Vargus

"Contrary to many myths and legends, Lycanthropes are far from mindless beasts." -Entry from The Lycanthrope Life As Vargus rips a bolt from the back of his slain target, the bloodlust gleaming bright in his eyes gives way to a fleeting glimpse of remorse. As an assassin, he is no stranger to taking lives, yet frequently he is haunted by lingering regret after he kills. What could possibly trouble such a seemingly remorseless killer? Vargus's life as an assassin began one bloody night. The Werewolves living in scattered camps across the Sanguis Mountains heard a great commotion coming from an abandoned mine. They arrived in time to see Vargus, feral with bloodlust, slaughtering a group of Vampiric pursuers sent to capture him. The violence with which he dispatched his foes was both horrific and impressive. After Vargus's battle madness wore away, the Werewolves approached him and learned his name. He refused to elaborate on his background, and they did not ask. They struck a deal. In exchange for a home among the Werewolf tribes, Vargus would put his skill with the crossbow to use, assassinating any Vampires that threatened the Werewolves. Vargus is comfortable with this arrangement and chooses to stay far away from others. He has never disclosed his true name, Luneir. After being experimented on by Vampires, Vargus was imbued with an uncontrollable rage that seizes him during battle, making him both lethal and unpredictable. His desire for violence is at constant war with his hatred for what he has become. So ashamed was he by his unnatural condition, that he chose to forget his former life and family. Better that they move on thinking he is dead than ever see the monster he has become. Vargus fills his days with a steady devotion to assassination, determined to put his curse to use. But the more he kills, the easier it becomes. He fears that one day he'll lose the final vestiges of Luneir and, with it, the remorse that comes with taking lives. Until then, he will continue to strike his enemies down with a rain of precisely aimed bolts.