Age: 23 [March 16, 1985]
Race: Lycanthrope
Orientation: Heterosexual
Marital Status: The loving boyfriend of Carla
Bio: Seth was turned in one of the worst ways possible. He had been selected and hunted for years by a werewolf who took interest into men and boys. Seth suspected something had been going on, that he was being followed, so he ran. He had been in many places all over the world, only staying a few weeks at a time before once again relocating, making it harder for the werewolf to track him.
However, he had been found in St. Petersburg, Russia. The werewolf was notified, and Seth had been cornered by the creature's followers. He fought them, trying to get away, but ended up getting beaten, not knowing that his capturers were not human. He hadn't believed in such things then.
That was how the werewolf had found him, bloodied, one eye almost completely swollen shut, surrounded by his servants. Even though Seth could barely move, his eyes still pierced the werewolf's with a fiery passion to live. The werewolf took it upon himself to snuff the flame, for he could not have a pet with a will more powerful than his own. That's what he had intended to make Seth, a pet, a toy.
He ordered his slaves to keep watch, and not to bother the two until he deemed it appropriate. They left obediently, leaving Seth to the werewolf.
He had been thrown up against the wall of the alley before he even knew what was what. His head spun. His eyes crossed, then clarified and widened when he felt the man's tongue on his neck, his hands working the clasp of his pants. Understanding set in, and even though he had a fair few broken ribs, he tried to get away. He knew what was happening, and he would be damned if he just let it happen.
His fight was fruitless, and soon, the man had him, causing Seth to cry out in pain, tears falling freely as the man pounded into his unwilling body, moaning into his ear and licking his neck. Seth had never felt so dirty.
When the man orgasmed into him, he also sank his teeth into Seth's neck, preforming a quick Turning ritual. Seth had long since given up his struggle, and just stood limply against the wall, his breath shallow.
They had left him there, bloodied, bruised and broken, in an alleyway in St. Petersburg. It was five days until someone had found him. He was barely alive when he reached the hospital, and was immediately put onto life-support. The doctors worked quickly, preforming necessary surgeries. He had been the talk of the hospital for weeks, the beautiful American who had been raped and bitten in the streets. It was unheard of. Many of the nurses visited him, talking to him, even though he couldn't understand them.
He was awake after the first week, staring around the hospital emotionlessly. When doctors or nurses tried to touch him, he would scream and pull away, or fight out of their grip. When they let go, he would silence and withdraw again. He listened to directions, for some of the doctors spoke English. He would follow the orders perfectly, robotically. The doctors knew that if this kept up he wouldn't survive.
Everything changed when the full moon of the following month rolled around. Almost overnight, everything healed, and he regained his will to live, though his eyes always seemed to have a gold rim about the irises, and held a certain feral glint the doctors were sure weren't there before.
It was soon after that he had found his artistic talents. He had been holed up in his bed all day, and was bored with the hustle and bustle of the hospital. He called one of his nurses, he spoke perfect Russian by now, and asked for a pencil and book of paper. If anything, he would be able to write, or draw, or something.
When he received them, a new power seemed to flow through him. He knew he could do anything he wanted. He had repositioned himself on his bed and stared out his window, his eyes not even on the paper which his pencil was flying over. He didn't need to, he knew it was there.
The nurses were shocked at the clarity of the sketch, at the professionalism. they began bringing in more art supplies, which they had paid for out of their own salaries, just to see him use them, to see his work once he was finished. They read landscape descriptions or person descriptions from books, amazed that he could draw perfectly to the description, filling in the areas that the words missed.
They started selling his works, and he quickly became famous in Europe. He had been released from the hospital, and had been living in an apartment. The nurses and doctors still visited him, asking for pictures to be painted or sketched, taking him flowers. He had grown very attached to them, to the city, but knew it couldn't last. He needed to leave. Something inside him was demanding it, and he knew he would be hurt again if he didn't.
So, a year after his trauma, he sold everything he owned in St. Petersburg and left, travelling to France. It was there that he learned about werewolves, about how they were turned. He was shocked. The scar on his neck looked exactly like the one depicted in the books and other art work.
He fell into instant denial, however at the full moon, he would remember turning into something inhuman, with fur, and claws. He had been walking along a river when it happened again. He had done it purposefully that time, to find out what he was. When he looked into the water, he could have fainted, for staring back at him were the intense golden eyes of a wolf.
He wanted to die. How could he allow such a monster to live? He had never hurt anybody, but he assumed it would have been only a matter of time. It was a while later that he realized he couldn't kill himself. It would be wrong. So he closed himself off and became cold once more, not allowing anyone to get close to him, in case he hurt them.
A few years later, he met up with a peculiar girl named Harusaki. She seemed to know what he was just by looking at him, and wasn't afraid of him. She would defend him against himself. She consoled him when he transformed. She just knew.
He grew very fond of her, and they began travelling together. She would answer all of his questions, whether the answers came off the top of her head, or she resorted to scrolls or books, she would answer them. She became like a sister to him. He owed her his life.
Appearance:
Human form:
Wolf form:
