Jour 1, Résidence Maganti, matin
Se réveiller avait été étonnamment agréable, pas de cauchemars, se réveiller et ne pas retourner dormir, pour la première fois depuis longtemps il avait obtenu une nuit pleine de sommeil et il se sentait bien. Il se réveilla d'habitude avec un regard de douleur et de désespoir dans ses yeux, et il fit de son mieux tout au long de la journée pour le couvrir de sourires et de rires légers. Aujourd'hui c'était différent cependant, aujourd'hui Dante se sentait bien et prêt à sortir et à commencer à vivre. Il a fait sa routine normale du matin, et quand il venait de s'habiller l'odeur du bacon et des crêpes a envahi ses narines. Il portait un sweat à capuche rouge, un jean noir déchiré, et des fourgonnettes arrière, simples et prêtes au travail. Lorsqu'il atteignit la salle à manger, sa mère et sa grand-mère s'asseyaient là à manger, la table était assez grande pour accueillir sept personnes, mais trois d'entre elles n'avaient jamais été celles qui l'utilisaient. Sa grand-mère a insisté pour qu'ils mangent en famille le matin et la nuit, et comme elle passait bientôt à autre chose, il ne l'obligeait que par respect pour elle.
Depuis le retour de Dante il y a un an, ces petits-déjeuners/dîners de famille avaient été assombris par sa douleur et sa colère envers sa grand-mère, bientôt cette colère s'est transformée en haine et tout simplement aversion pour sa grand-mère. La seule raison pour laquelle il est revenu était qu'elle était mourante, et qu'il voulait être là quand elle a donné un coup de pied au seau, elle a tué son premier amour et maintenant la magie qu'elle a utilisée lui rattrape pour qu'il ne soit là qu'à sa mort. Chacun sait ce que l'autre fait, il n'y a pas de motivations cachées ni de sentiments d'agression passive. Elle sait que Dante la déteste, mais la vieille femme était têtu et ne voulait pas s'excuser pour ce qu'elle a fait. Dante mangeait avec une expression agréable, tout le monde voyait cela mais même sa mère savait que cela ne signifiait pas la conversion. Elle n'était pas dans son bon livre non plus, elle a regardé comme cela s'est passé et ne se souciait pas de l'avertir ou même essayer de l'arrêter, ils ont toujours parlé, mais ce ne serait plus jamais la même chose.
Après le petit déjeuner maladroit, il ne restait plus qu'à prendre son sac et aller travailler. "Est-ce que tu te sens bien, tu as l'air différent?" Sa mère l'a demandé en sortant de la porte, elle était heureuse de voir son fils sourire à nouveau.
"Tout est bien maman, super en fait. Je pense que je devrais peut-être trouver quelque chose pour ruiner ma journée. On se voit ce soir et on m'appelle s'il se passe quelque chose." Dante a dit avec un vrai sourire, puis a fermé la porte derrière lui. Il a peut-être été nuageux à l'extérieur, mais c'était lumineux à l'intérieur de son cœur et il allait tenir sur sa nouvelle lumière trouvée.
Eovald Ornn

{ "Only death can finish the fight, everything else only interrupts the fighting." }
Hunted || Black and White || Doing what must be Done
| {Full Name} |
Eovald Thomas Ornn
| {Nickname} |
The Witcher Hunter
| {Date of Birth} |
November/11
| {Age} |
123
| {Gender} |
Male
| {Sexuality} |
Hetero
| {Relationship Status} |
It is...complicated
| {Role} |
Werewolf-Hunter
| {Occupation} |
Scamming, stealing
| {Face Claim} |
Geralt of Rivia
| {Dialogue Color} |
708090
| {Appearance} |
Grey slick hair thrown back. Grey eyes that turn black when he is in werewolf or wolf form and loses his restraining tattoo enchantments. His body is riddled with scars. Bullet scars, knife cuts but the most noticeable is the cut in his eye. A permanent reminder of his past mistakes. That one scar is present even when he transforms while the others are mostly covered by fur and not very noticeable.
His attire consists of formal clothing. Shirt, jacket, coat, pants, shoes, those are his usual clothes. Many times he has worn different wears to better blend in with the crowd of a specific place. Even with the coat on you can see his defined musculature and bigger than average body, both in height and size.
His partial transformation greatly enhances his size. The muscle size multiples showing his true strength, bringing it to the surface.
His legs change shape as the ankle part bends backwards with long paws ending in long sharp claws, same as in his hands. His face elongates becoming more canine with the jaw drastically widening and the teeth are pushed out as they become bigger, longer and sharper. His whole head transforms into that of an wolf's with little to no resemblance of the human anatomy. Dark grey fur comes out and covers his entire body from head to toe, also with a tail emerging in his hind, an extension of his spine. What little resemblance is left to his previous human body mask can only bee seen by how the beast can stand on 2 paws and still possessing mostly human arms but even those are longer. 
| {Habits & Quirks} |
Too dominant in a relationship
Gets unhinged when the target escapes
Finishing inside
| {Hobbies} |
Travelling
Hunting for sport
Hunting other things besides witches

| {Likes} |
Hunting witches
Burning magical books
Innocence
Honesty
Good food
Good liquor
Good sex

| {Dislikes} |
Oath breakers
Liars
Schemers
Death of the innocent
Witches
Magic
Manipulative people
| {Fears} |
Losing his way
Not being able to find the target
Not being able to kill the target

| {Secrets} |
A secret that even he doesn't know. His lover and life partner raise didn't really die. Indeed there was a body there but it wasn't of the real Raise, it was the witches. In fact, raise didn't even exist, a ritual to drink your opponents blood has never been practiced by their tribe of wolfs. He never spent hours on end with his lover in his arms. All false memories. And the cherry on top, he didn't really kill the witch. He killed his own sister who was away during the ritual. He was but just a killing machine with the reins belonging to the witch.
| {Abilities} |
-Tracking his targets. He has a keen mind and gut instinct to pin point where the person of interest has gone. After years spent working in forensic science in Homicide he can get a pretty clear playback of what happened at a crime scene. Which is usually what he comes across while hunting vampires, other stray werewolves and young witches who decided to perform a ritualistic sacrifice some fine night and leave the dead corpse behind.
-Healing factor, supernatural strength, speed, senses.

| {Limitations} |
While his tracking skills have honed with the years, his other physical capabilities have diminished. His nose isn't as sharp as it used to be and that comes with sensory memory also. He needs to take a whiff of that blood more frequently to stay on track of his prey. He is bigger than your average werewolf, rivaling even the most fearsome Alphas but as it comes with age he has become slower, taking some tenths of a second longer to respond, a thing which is quite deadly while in a hostile environment. If it ever reached a full second of delay he might as well start digging his grave. Not only his reaction time, but also his running speed, stamina and the healing factor a bit.
| {Personality} |
♦ Trustworthy ♦ Merciless ♦ Calm ♦ Unstable ♦
He has gone through many trials to arrive where he is. Everything that he passed has served as a lesson to him. Honor, an oath,
the traditions of a race/country/people are to be treated as sacred. They are what makes that people and straying from that culture is to betray your people and most of all betray yourself. He has an utmost despise for people who treat different cultures with disrespect or berate their holidays and traditions. More so for people who have forsaken their own culture and lineage. But he isn't a hypocrite. He has fixed his ways and for the last 100 years has never gone back on his set path. They are more than humans, he is more than a human. Werewolves have a set of rules and codes that must be ultimately followed. Only death awaits those who undermine them.
He is logical and calculative. He has to be to see clearly, to analyze a crime scene and see the connections between the murders and the perpetrator. An art form which he has mastered to the highest degree. Most don't have the lifetime and the senses of an werewolf to truly perfect a profession but he has had a fully century and more to master his trade. He enters and leaves a place as a passerby since his profession requires him to travel all across the states. Nobody knows his true identity, nobody knows his true purpose or the real him under that human guise and that's for the best. If someone laid eyes upon his full unmasked form they would leave their sanity behind with the horror that they witnessed. 
| {Place of Origin} |
England, North Yorkshire. Migrated to the U.S. after W.W.II
| {Background} |
As long as he can remember he was always part of the pack. There were always people that he could count on, people like him,
his family. They taught him how to track his prey hunt when he was 7, that's when he caught his first rabbit. They taught him how to vet humans when he was 10. They taught him to study their agenda, their every move, writing everything down. They showed him how to make someone disappear and who to pick. He didn't quite understand why they had to hide and cower, operating from the shadows like they were inferior to humans until he was 13. They gave him a sleeping solution and a piece of cloth in order to neutralize his target. He failed spectacularly to say the least. His first mistake was lack of study. They were supposed to study their targets for weeks but he cut the corner and only followed him for a couple of days. If he was more patient he would have known that the target wouldn't be alone this night as all his family would be joining over. He was caught by the other members dragging his body away towards the forest. He was attacked, he got enraged, he transformed, he killed everyone there. It was a lot easier to just hunt people who entered the woods in their wolf forms. People would just blame these attacks to wild beasts. But there weren't enough humans that traveled in to the woods or to better put it, killing everyone who stepped into the woods would lead to a mob hunt of whatever beasts lay there. He did just that. Ripped apart 7 people.
At least the Olympic Games would be held in London that year. He knew he could run faster than any of those hairless monkeys.
Turning 18 he was a fully accomplished adult werewolf. He had learned from his past mistakes and gotten the hang of the "Vanishing Act". Others were starting to see potential in him. His size for one which was bigger than those his age and his dominant personality, all showed promise for him to serve as a challenger to the current Alpha. Schemes started plotting and before long the group was split in 2 as it always did when a challenger emerged. There were those who placed their bets on him and those who "predicted" his fantastical failure resulting in his death. Not long before this started in 4 August 1914 the British Empire went to war with Germany. This however didn't affect the werewolves. What humans did with their time was of no concern to them, more so since the enlistment was voluntary. That all changed when he turned 20. He was conscripted. Just kidding. He claimed a form of exemption and didn't end up going anyway. It could compromise his origin and all that blood would be too over simulating. The loud ear deafening noise wouldn't help either. But not going to war was the least of his problems...
Not only a year after an inner war among the pack members had formed. They had been in a state of unrest with the pack leader for decades now. They wanted a change and they gave in to temptation. They made the first move and poisoned the pack leader. The most dishonorable thing they could do but the worst was yet to come. They asked the young now-Alpha werewolf to desecrate the dead body in order to fake battle scars. He knew how wrong it was but like a cog in a more complicated machine he did his part. And to add the final touches they gave him a deep cut on the left side of his head, running to his eye. For all the grandeur tittle of Alpha, he really had no power on running the pack. But the position came with its perks. He had married the daughter of the previous leader, Raise. A white haired beauty who turned into a white werewolf, same lineage as her father. Every time he laid eyes on her he felt guilt, guilt of breaking the customs, guilt of betrayal. She saw this as guilt for just killing her father in an honorable duel and took it as a sign of caring...all the more reason to feel guilty. There comes a point where tribal customs cross paths with more intricate behavior and scheming that is more akin to human customs. Now they were more humans than werewolves. A frightening thought indeed. Their plans? Why, for werewolves to replace humans as the ruling race of course. In the next 5 years they made all the necessary plans to begin the large mass conversions. Until then they had turned high ranking officials, people of interest who had influence and now they had to make their army by turning the most physically capable, strong and healthy people to werewolves. It was called project "New Moon".
The operation was due this month. Some awaited it impatiently, others feared the outcome while others wanted nothing to do with the pack anymore. The Alpha was part of the latter. He didn't want this but at the same time he also had no say in this. Now more than ever he was kept under tight supervision, keeping him in line. If he wanted to do something he had to kill his own family who was constantly watching over him. As I said, he had no say in this. To mark the new beginning they were planning to perform one last old tribal ritual. Drinking the blood of your fallen enemy to mark a new beginning. The old Alpha was dead, what old blood? His wife's, Raise's. He blacked out upon learning this fact, only to be awoken in the middle of a graveyard. Glasses of her blood in the ground and dripping from their mouths. The pale girl now paler than ever lay above the stone table, hanging by her feet with her throat open and her blood completely drained out. They schemed like humans, drank blood like vampires, when did they forget what it meant to be a werewolf? The blood reeked. There was something off about the smell,it...it felt wrong and it made his hair stand on end. Magic. What could it be else? He had never met or faced a witch before but he had knowledge of his pack dealing with them. But the witch didn't set him up, the witch wasn't responsible for killing his wife. The witch wasn't about to bring the end of human civilization in Britain as we know it. But the witch was the only thing left alive from this ordeal and although it wasn't responsible for most of it, it was the main cause of his family dying. Rather than explain what happened to the rest of the pack he just left. The main leaders gone, the plan wouldn't go through anymore. Most of who were left still supported the last Alpha. He had no place there but he had one last thing to do. Hunt the witch and kill it.
It took him 3 years to find the corrupted thing and after an excruciating battle it was dead. Funny how it acted like a friend at first, trying to get to his good side. It just made it easier for him to throw the first slash. A few years later WW2 started and with nothing else to do in that country he conscripted to the war. Battles after battles with campaigns taking him from one front to the other, it all went in a blur. He wasn't present for the distribution of the medals and honorary titles. He had long since gone past the point of being honorable and valiant. After the war he went overseas to the U.S. Since then he has been hunting witch after witch. With time diluting his memory of what happened blaming the witches for everything that took place that night. They were the ones influencing his family to behave like that, they were the ones putting charms and spells to stop him from putting an end to that madness. And he would hunt each and every last one of them. 
| {Extra} |
Speaks fluent English and German. Can recognize some words from tens of different languages, even ancient ones. A necessary skill to have to know the origin of the spell.