Post by Synistergrrl on Oct 13, 2011 11:25:33 GMT -5
Name: Azazel Devils~Inside
Breed: Homid
Aupsice: Galliard
Tribe: BSD
Rank: 3
The sound of crushing bone cracked through the night as Azazel bashed in the skull of the shocked football player. This was his favorite sport, this violence and gore. Nights filled with the hunt of finding a good fight and then the actual up close and personal exchange of fist and boot to head, face and body was all he lived for. It was a passion, on that the Galliard was addicted too. It wasn’t just a sadistic need or want, no, Az knew how to take a punch as well. Infact on more than one occasion, he’d been picked up, bloody, bruised and cackling by a target, sending fear through them as they realized they were not dealing with someone in their right mind. That was the moment that fueled Az the most. The moment that they hesitated, he’d lose himself in their fear and that’s when their blood was spilt.
Born into the hive wasn’t an easy thing, but Azazel grew up normal, or as normal as one could in a hive. His father was an ambitious Galliard who had chosen a stunning kinfolk for his own. Az’s mother bore the wolf 8 children all together, 4 of which shifted. Az was the baby of this motley crew. By the time he’d shifted, his father was an Elder and had little time for his youngest son. It wasn’t something that Azazel held against his father, he understood that there was some notoriety to being the son of such a wolf and that alone was pride enough. But Az was also acutely aware that he’d have to prove himself or be considered a failure to his father.
It wasn’t long after this that he met and became good friends with a young cub snatched from the Gaian clutches. Demos was in so many ways like Azazel that they quickly bonded. Demos was a young Ahourn from the Get tribe, but now was a newly minted Dancer and he and Azazel soon were thick as thieves. There was a natural love of violence between the two of them and they both quickly learned how to go on the attack, picking fights with bigger and stronger wolves in order to learn to fight. They took this knowledge to the streets, preferring to remain in their homid forms to fight humans on the surface, purposefully picking fights with the privileged and tourists.
All this changed when Demos became alpha of his own pack. Az followed his friend, becoming his beta, his second in command. But the dynamic changed between the two. Az was now forced to submit to his friend, to accept that Demos was his alpha, twisting their friendship in a way that the Galliard wasn’t so sure he appreciated. The two gathered up a pack of like minded wolves, setting out to make a name for themselves. But now with politics twisting things and Demos aware of his constant standing with in the hive and it’s hierarchy, Az has lost some of the zeel he once had for life. It was easier when they weren’t in the spotlight, running errands for the Elders and trying to make themselves and their pack stand out. Where Demos wants his pack to be the best and brightest, Az would just prefer to remain in the background, with no light shining on them.
Breed: Homid
Aupsice: Galliard
Tribe: BSD
Rank: 3
The sound of crushing bone cracked through the night as Azazel bashed in the skull of the shocked football player. This was his favorite sport, this violence and gore. Nights filled with the hunt of finding a good fight and then the actual up close and personal exchange of fist and boot to head, face and body was all he lived for. It was a passion, on that the Galliard was addicted too. It wasn’t just a sadistic need or want, no, Az knew how to take a punch as well. Infact on more than one occasion, he’d been picked up, bloody, bruised and cackling by a target, sending fear through them as they realized they were not dealing with someone in their right mind. That was the moment that fueled Az the most. The moment that they hesitated, he’d lose himself in their fear and that’s when their blood was spilt.
Born into the hive wasn’t an easy thing, but Azazel grew up normal, or as normal as one could in a hive. His father was an ambitious Galliard who had chosen a stunning kinfolk for his own. Az’s mother bore the wolf 8 children all together, 4 of which shifted. Az was the baby of this motley crew. By the time he’d shifted, his father was an Elder and had little time for his youngest son. It wasn’t something that Azazel held against his father, he understood that there was some notoriety to being the son of such a wolf and that alone was pride enough. But Az was also acutely aware that he’d have to prove himself or be considered a failure to his father.
It wasn’t long after this that he met and became good friends with a young cub snatched from the Gaian clutches. Demos was in so many ways like Azazel that they quickly bonded. Demos was a young Ahourn from the Get tribe, but now was a newly minted Dancer and he and Azazel soon were thick as thieves. There was a natural love of violence between the two of them and they both quickly learned how to go on the attack, picking fights with bigger and stronger wolves in order to learn to fight. They took this knowledge to the streets, preferring to remain in their homid forms to fight humans on the surface, purposefully picking fights with the privileged and tourists.
All this changed when Demos became alpha of his own pack. Az followed his friend, becoming his beta, his second in command. But the dynamic changed between the two. Az was now forced to submit to his friend, to accept that Demos was his alpha, twisting their friendship in a way that the Galliard wasn’t so sure he appreciated. The two gathered up a pack of like minded wolves, setting out to make a name for themselves. But now with politics twisting things and Demos aware of his constant standing with in the hive and it’s hierarchy, Az has lost some of the zeel he once had for life. It was easier when they weren’t in the spotlight, running errands for the Elders and trying to make themselves and their pack stand out. Where Demos wants his pack to be the best and brightest, Az would just prefer to remain in the background, with no light shining on them.
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