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about Bast
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Registration Date: 05-10-2013
Last Visit: 07-15-2013 06:58 AM Total Posts 8 Played By: TEMPEST 
 Total EXP
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| Bastard Morwroth's Info | |||||||||
| I am immune to you, you’re immune to me We are both sick cells with the same disease | |||||||||
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general information
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appearance
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Reference
The great Bastard is an astounding seven feet tall at the shoulders, with a massive body to match. His head is adorned in a great headdress of red feathers, two hanging on either side of his slender and battered face. One eye has several scars across it, another traveling from a torn lip up towards his eye as well. On his forehead he bares the marking of the cursed in blood like coloring, and his irises also hold the shape of the cursed within them in a deep red. On his great shoulders sprout two massive black wings, the lower feathers a brilliant red in coloration. From his thick hips two long red tail feathers travel the length of his tail.
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personality
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Bast is cold and hardened by his training in the coven to be a warrior, emotions beaten out of him even before then by the harshness of his father. His brother was always his father’s favored, no matter what he tried to do, all his father saw was the symbol on his forehead. The mark that spoke of his ill omen on his family name. When his father left him in the coven he became broken in so many ways, healed only by a powerful Priestess and by the mercy of the great god Sol. His life became devoted to the god and to cleansing all of Adymeria of any trace of the Luna and her followers. With little emotion, Bast does not have much room for compassion or any mercy for weakness. He demands each wolf pick themselves up, pull their own weight or he has little to no use for them. Through his difficult youth he developed a severe temper, known incredibly well for his violent outbursts and his kill first ask questions later mentality. The rage within him is not easily settled after, and he can hold a grudge easily. His heart longs for one woman, one who will never desire him in the same manner, and it meddles with his fragile normalcy. He trembles easily between in control and out of control depending on the actions of other males around her, though he is forbidden to touch her.
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history
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Bast was born beside a twin brother and a sister. His parents, though not the greatest, were concerned about the meaning of a twin birth so they kept their family hidden high in a mountainside until the day the brothers could fight to determine the strongest, the one that would live. Within a few weeks of birth though, as Bast and his siblings began to open their eyes and their grey fur began to morph, his parents looked on him with more fear. His eyes held the mark of the cursed, and it began to show on his forehead. His parents trembled with the weight of the gods on their shoulders, afraid of the meaning of his birth. Both struggled to keep the meaning away from their children, but with time Bast’s father became hard and resisted the reach of his children, leaving their mother alone for long periods of time with them. His mother struggled to remain at his side though, always offering her affection and reassurance to him. It didn’t take the young male long to learn the truth of his markings though.
Burdened with the darkness of his tainted blood, Bast avoided his father for the most part, sticking close to his siblings and his mother. A few short months into his second year though, their father pulled his two sons out onto the cliff edge and snarled at his bastard of a whelp. “You know the laws and we have sheltered you longer then we should have, only the stronger one will live.” Their father looked upon his twin brother with pride and confidence. A darkness settled within his young heart that day. Bast threw himself at his brother, one of the only friends he’d ever known or cared for, one who had never looked at him the way their father had. But he was desperate to prove himself, that his markings meant nothing and that he was worthy of his father’s name. To Bast, the fight between them both seemed to last forever, but it was truly over quite quickly. Bast was bigger than his brother, stronger and more prepared for the fight. He’d been expecting it for too much of his young life. His brother fell at his feet and rolled down the steep cliff side of their home. Bast still alive with adrenaline turned to look at his father only to have his father’s talon like claws rip through his face. “You are nothing to me murderer.” He spat angrily into the bloodied face of his child. Bast lunged for his father, but he felt the swim of magic surge through his body and everything went black for him. When he awoke he was at the feet of two young she wolves and three males, each decorated and beautiful, clean and most of all foreign. They peered down at him with mild curiosity and disappointment. He struggled to move away from them but the firm paw of his father came crashing down onto his broad back, awakening the torn and open wounds his father had beaten into him while he was unconscious. “My son has had a long journey, he is young, but he will serve the coven well.” Bast was pulled up to stand on his own, one of the older looking males peered into his eyes and then gasped, taking a step back. The other mimicked him, peering at the markings that lingered in his eyes. “How dare you bring us a cursed born? What do you think he could ever accomplish in these most hallowed of halls?” Annoyed but unfaltering in his manner, Bast’s father stepped forward, confidence in his voice. “My son is tall, taller than any wolf I have known but young and he will fill out to be a great warrior. I’m sure you could use him as a warrior or something… He can not come back with me though, he has murdered his brother in cold blood and his mother and sister will not look upon his face again.” Venom dripped within his voice as he peered upon his bloodied son. Annoyed the Coven agreed and his father darted off with his new trade. It was the last time he would ever see his father. Quickly though he was brought inside the Coven’s walls and sent to a healer to be cleaned up and to have his wounds inspected. The young she wolf he stumbled upon would change him though, deeper then he knew. He fell in love with her instantly, a crimson woman who was known for her intense skill in magic. Since that day he spent every waking moment he could gain at her side, all the immaturity of a boy with his first love included. Her interest did not mimic his own; but he was persistent. The life within the coven for him as a solider and a warrior in training to protect the coven was anything but glamorous though. He and many other males were forced to fight for days at a time, training to serve and protect the coven and its wolves of far more value than them. The years of abuse took their toll on Bast though, his body became hard with muscle and lean with starvation, scarred and torn apart by the years of fighting and defending the coven. He and many other warriors grew more and more unsettled in their servitude though, and soon enough were planning their escape. He attempted to sway Cress to come with him, but her duty to Sol and to the coven outran any desire to leave. His heart grew cold with her goodbye. When they made their daring run, few stuck together, some branched off, but Bast ran alone, back to the mountainside he had last seen his sister and mother, but their scents had long since faded and that was when he realized he was truly alone. It has been since that day that he has wandered alone, typically running with a lone group for a short time only to depart again. | |||||||||
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