DarkWolf (aka DW)
Father: Night Wolf – Dead
Mother: Roanoke – Alive (where abouts unknown)
Age: Unknown (but some beleave he was born in the 1400’s)
Hair Color: Unknown (due to the fact that he can change who and how he looks no one knows)
Eyes Color: Unknown (due to the fact that he can change who and how he looks no one knows)
Weight: Unknown (due to the fact that he can change who and how he looks no one knows)
Hang outs: Club Purgatory (is where he conducts his day to day affairs)
Vehicle: Suzuki Hayabusa ( A 1340cc in-line 4-cylinder fuel injected, DOHC liquid-cooled engine with 16-valves and Twin Swirl Combustion Chambers)
Two Pistol, Caliber .45, Automatic, M1911A1 (Silver plated Desert Eagles)
Ammo: Hollow point .44 Magnum loads (made out of .925 Silver)
The Benelli M4 Super 90 (Combat Shotgun 12ga)
Ammo: 12g Buckshot/Slugs (All .925 Silver rounds)
Long ago, the people told stories of a nameless evil that wandered the lands bringing misery, fear, and death to the tribes. They had a word for this monster…Roanoke the skinwalker. I had another name for this beast, I called her mother. One night under the shining light of a blood moon she came across a kindred being, my father. He was accursed, doomed to change into an engine of rage and fury. A beast who’s thirst for carnage and death, for fear and depravity rivaled her own…at least for three nights of the month. She saw a fellow monster and took him for her own. Over the years the fire that burned in her breast for her chosen mate lessened until she could not stand the frail form that he was forced into for most of his time. Together they gave birth to an accident, a half-breed of the supernatural realms, me. My mother detested my father but began to see me in the light of mate instead of offspring. This was unacceptable to me, but she thought that my father was the only thing standing between us. She rose up on my 15th birthday and struck him down, calling for me to take up the mantle of her mate. I tore out my fathers fangs and took his totem of power from his waist and set out to take my vengeance on the monster.
The shaman of the tribes I met directed me to a holy man, one of extreme power. His name was Listens to Wind and he was a wizard. He took the items from me, my only ties to the father that would never see me grow to manhood and over the next months forged them into an item of power. The item allowed me to take on the indestructible nature of my father so long as I wore it. He tried to shine a light into the blackness of my soul but the only light that I saw was the red light of hate. Together we traveled out to a small island, an unoccuppied island that no sane man would want and called to my mother. For seven days and seven nights we chanted. Our voices rose and fell, our muscles ached, and we grew weary. Then she was there. Together with Listens to Wind, I trapped my mother on that forsaken stretch of land and named it Roanoke Island. That was to be her tomb forever, or at least it was until foolish white men came and disturbed her. They released her and she began to seek me out, but I am my mothers child and my fathers son. I would not be found so easily.
I travelled the world researching the occult. I delved into mysteries of every religion and race. In the 1940’s I found myself in Germany working for a man that I thought at the time was a visionary. Hitler with his love of the occult, with his need to tame the supernatural, had me doing any and all that was related to the other worlds. I was second in command of his Occult division, carrying out assassinations, stealing information and artifacts, and doing everything that the Reich demanded. In 1945 during the fall of the Third Reich, Hitler ordered all information, artifacts, and those with knowledge of such activity in Germany killed. The division head came for me, his orders to end my life and safegaurd the projects that we had overseen together. What he hadn’t counted on was my own supernatural aspects. I shifted into my beast and gave freedom to my bloodlust rending him into bits, only the fine spray of blood left hanging in the air. As I slowly shifted into my human disquise again I saw him, another man sent to end the projects, only this one was employed by the Allies. I could feel the mark of authority and power on this man, and Chuck Finley gave me the opportunity I needed. Together we made our way to the States, where I was pressed into service doing the same jobs the Nazi’s had required of me. I grew bored of the monotony though and with Agent Finley managed to fake my own death and have worked as a consultant and “mechanic” since.
Years after my initial contact with Chuck Finley, he had kept me in a fairly steady stream of work. He didn’t ask much, only that when he needed help that I assist no questions asked. One such favor came from Finley’s partner, an Agent Silver. Immediately upon seeing the thing approach me I knew he wasn’t mortal. The way he carried himself, his demeanor, even the way he looked at the mortals told me he was a hunter. He asked me to break into two buildings and retrieve sensitive information of a national security nature. I refused. Nothing is worth losing my freedom and things with national security in them tend to get you into trouble quickly. That was when he played his Ace in the hole. He showed me a file. Clipped to the top was a picture of the monster, Roanoke. He offered me the file in it’s entirety in exchange for the work. I agreed, information on the monster would help to keep me one step ahead of it. It didn’t hurt that he also paid me three times my standard fees. I went out and performed the jobs, the residential was easy as sneaking in and going through his files. The buisness office took some doing though. It was in the Pentagon. It took me the better part of three days, shifting into items that wouldn’t be noticed, slowly but surely moving my way down halls an inch an hour. Finally I was able to retrieve what was required and it took me another three days to exit the facility. I delivered the information to Agent Silver and a few days later the target was indicted, some General named Oliver North.
Not everything is sugar cookies and Miller’s though. I recently ran into this toad of a jap. He was a seargent in the Washington D.C. police department and was looking to climb ranks. I came across a bit of information that would virtually assure anyone in it’s possession would rise quickly and surely through the mortal police department. I negotiated with the little slant eyed bastard, got him the information, got him into office, and was promptly told that he wasn’t going to be doing any favors for me period. There’s never a corrupt cop around when you need one.
Today I survive as a soldier of fortune, a “mechanic”, fixing problems for those that need them fixed. I don’t do jobs I don’t like, that don’t feel right, or for people that piss me off. If you’ve got the money, the body, or a friend of mine that doesn’t mind pulling my string you might be able to hire me. If not, you might get eaten.