler sometimes. But even so my success rate was still lower than I would have liked. Often I came into conflict with vampires still, but by now I had hunted and killed them so long I knew when to fight and when not to. Those I encountered alone, rarely lived through the encounter. Larger covens I simply avoided with my gift. Over that time though my father seemed to change.

Perhaps the madness I began to see had always been there, and it merely took knowing him, and then not seeing him for long stretches for it to become evident. In the year 1918 I returned to the crumbling castle in the mountains that served as the home for House Lupus. I had returned alone, finding nobody on my last trip for my father to change. Again his rage was nearly a physical force. He ranted as he threw wine goblets and decanters at me, shattering against the wall of his study. It was then I learned the true depths of his madness, and just what his crusade truly entailed.

He screamed past foam flecked lips of his desire to lead an army of werewolves into Volterra Italy. To drag the Volturi out of their hiding places and slaughter them in the streets. To kill every living thing, everyone that had contacted the leaches there and then abroad. I tried to explain what that would mean. He had hidden from the world for more centuries then I cared to count. He had no idea of what humanity was capable of. That they were growing more capable every day. I tried explaining to him, that whatever his goal, the result would be the end of vampires yes. But also the end of our own species as well once humanity learned of our existence.

He called me a traitor, he said I was either with him or against him. In his madness, which I alone bore witness to he then admitted to things that took the breath from my lungs. He told me how my grandfather had disagreed with him, and the night he died. He told me about the night my mother died. Died by his hands, his claws. She disagreed, she tried to protect me from the life she knew he had waiting for me, and he killed her for it.

Visions of my mother's face swam before me for a moment, and I lashed out at him. My claws grew, and slashed through the left side of his face like it was warm butter. His blood spilled and it felt good to do it. I struck out for my mother, and in my mind's eye I could see her smile. But age meant little to my kind. Though he looked older, my father was little weakened with the passage of time. Only atrophy saw any decline in his power. He kicked me right through a window, and I fell. I fell for what seemed like forever before plunging through the ice and into a river that ran along the castle. The rushing waters carried me away under the sheet of ice. Blackness overtook me, and It was some time before I would wake again.

But when I did, it was in the back of a wagon, many miles from where I had started. I had been found and presumed dead initially, along the shore of the very river I had plunged into. Months had passed since my fall, trapped beneath the ice I had been in a death like state. Unable to truly die from downing, I lived again when there was air to once more breath. My savior was an elderly couple from a small village in Russia.

Even as my eyes flickered open, I was taken aback by what I saw waiting for me. The most beautiful girl I had ever seen was swathing my forehead with a wet cloth. She spoke soothingly in Russian, which I understood from my many travels through that country.

Her name was Illyana, and she and her parents had found me. She was small, petite, and yet there was a fierceness about her just the same. Uncommonly her hair was short, in a somewhat boyish way. Yet it suited her well.

I could have easily left then, I was in no danger and fully healthy despite what they believed. But just looking into her eyes, I elected to remain and be nursed back to health a little longer. A little longer stretched into days, and the days stretched into weeks. The weeks inevitably became months, which slowly passed into a year. The happiest year I could remember since the days when I still looked into my mother's eyes.

I learned much of humans living with them. They felt my lack of knowing many basic things came from my time in the river, never suspecting I was not re-learning them, but simply never knew them at all. Things I had not learned in the ryu centuries before, or in all my time living alongside of humanity. It was my first time living as one, and I found it understandably relaxing. It was easy to settle into such a routine as this. To put my father's madness behind me, to live a life I chose for myself for the first time, well, ever.

Illyana and I wed, as was the human custom. In a strange way it felt like I had left what I was behind me. Wolves did not wed after all, they took a mate. In my father's case he had taken many. It was a silly thing really, making that distinction, but it was satisfying to put yet another wall between this new life and the one I had always known. They knew me only as Jason Christopher, for that was the name I had taken to travel among humanity some time before. Iason, was a bit long in the tooth as names went. It drew unwanted attention. They believed me a human being, and for so long as I could be that, I would. Perhaps someday Illyana would know what I really was. But in my ignorance I chose not to tell her now. Had I it might have saved her life.

Almost a year after we were wed, my son was born. I named him in honor of my brother, Roberte. He favored his mother in appearance, which I found quite pleasant. Life was peaceful, almost idyllic. The life I had lead seemed so very far away. Yet the reality is we can never really escape who we are, or who we are meant to be. Even after all the years I was alive, I was still being taught such lessons. This one came at a bitter cost.

I was out hunting when they must have found my scent. Because I was hunting they couldn't find me, but they were able to find my wife and child. My gift offered them no shield. From over a mile away as I returned I could scent the blood, even over that of my kill. For the first time in years, I shifted, and I ran. But as fast as I was, it wasn't fast enough. I should have known it wouldn't be though. I had delivered death often enough to know it can't be outrun, not in the end.

Illyana and Roberte were dead, her parents who were visiting at the time likewise slaughtered. The scents were known to me, my father had actually left his castle seeking me. In some dark corner of my mind I was almost flattered he considered me worth the time and sacrifice. Valleri's sent was there as well. No doubt he has leaped at the chance to be in my father's good grace again after my disgrace. There was no note, the message was clear enough though. I would never truly be free of them.

There was however an ambush. Roberte waited there, using the stealth skills I had taught him. They weren't enough though, not nearly, to hide from me. I never even looked at him, just spoke out loud, as I looked at my son's savaged body. I told him, he had been named after him. I could feel him break some inside, but I didn't care then. I couldn't bring myself to kill him, but I also couldn't look at him either. My brother risked much that day, stepping aside as I walked into the forest. Melting easily from his sight as I employed my gift.

My crusade began in 1920. My father made it clear, so very clear that I would never truly escape him. So long as he lived he would hound me, follow me, hunt me. Of course he had seen me molded into the perfect weapon, hunting me was no simple task. He would rarely send many against me, as to do so would risk his own crusade. He needed numbers after all to attack the Volturi. Numbers which I had proven in times past I was capable of whittling down.

Thus began the civil war among my kind. A secret war going on during the greater war of vampire versus werewolf. My allies have ever been few, my father's tactics growing ever more modern as he learns more of the outside world from the hunters he sets after me. But my own tactics have begun to evolve as well. Rarely have I ever stayed in a place for long. His spies slowly become legion, as more and more of my kind are drawn into the conflict between us. Now I have come to consider that may be wrong.

Lately I have come to accept that his own tactics may well be used against him. Werewolves traditionally seldom traveled in packs. Only when we are compelled to by need, or a powerful alpha. But when we do, we are stronger for it. I have commanded packs before, in my father's name. Now I will build one myself, to counter his army. Pack vs pack, father vs son. With nothing less than the fate of my species on the line, if in his madness he should attack the Volturi for all the world to see.

The year is now 2005. I have waged this civil war against my father for 85 years, with very few gains. Ours has been a stalemate. Once many years before, the Quileute Indians told me that they were descended from wolves. Now I find myself in the town of Fork's Washington, not at all far from the Quileute reservation. And the forest here, is filled with the scent of wolves once more, as before in legends. Enough to represent a sizable pack. And a Wolf Pack, is exactly what I need.