Ambrose Deon

Ambrose Xavier Deon

Biographical information
Vel Anir 21 years old
Physical description
Human Lycanthrope Male 1.68m / 5' 5" 51kg Pale Blonde Livid Blue Fair
Political information
Healer House of Virak Amber
Out-of-character information
yue-iceseal.deviantart.com


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Personal Details
Occupation
From a young age, Ambrose has acquired quite an affinity to healing and has been developing his medicinal skills over the past few years. His decision to becoming a fully-fledged healer was spurred along after becoming infected with lycanthropy. Although there were no rules against other races within Vel Anir, Ambrose knew it was wisest to keep his condition classified; especially with such a hazardous one. Fortunately, Ambrose was able to excel within his medicinal studies that he was able to secure a position as one of the House of Virak's healers, granting him escape from the enlistment of men in the Anirian Guard.


Personality ↴
Upon a first impression, Ambrose can be described as a charismatic yet gentle young man. By nature, Ambrose takes on a rather motherly role, often becoming extremely fussy over other people's wellbeing; especially those who are younger than him. Although it is clear that his caring nature only wields benevolent intentions, it can come across rather frustrating and annoying to those who do not know him well.

Since he was a mere child, Ambrose had a strongly held belief that success and equity was achievable without employing means of violence. Unfortunately, being born within the aggressive military fortress of Vel Anir, his belief outcasted him, causing many to mark him as cowardly and weak-hearted. Without his curative skills, Ambrose knew, without a doubt, that he was worth nothing more than dirt within such a city. However, he had heard legendary tales about the metropolitan city of Alliria and is currently working towards the goal of travelling there.

Ambrose has a rather feminine essence to him, leading his friends to nickname him 'Amber.' Unlike many of his male pals, Ambrose is hopeless within the field of fighting techniques as he lacks the resolve and the courage to step into the ring. He generally tends to take on a passive or surrendering stance, making him an easy victim for whoever he was pitched against in the sparring ring.


Skills & Abilities
Ambrose is very skilled within the field of medicine and healing. He especially excels in concocting formulas and potions and has gained a large level of experience with herbs and plants. Although he could hardly be considered a mage, Ambrose knows basic magic but only for protection and healing purposes.

Due to his lycanthropy, Ambrose receives the traits of a werewolf every full moon - an experience that he utterly despises. As a werewolf, Ambrose loses all rational sense and thinking, proving him to be a hazard to be around during his transformations. As a result, Ambrose keeps a regular check on the moon cycles and ensures that he is locked away far from civilisation when his transformation occurs.

Appearance

Ambrose takes after his mother, bearing her pale blonde hair and livid blue eyes. Over the years, Ambrose has chosen to grow out his hair, allowing it to cascade halfway down his back. Although Ambrose has not chosen to have any tattoos, a large section of his shoulder blades bare the mark of a werewolf's fangs from his first encounter with one. Despite various ointments that Ambrose has applied, he knew that it was a mark that would mar him for the entirety of his life.

As a werewolf, Ambrose's wolf form appears slightly smaller than the average lycanthrope; however, he still proves to be as deadly. His fur colour is primarily dark brown but is tinted with hints of gold, reflecting his original hair colour.
Backstory | Lycanthropy

Ambrose Xavier Deon was born in Vel Anir, alongside his younger brother Altair Jay Deon. Due to the mandatory enlistment of men into the Anirian Guard, Ambrose only vaguely remembers his Father as a mysterious figure. The Deon family couldn't be considered wealthy but they were well off due to the black-smithery business that his Mother and Grandparents ran.

Under his mother's protection, Ambrose and Altair often become too mischievous to remain confined within the fortress city of Vel Anir. Running a self-owned business was hard work and the two young boys were often left to entertain themselves; hence, venturing out into the spanning world beyond them.
Curiosity often got the better of the two brothers and they would frequently explore out an extra mile than they had promised.

It was on one of those childhood adventures that changed Ambrose and Altair's life - for the worst. As the siblings skimped the outskirts of a nearby forest, they found themselves following a sparkling gushing brook. It was a scene that Ambrose could still recall vividly, as if it was something out of a fairytale book. The meadows were prolific with flowers and the weather that day was the best it could've been. Needless to say, the two lost track of time as night descended upon them and the full moon shone brilliantly high in the sky.

He could still recall the feeling of his gut dropping as they both frantically attempted to retrace their steps back home, only to lose their bearings even more. But it was the sound of the snarl behind them, the gleaming and vicious yellow eyes that made Ambrose's heart almost force itself out of his chest. All he could remember from then was running, running, running. Running until his legs felt they were going to break, until there was no wind left in his chest. He kept running even when he heard his brother trip, even when he heard his brother scream in agony. He kept running with tears blurring his vision; trying to forget, trying to apologise, trying not to regret. But he was only human. And humans can't run forever.

He remembered panting in the grass, each breath a heaving pain, as the pound of the werewolf's footsteps neared. The brutal pain of it's fangs sinking into his back. He thought he saw his brother, crying out to him. Wasn't Ambrose meant to be the one that was supposed to protect him? Yet he left him, all out of his own selfishness. Out of his pathetic cowardice. And Ambrose wished he had died that night.


It was a miracle how Ambrose survived. His memory of that dreaded night remains foggy; only recalling snippets of it in his nightmares from time to time. His mother's crying voice. The pungent smell of herbs and bandages. His mother's argument with the doctors about putting him down. Lycanthrope. Monster. A danger to us all. Words that remained echoing in his head. How his mother persuaded them from killing him was no secret. After all, in Vel Anir, money talked a great deal more than words. No matter how hard he smiled after the incident, no matter how hard he tried to forget, he could never face the reality of it. He had become the demon that killed his brother.

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