Deed Name: Rage-Consumes-Him
Breed: Homid
Tribe: Ice Stalkers
Auspice: Uzmati
Attributes
Physical
Strength 5 (5 freebies)
Dexterity 3
Stamina 3
Social
Charisma 2
Manipulation 3
Appearance 1
Mental
Perception 3
Intelligence 2
Wits 3
Abilities
Talents
Alertness 2
Athletics 2
Brawl 3 (4 freebies)
Dodge 3 (2 freebies)
Intimidation 3 (4 freebies)
Primal Urge 3 (2 freebies)
Streetwise 2
Subterfuge 1
Skills
Melee 2
Crafts 3 (1 Free Dot)
Stealth 2
Survival 3
Knowledge
Medicine 1
Linguistics 1
Lore: Wyrm 3
Backgrounds
None
Gifts
Persuasion
Slash of the Death Bear
Ignore Wounds
Rites
None
Rage 6 (3 freebies)
Gnosis 4
Willpower 7 (1 freebie)
Merits/Flaws: Derangement: Berserker
Background
Oleg Gromov was one of five brothers born into the Gromov family over the years. Times were harsh in his region of the world. With the Russian government forming against the Cossack peoples, they were barely able to eke out an existence. The entire family worked a tiny plot of unforgiving land, a mile from the Kuban River. His father drank away much of the family's money so the boys stole to keep themselves fed. Oleg, being one of the largest had a very hard time sneaking food the way his brothers did. One more than one occasion he was beaten or taken home in shackles after being caught trying to pilfer food. Severe beatings from his father would follow these episodes which would seem to stymie his hunger for a week or so, the fear of another beating easily overcoming the rumblings of his stomach. Even his brothers proved to be no source of comfort. They figured if he quenched their fathers thirst for violence then why should they step in and be beaten themselves. Oleg dealt with these horrible conditions for quite a few years until one night hed had enough. His arm broken from his fathers latest beating he simply packed a few sets of clothing, his knife, and a few of the trinkets hed gathered and left. He wandered aimlessly off into the darkness somehow deep in his mind knowing that what he was truly doing was committing suicide. It was the dead of winter and few survived long without shelter.
He trudged along, boots crunching through layers of crusted snow and ice for a solid couple of hours. But soon his body began to fail him. His starvation, shock from the broken arm he cradled at his side, and pure exhaustion began to steadily pick away at him. He stumbled once but managed to stand again, continuing on. He stumbled a second time, this time laying there some time before he was able to make himself rise. The third time he fell was the last. The last thing he felt was a wonderful warmth spreading through his limbs, a warmth those taken by cold feel soon before their death. And then his eyes closed and darkness washed over him.
His eyes fluttered open, a harsh dazzling light waking him from his sleep. The sun was up and its beams reflected off the snow in every direction, leaving no place in the shadows. Groggily he got to his feet, a frown forming on his face as he realized he felt very different. The obvious thought flashed through his mind; he was dead. But this land he saw wasnt heaven, he knew it well. It was the shore of the Kuban River a few miles to the north of his village where he and his uncle had once fished. He sighed softly and reached up to scratch at his chin, not noticing the lack of pain in his right arm or the fact that he now stood on four legs. He jumped when a very large, white fur covered paw touched his chin instead of the hand he was expecting. He whirled and reached for his knife, adrenaline pumping through his body as he steeled himself to face this new threat. But there was nothing but forest behind him, and he had no belt. He looked down and his eyes widened in shock. Where the young man had laid down to die there now stood a very large male polar bear, the young mans clothes shredded into a pile and trampled beneath his paws. With a soft sigh he sat down, thoroughly puzzled by his new situation. He knew this wasn't possible. Humans couldn't turn into bears, the bible said man and animal were separate; the men being the lords of the beasts. He sat there for some time, pondering his new situation. But something suddenly awoken him from his ruminations a very strong feeling, a barely whispered voice. Something or someone called him and without thinking he stood and trundled off in the direction that just felt right.
His journey lasted a solid week. He stopped only to eat, scavenging for whatever he could find after his attempts at hunting led only to fatigue. His path took him far into the north into one of the harshest regions in the world, Siberia. He sat for three days after reaching his destination, puzzled by the lack of anything. But he knew deep down that he was meant to wait there, and so he did. As the sun was setting on the third day his much improved sense of smell detected the approach of another; something much like him by the scent. Hed sniffed the trails of other polar bears and found there was something distinctly different about his scent and the scent of the approaching figure. As the figure grew closer it began to take shape. It was a very large male polar bear, bigger even than Oleg and he was on the bigger side. The figure stopped a few yards away and sniffed at Oleg. He then announced himself as Frost-Freezes-His-Heart of the Ice Stalkers. This was beginning of many things but most importantly the beginning of young Olegs path into the darkness.
Oleg followed the elder Gurahl back to his den where he was told the stories of his people. The elder instructed him on various points of gurahl existence. Little did young Oleg know that these were not the true stories of his people and even if he had there would have been little he could have done. Little did Oleg know that Frost-Freezes-His-Heart had long ago let his rage overcome his reason starting him down the path no sane shifter wishes to take, the path to Malfeas itself. Despite this things were good for the first couple of months. Oleg and the Elder lived together, each and every day Oleg learning more and more about what it was to be a bear and how to live as one. Oleg was happier than hed ever been in his life. Hed forgotten the terrors hed experienced at home and the pain those memories brought on.
The changes at first were so small that Oleg didnt notice them. The Elder taking long walks into the night and returning with fresh blood coating his fur. Oleg wrote it off to hunting. And then one evening the Elder brought home his latest "kill", a young woman from the village a few miles off. Oleg was disgusted and terrified. He turned to run for the cave entrance only to find it had been blocked off by a large boulder the Elder had rolled into place. The Elders eyes were those of a madmen, shiny and slightly glazed. He demanded Oleg perform a traditional gurahl rite with him Oleg, confused and terrified refused. The Elder roared in rage and struck him to the ground, Oleg fell like a sack of hay as he was in homid at the time. But it did not end there. The Elder tore into him, breaking ribs and nearly cracking his skull open. An errant paw swipe raked across Olegs face, savaging his eye and his left side of his face. This abuse brought memories of his fathers beatings flooding back and in a fit of uncontrolled rage Oleg snapped into Crinos. His first three strikes were so powerful even the Elder was stunned; his gaze turned to fear as he recognized the unchecked rage burning in the youngsters eyes. The battle raged for nearly a full hour. In the end Oleg, broken and bloodied, stood over the fallen form of his mentor his fur and claws soaked with blood.
It was then the voices began, a soft whisper at first. "Consume him and gain his strength" "You have faced the challenge and passed young one" "You are strong, we will guide you now." Robbed of their old target the Beast-of-Wars minions turned to the young gurahl. They found a willing partner. He sat in the cave and spoke with them for nearly a week, in that time consuming the body of both the young woman and his mentor. Finally on the morning of the eight day he emerged from the cave, eyes with that slightly shiny look that only the mad carry. The voices spoke to him, "Go forth" "Go forth and rage against them" "They who punished you for no reason" "They who starved you" "Revenge" "Anger" .. His first stop was his home where he savaged and ate his entire family, leaving bloody streaks in the snow for yards around. His anger still blazing he began to wander, striking out at random things as he went. A Silver Fang cub dieing at his hands, along with an errant Bastet he got his hands on. Eventually he grew tired of Europe and has taken a steamer to the US. His travels have brought him to a city, a city yet untouched by his anger...
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