Character Name: Murdock 'Kerrie' Kerr
Nickname: Kerrie or Kerr, loathes first name.
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Grade: Townie
Subject:
Race: Werewolf
Play-by: George Blagden
Appearance:

Standing at 5 feet, 8 inches makes Kerrie rather meagre in comparison to others of his breed. He isn’t well built, rather more slender and lean as he doesn’t eat the required amount each day to keep muscled in any way. His slim form does of course hide the sheer power his mutation causes and he is almost always twitching with unburnt energy. His hair is a mess of dark curls, raven black with a slight hue of red in certain lights. It is dashed through with silver as he turns prematurely grey due to the stress of the Lycanthrope disease. His dark hair contrasts greatly with his pale, milky skin and rather smooth features. Stubble often traces across his jawline as he is usually too lazy to shave. His eyes are a pale, colourless tone that change hue within different lights. They can appear blue, green or silver/grey depending on the amount of light. These are highlighted by the dark, purple bruises under his eyes due to nights of staying awake drinking. His movements are hindered by a limp from his left leg where the bite scar lies. The crushing blow of jaws and shattered bones and mangled flesh and despite his high-rate of healing, the bite scar never fully heals. It can become stiff with prolonged periods of rest or cold weather. His clothing is usually well worn as he drinks away his money and his family were never rich to begin with. [Human form]


As most Werewolves are, he is littered with scars from is excursions. Most eventually dull to thin, white lines or fade completely. Most notable are the burn scars around his throat from being chained with silver during the days of the ‘Dog-Fighting’ that now appear as shiny blotches. He has two tattoos, one of which is a small Celtic knotted crescent moon with three stars behind his right ear. [Moon Tat]
The second is an egg-sized shaded wolfs bust that covers the small of his back, which he drew himself. [Wolf Tat]

Personality:

Self-Destructive Hobby: Kerrie rather loathes himself and is currently trying to drink himself to death. Though for a werewolf, this is a difficult task to complete. He spends most of his days drinking some form of alcohol, no matter what the time. As it takes well over a barrel of wine to get himself drunk he sometimes resorts to thievery from local breweries or pubs to keep his stock up as he simply cannot afford the expensive hobby he has picked up. To see him sober is a rare sight indeed, as this is how he copes with The Wolf that presses on his senses as The Wolf can’t function under the influence and can hardly even work up a growl. The drink keeps him sedated and rather numb to outside influences.

Cynical Words: Kerri is a cynic in every sense of the word. He believes the world is a dark and empty place and all people within it are selfish. He doesn’t hesitate to point this out to those naïve and optimistic, often challenging others in their beliefs. He doesn’t believe in anything himself and is not afraid to look at the dark-side to everyones bright-side. Often sarcastic in his words, his humour is dark and his outlook usually considered bleak. The only thing he takes passion in, other than his drinking, is his art. If he can pick art over alcohol, he feels less ashamed of himself for it.

Innately Kind: Despite being near-constantly drunk and a challenging person to get to know, Kerrie is very warm-hearted. He often goes to bars, not just to drink, but to surround himself with other people. He enjoys hearing their stories, even if he does challenge them in some details. Despite his cynical tendencies and dark nature due to the Lycanthrope disease, he is never bitter nor does he lash out at others. Though he would deny it, he is a moral person and just wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he caused others pain. Though ready to jump into any good Bar Brawl, he never uses his full strength and makes sure those injured are taken care of. He loves his friends dearly and is loyal to a fault. He doesn't believe in anything, but he does believe in those he loves.

History:

Kerrie was born in the heart of Scotland to loving parents (Alistar and Iona) and a proud, if distant, elder brother. His elder brother, Tavis, was always a role-model to Kerrie. Cool and calm under all circumstances, unlike Kerrie who was loud and emotional, he seemed to be the best brother in existence. Tavis regarded his younger brother fondly though tried to discourage the kid from trying to be just like him. Kerrie always had a love of art and was drawing almost before he could talk. He aspired to make great masterpieces and to one day be a famed and well-respected artist.

During the winter, eight years after Kerries’ birth, Tavis was killed in a car accident. A young, hot-headed driver hurtled towards him in icy conditions as he raced his friends and there was nothing Tavis could do to stop the collision. The young driver survived though broke his leg and both arms. While Kerries’ parents grieved over the loss of their eldest, Kerrie just felt angry. He blamed the young driver though when the police did fine the lad and his new licence was revoked, Kerrie felt a great admiration for the police and their efforts.

The family moved town a lot after the death of Tavis and their money slowly dwindled away to nothing as his father stopped working due to his grief. They couldn’t provide for themselves or, more importantly, their only son properly. His mother tried her hardest, going to job interviews every other day but never had the qualifications to get a well-paying job.

When Kerrie turned 14, his life was altered forever. He was attacked while he wandered the streets of yet another new town under the misty glow of the new moon. A great, horrible beast descended upon him from the shadows and even as he tried to run, it caught him roughly by his midsection and threw him to the ground. He had kicked and struggled, but long, powerful jaws had slammed shut over his leg and crushed down until bones splintered. He had screamed his agony to the empty streets, but no one would come out here because every other day a new person was stabbed in a fight over drugs, and struggled against the interlocking teeth in vein. The beast was chased off however, just as Kerrie fell unconscious.

When he awoke, he was chained in heavy, thick shackles that burned his skin until it bled. He had been caught by an organisation of people that specialised in people trafficking but not the human kind.
They stole werewolves from the street, even let lose their own victims so they could bring them more, and kept them here in this large cement space that had to be connected to the sewers. Every Full and New moon, they set the beasts against one another in a grisly sport of ‘Dog-Fighting’. All kinds of Supernatural and human scum would show up to place bets and watch the creatures rip one another to shreds. Females were kept in silver-barred cages and if they failed the qualifications needed for the brutal fighting, they were kept as prostitutes, drugged constantly to keep them from becoming animalistic.

After four years in the ‘Dog-Fights’, Kerrie was all but lost to his animalistic side. When they were fed, he fought and bolted down the meat like a savage. When he fought, he ripped into his opponent with only the thought of survival and self-defence.

Finally, the ‘Sports Arena’ was raided by a heavy duty squad of Riot Police. Most of the Werewolves were too far gone to be saved and had to be shot on site. The rest were rounded up and taken to a high security hospital for supernaturals. The people who ran the operation were either shot on the seen or taken in to face the charges of People Trafficking, very few managed to escape and are still being hunted.

Kerrie was set to be put-down as he proved to have lost his mind to The Wolf but his parents came frantically to try and take him home.
They’re sobs and desperate cries brought him back to himself, if only slightly. He managed to choke out their names, the first time he had spoken in years.

He spent three years in a ‘rehab’, relearning how to be human once more. As soon as he was able, he studied in depth about his own breed and every other supernatural. He had been fascinated with them before but now he was driven by fear to know everything about them.

He knows that despite his parents taking him in, they are terrified of him. This causes them great grief and Kerrie can’t cope with knowing he’s making his parents hate themselves for hating their supernatural son. He took up drinking as easily as breathing and even though it is hard for a werewolf to even get drunk, let alone sustain a hangover, Kerrie induces enough to make sure he is ill the next day. Penance and all that.

He is restless and twitchy as a person, wanting to escape from the cloud of grief his home holds.

Name: Hachi
Your Age: 16
Other Characters:

None.

Contact Information:

PM (Or try Vet, my secretary.)

How you found us:

Through Vet

Sample Post:

Shouts echoed through the old, dank house. They made the silence seem deafening whenever they would pause to draw breath. They filled every corner and seeped into every crack. The thin, water-damaged walls could not stifle them as they whipped sharply through the stale air of the rooms, cutting through the dust and silence the rooms held.

Kerrie heaved out a tired sigh, pressing a hand to his throbbing temples. Whether they were pounding because of his parents arguing or the alcohol he had ingested was unclear. Either way, he scrubbed the heel of his hand into the heated hollows of his eyes and glanced tiredly around the gloomy little room he had claimed
for himself. It’s four walls were a depressing shade of mouldy cream and the dull wooden floor had long ago lost its’ shine. The tiny window that served as his light source since he owned neither lamp nor bulbs, was dirty and smeared with mould and ivy creeping up its’ outside pane of glass. Moonlight flooded in from the tiny opening and tried its’ damnedest to light up Kerries’ dark room. He smirked at the feeble glow, pale eyes hard as he observed the weak, trailing fingers of light trying to work their way across the floor.

He threw down his paintbrush with a groan as another shout rattled from the kitchen, his parents battleground for the night. The face staring up at him from his canvas looked distressingly blank, eyes soulless as they had yet to be given a shine. With all the screaming he guessed he wasn’t finishing this piece tonight. Or maybe not ever.

He groped around his spindly desk, other hand shoving his thick, curled bangs from his eyes as he grabbed for the bottle he had set down earlier. He tipped it to his lips and drank deeply, the Scotch searing down his throat like liquid fire. He sighed, feeling the alcohol set fire to the acids of his stomach. As the flames licked at his stomach lining, he turned his gaze to the large, white door that led to his room.

He knew what they were fighting about. The same thing they fought about every night. Him. The Full moon had been but two nights ago and that busted cellar they managed to snag with this creaky old house was not going to hold a hunger-maddened werewolf for another night. Something needed to be done but what? Get a new house with a new cellar? They couldn’t afford that. Reinforce the cellar they had already, perhaps buy a new door? Again, that cost money.

Kerrie hummed to himself lightly, raising the bottle to his lips once more. He needed to leave, he knew. This was too much for his poor, tiny family to deal with. The Wolf gave a sleepy grumble from the back of his mind, stirring only slightly as more alcohol rushed up to meet it. With enough practice, he could perhaps sedate the wolf enough that it would just curl up and sleep during the full and new moons. Perhaps.

He looked around the dreary space and made a snap decision. He packed up his paints, carefully cleaned his paintbrushes before storing them aswell. He packed all his art supplies, a few old photographs and the little of clothing he owned into a worn down satchel from his school days. Traveling it was.

He had already looked into some apartments he could rent around the area but he decided he wanted out of this town completely. He would have to travel on foot but then, he was a Werewolf. A fully grown one aswell, a rare sight indeed. A smirk graced his features as he slung on the satchel, took another drink from his bottle, which was getting very close to empty, and made his way down the shrieking stairs that led to the upper floor.

In all seriousness, this house was obviously never supposed to have an upper floor. It all looked ready to collapse in on itself at any moment. There was even a cupboard under the stairs that you couldn’t open because the damn thing was keeping the stairs up!

He grabbed the beat up, leather jacket that had once belonged to his brother and slipped it on. It was light on but still held that faint hint of good leather and his brothers aftershave. He leant against the kitchen doorframe, which didn’t actually have a door since they had used it for the cellar, and observed his parents.

His mother, small, thin with hair that was already grey and eyes that were sunken gravely into her bony face, looked close to tears. She often did these days. His
father, tall and imposing but not nearly half the bulk he used to have, was standing straight and shouting his words hoarsely. Kerrie tuned them out, having heard the words uttered in too many different variations to count. They all meant the same thing in the end. We have no money, we can’t provide for Kerries’. . .sickness. Something has to give.

Finally, his father lost his bluster and turned wearily to Kerrie.

“What is it, son?”

His voice was rough with emotion and overuse. Kerrie offered him a grin, nodding politely to his mother in turn.

“I believe it is time I went traveling. See the world a bit, you know, before I die next year.”

He states lightly, knowing that at the end of this year his hair would be as grey as his mothers.

His mother chokes on a gasp and his father stares at him aghast. Kerrie sighed tiredly, fingers itching to be around the neck of the bottle in his satchel.

“Traveling? Have you gone mad, boy? Your. . .condition does not allow for you to just stride around willy-nilly. You need to be contained, otherwise. . .”

“I know. There are facilities that are open to any werewolves in need of them during those times. I will be watched.”

His father was an ashy grey colour, mother sobbing silently on the edge of their conversation. He gave another sigh, pushing off the doorframe and entering the room fully.

“I have to leave, we all know this. The longer I stay, the more chance of someone getting slaughtered in their sleep. There’s still money in my College fund, use that, since I’m not going now.”

They both seemed shocked into silence. Kerrie knew this was due to their conflicting thoughts. Damn it all, they wanted him gone. They were scared of him. But all the same, he was their son. Their only son now.

He didn’t wait for them to reply, just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his mother in a hug. She stiffened at first before collapsing into him with a soft sob. She clutched him tightly, whispering that she was sorry repeatedly. He felt a touch to his head and looked up to his father, who gripped his dark curls briefly before nodding sharply.

That night wasn’t the happiest memory of his family but even now, he looks to it dearly. He never drank himself to sleep that night, he wanted to remember what the cold streets felt like and the feeling of walking away from his only family.

congratulations, mister kerr. after going over your transcript, and deciding how well you'd fit in here at Cry Wolf High, we have decided to accept your request to join us! please go take the time to go to the directory, and the sign ups to complete your enrollment. once done, head over to the office, and complete your schedule here! thank you!

School Enrollment Administration