Though in his late twenties pushing into thirty, Mykola has a certain boyish look about him all the same. His face is rounded, with high but unpronounced cheek bones and a soft jaw line frequently shaded by a few days growth of stubble. Other facial features are better defined; his brow is strong, chiseled and expressive with rather bushy eyebrows, sloping into a sharp, angular nose with a narrow bridge. His mouth is small, though his lips are full and well formed, resting above a strong chin with a deep cleft. Mykola’s hair is dark brown, though can appear almost blonde in some places when struck by the sun, contrasting with darkly tanned skin from much time spent in the sun.
Height/Weight - 5'11"
Hair Color/Eye Color - Dark Blonde/Blue
Generally speaking Mykola is a laid back individual seemingly without a malicious fiber in his being – though one should not be fooled by his easy going nature. He may typically reserve violence for a last resort, but Mykola has no qualms about resorting to bloodshed should a situation demand. While having remained something of a loner since he was first bitten – feeling his self-imposed isolation necessary for the safety of others – Mykola would willingly (and has done so many times) risk life and limb for those he cares for, and even strangers.
Despite his withdrawn façade, Mykola is an amicable individual capable of making friends easily enough. He has good, albeit oftentimes morbid, sense of humor and is (almost) always quick with a smile or to laugh at a joke. Like most young men he is not above some measure of rabblerousing in his free time
In contrast to his better qualities, Mykola is also prone to brooding somberness. His time overseas in the military left their mark on the young man, who suffers from a mild case of PTSD from his experience at war as well as survivor’s guilt. It is the latter which affects Mykola most, his inability to re-enlist leaving the soldier with the sense that he abandoned his brothers in uniform; the military had been the only place he ever felt truly at home, in spite of the horrors he has witnessed, and Mykola wrestles daily with his longing to be back in the company of his fellows.
Mykola is a large male, standing tall at the withers compared to his human height, and weighing in at almost ninety pounds of almost solid muscle, give or take a few. His muzzle is short and broad, protruding from a large, blocky head set with vivid gold eyes. Though his primary coat color is a deep shade of pitch, he is heavily silver phased lending his dense, soft coat a handsomely frosted appearance.
Wolf Pelt/Eye Color - Silver-Phase Black/Gold
Mykola came from a less than stable home situation, raised in border-line poverty by a single mother who moved frequently while working for the ICRC until he was about thirteen. His father was a sparse figure in his life far more often than not, a married man with a penchant for infidelity; of his four children, only the eldest daughter was legitimate and each of his three sons born by a different woman. Needless to say this didn’t make for the healthiest of familial relations; Mykola’s relationship with his siblings was always rocky at best, and violent at worst on those rare occasions they were around one another.
In spite of all this Mykola was a fairly upbeat youth who rarely let his unstable familial situation drag him down into the brooding mire so many young people flounder through in their teenage years. Though he did fairly well in school, college was never a place Mykola envisioned himself; rather, he enlisted in the marine corps on his seventeenth birthday and began what would have been – were it not for a dire twist of fate – a life-long career as a soldier.
In his career as a marine Mykola served all over the world, including multiple tours in the Middle East. His time in active combat affected him deeply, leaving scars that ran much deeper than flesh; but he was an adept soldier, and in spite of the negative aspects of his career the young man could never picture himself anywhere but the Corps.
But everything changed when Mykola was discharged from his second enlistment. Though he fully intended to sign up for another tour in the force, several close friends had decided their time in the military was over with; to celebrate their retirement the group retreated into the mountains for a week of hunting. It was on this trip that Mykola’s life was changed forever when a terrifyingly immense, rabid wolf – at least, that’s what they thought at the time – encroached upon their campsite. It attacked Mykola as he returned from the nearby creek, mauling him severely before being driven off by his companions. Cutting their trip short, one of his friends rushed Mykola back into town while the rest stayed in search of the wounded wolf – though the blood trail ended abruptly and it was never found. Back in town Mykola received treatment for his wounds, accompanied by a thoroughly unpleasant round of rabies vaccinations.
From there everything began to unravel. Mykola survived his first month as a werewolf through sheer dumb luck; his first shift was a gruesome one which left a trail of slaughtered animals in his wake. A trail that soon led a much older bitten – Daniel – to his doorstep. Still reeling in shock from the suddenness of it all Mykola could hardly refuse the aid that was offered, and for a brief time after he lived with the older man while learning the ropes.
It was Daniel who directed Mykola to Dawnbreak, suggesting the young bitten might have better luck taking up with a pack rather than trying to fend for himself. Uncertain of this course of action, but with little other options, Mykola made himself disappear. He left town without saying any good byes, taking with him only what he could stuff in the cab of his shabby old pick up, and made the haul to Alevskaya.
Well that was weird, Mykola thought to himself.
"Alright then, sir," was what he said aloud, nodding once. For the sake of politeness he dismounted the mare he was riding, leading her along behind while he followed the stranger back to the rest of the party.
He still wasn't entirely sure what the hell it was, but it was interesting.
"My name's Mykola," he answered, "thanks for the opportunity, by the way sir. And ah.. What should I call you?"
"Honestly that's closer to my preferred nickname than anyone here in the states has ever gotten," Mykola grinned in response to her statement, "how old were you when you moved?"
Mykola glanced down at the rifle strapped to a saddle holster - a requirement nowadays any time one of the hands took a horse off the ranch - then shook his head once, "I think I've got pretty much everything I need," he answered.
"Never that I've seen so far," Mykola shook his head once, "though I can't say we've encountered many - at least not since I've been able to recognize them," he ventured a little cautiously. He couldn't tell what this man was, but instinct said he wasn't human, "But she's a retired military dog, if that counts for anything. Been in the thick of things most can't even imagine and was always solid."
With the invitation repeated Mykola shifted in the saddle. The Savage River alpha had not explicitly forbidden any of the pack to go out in search of the thing, but it had been strongly discouraged in such a way that there wasn't much difference. Mykola gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a moment as he internally tossed about arguments and counters, "I'm game," he nodded in the end, then looked at the Malinois at his side, "assuming your dogs can work with Akelia here being present."
There were plenty of wolves in Dawnbreak that might have picked up on what was being referenced. Mykola, though, wasn't among them. His only thought was that none of this looked like any kind of affair legal for what he knew to be in season at the moment - not that he was inclined to make an issue of it either.
It was the slight clarification that perked his interest, "Beast? Are you referring to the... what's it called... Wendigo? That creature that's been terrorizing half the town?"
The horse carried him easily along the water's edge as they drew in closer to the party.. Mykola still couldn't quite figure out what the affair was about. The sight struck him as one to be expected as a Renaissance or medieval fair was being set and prepared, but Embershard was too remote a location for something like that.
As he neared one of the men approached. Mykola eased back on the reigns, watching the way the mare's ears seemed to prick forward intently at the individual, "Morning," he returned easily enough, snapping his fingers once when Akelia started to meander forward with her nose twitching. The dog sat down immediately and gave him a look, "Mind if I ask what all this is? Just to sate a little curiosity."
For a time after he'd been bitten on that fateful camping trip, Mykola had started to take the 'curiosity killed the cat' phrase to heart. When he'd first found himself in Dawnbreak he'd kept to himself. Avoided doing anything that would draw him out into unwanted trouble.
But along with that slowly built sense of security had come a tendency to stray more to the latter half of the phrase - where satisfaction 'brought the cat back' so to speak. Mykola glanced down at his dog while rubbing his shoulder. He was always a little wary bringing her around other canines without any kind of initial restraint on either side - mostly for the safety of the other dog. But the animals ahead behaved like hunting dogs which meant there wasn't much a chance of confrontation.
Mykola finally gave a half shrug to himself and nudged the mare on to come in a little closer to try and figure out what this was.
It had been about four years now since Mykola had been bitten and found himself in Dawnbreak. It had been a slow adjustment, but the former marine suddenly found himself comfortable there. He wasn't really sure when it had happened. Initially he'd come to town, picked up what was meant to be a fleeting job as a hand on Redford Ranch... and then he'd just never left.
He wasn't even sure how he'd become a member of the Savage River pack. It had just sort of happened. By the time he noticed...Well, it was said and done.
It was probably about time he found an actual apartment or house in town, rather than living in the ranch's bachelor pad quarters. Mykola liked the proximity to the animals, though, and that the location gave his malinois Akelia all the room she wanted to roam. It also left him the option of riding whenever he pleased.
Which was how the werewolf found himself riding up upon a strange sight as he approached Embershard Lake. Mykola eased back on the reigns of the mare he was riding as he took in the rather odd scene that greeted them. There was a small crowd unloading horses, dogs milling about - Mykola had to bark a sharp command at Akelia to keep her in place, and even still she was visibly wiggling.
For the moment Mykola hovered back and observed, trying to discern exactly what this was.
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