Godfather Leveros Vol'Gin

~Basic Information~

-7 years of age
-Adds to the Masculine populous
-Beholds the genes of a Canis Lupus Arctos (Arctic Wolf)
-Scent of burnt wood
-Vocals of Darcia from (english version)"Wolf's Rain"



~Bloodlines~

-Spawn of [Deceased]Vivec(M) & [Deceased]Evetta(F)
-Younger brother to Joker(M)
-Sire to no brats yet
-Step-father to Machiliana(F), Raelyn(F)
-Uncle to Hersh(M)



~Love-life~

-Sexually orientated as heterosexual
-Eyes glancing to Agnieszka(D)
-Desires Agnieszka(D)
-Devoted to Agnieszka(D)



~Relationships~

-Befriended Agnieszka, Vyen
-Best-buds with Vyen



~Loyalties/Titles~

-Bound to Red Reverence
-Proudly beholds the rank of Mercenary
-Aspires to become a Templar
-Past ranks of Recruit
**-Now runs as loner(though still helps out Reverence time to time)



~Battle Record~

-Fights: 3
-Wins: 3
-Ties:
-Losses:
-Kills: 2



~Structure~

-Height: That of a large male Arctic Wolf
-Weight: 190 lbs
-Build: Godfather has a lean look to him, yet a muscular stature underneath his thick coat



~Stats~

-Speed: 6/10
-Stamina: 7/10
-Strength: 8/10
-Physical Health: 95%
-Mental Health: 90%



~Affinities~

-A V-shaped scar splays across his left shoulder
-He has a bad knee on his back right leg



~Personality~

-Traits: Loyal, protective, possessive, caring, sarcastic, humorous, observant, persistent, smart, cunning, vengeful, relaxed, and more that I can't think of lmao


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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
-King Henry V