WorilRel

Name: Woril Rel
Location: Everywhere? Especially if he hears there's treasure.
Occupation: Explorer, treasure hunter and magical entertainer
Species: Anthro-Dragon mutt (Largest other parts are griffon and Kitsune)
Age: 29
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 230lbs
Wingspan: 20'8" (Total) Can be collapsed to shoulder-width, though they will stick out behind him slightly.

Woril's story, like so many others, began on a different world. Unlike most others, however, his started in chains on the bidding block. Being separated from his family is the first thing he remembers, the second was being introduced to the freak show of a traveling circus as, "The abomination." At a young age, his wings were mutilated to keep him from truly flying, keeping the young anthro earthbound so that he could not escape from his masters, just in case the cage bars weren't enough insurance against that. Despite fading slowly and being grown over by new fur, the scars from this treatment can still be uncovered to this day, and his grand wings have little more use than ornaments. He is barely able to maintain a slowly-dropping glide with them these days, however, and is finally able to stretch them to their full glory without collapsing from the pain.

Needless to say, the rest of his stay in the circus was about as pleasant, with treatment ranging from having his teeth literally kicked in so that the ringmaster could add them to a necklace (they grew back after a few weeks, much like a shark's) to being shown as a spectacle of frailty and disgust... despite being a beautiful and powerful creature if he had been treated properly. But he was a slave, and a freak besides. What need was there to give him respect, or, gods forbid, some common decency? His entire purpose was to be spat upon. And while most people would be broken by this treatment, Woril never quite reached that level of desperation... and instead his rage just grew. A burning mass of hate in his chest.

It only fueled the fire when they forced him to consume kidnapped children. You see, in his old world wore was still possible, and in fact, was a part of every day life. Predators were given a marking that allowed them to store the souls of those that they ate, and there were artifacts in place to facilitate reformation (though it felt like a punch in the gut to use them...) In fact, these artifacts were so dominant a part of society that it was expected that people would use them. It was, in fact, law that you do so. The circus never let Woril leave his cave, much less visit an artifact of reformation, and every night he would fall asleep listening to the cries of the children's souls, asking for their mothers and begging him to to home. And one night, around his fourteenth name day, something snapped.

And something else roared to life.

Woril's cage was melted into molten slag when his ancestral powers awoke in a burning halo, and in fact, the entire tent for the freak show seemed to be ignited for just a moment before it collapsed. The only one to walk out of the pyre was Woril, the flames of his own making not burning the young predator as he walked out and began searching for the people responsible for his long imprisonment... only to find that he couldn't really walk. Years of neglect and living in a cage had wasted away his normal muscle development, his proud ancestries were the only reason he could move at all, and even then only in short bursts. But that was alright, the burning tent behind him provided plenty of light for him to see, and there were only two places his target could be sleeping. As shouts and alarms began to rise and the circus woke up, the grand tent and the ringleader burnt to ash together and Woril disappeared into the night.

He didn't really get that far, however. Malnutrition and imprisonment caused him to collapse on the side of the road, and he would have died there had a certain rabbit slaver not tried to add the little freak to his collection. This proved to be a mistake, as a predator is a predator, no matter how young and weak. And if they can sling fire, well... He had some roast slaver for dinner that night. Yum. After that, Woril slowly made his way along the road to the closest civilization, and after reforming the children that had been with him for so long, he was noticed and taken in by an adventurer's guild.

It took a while, but eventually Woril was able to recover from his ordeals and temper his rage into a fine weapon. Instead of turning it against everyone and lashing out blindly, Woril made it his quest to just end slavery and oppression, wherever he could find it, and to explore this world he had lived in for so long, yet never experienced. He was joined by three other members of the guild, and these four companions adventured together for years, living, fighting and struggling through hardships that most people would have just run from. Between investigating the cause of an undead plague to hunting down and destroying its source, the group made a name for themselves in the world. And then... they had an argument.

All the tension and friction that had built up came together all at once and the party shattered, its members all going their separate ways. Woril's path lead him to a different threat, with a different group. This time, the threat came from beyond time and beyond space... it came from the very dimension of the void itself. Leading a group of powerful heroes, Woril sought to journey into and destroy the threat beyond the void tears. He pitted himself and all of the lives of his companions against an ancient deity from beyond the memory of even the gods, and while he won... in the end, Woril ultimately lost.

The tears were closed and his world was saved, but at a terrible cost. All of his companions fell, consumed body and soul by the terror of the void, and Woril himself was trapped in this endless empty limbo, forever sealed away from the world that he had both loved and hated so much. By all rights, the mutt should have died in there, forgotten, drifting, broken... and yet. He survived. Whether it was the plane itself that changed his inner world, or it was Woril's own stubborn will to live, it was rewritten, changed to sustain him and even restore him to life if he fell. However, this psuedo-immortality comes at a price, as do all things. Whether he just went mad in the void or it was a curse of the plane itself, Woril must consume another living, sentient creature at least once a month, or he will go insane and rampage through the world in a blaze of terror. Not only that, but sometimes his predscape, supposedly a refuge for the souls of those he consumes, will destroy the souls entrusted to it, ripping them apart for energy to fuel the immortality of its master. This curse weighs heavily on Woril's mind and heart, and it is why he is so reluctant to take a life, going so far as to actually be a vegetarian whenever he can get away with it.

After almost five years of drifting in an endless cycle of life, starvation, death and then rebirth, he found himself in the Nexus. It was... a shocking jolt, to be sure. One moment he was dead, the next, laying in a field of grass and roses. I said it was a jolt, not unpleasant. After assuring himself it was real by killing himself and returning in the same place, Woril basically ran about like a giddy school kid, taking as much of this world in as he could, thinking he had found his way back home. When he saw his first human and pokemon, this belief vanished like so much dust in the wind. He came to terms with the discovery that he had found a new world as most seasoned adventurers do.

He realized it was a new world. And he made it his job to explore it and discover that wonders he could. And woe to the person that tried to stop him, because he didn't go crazy, kill a god, lose almost a dozen friends and get kicked into a new reality to let some puny predator act all high and mighty and eat him. No, he obviously did all that to get rich and go on even more epic quests! He sees this world as his reward, and he will do his best to experience as much of it as he can, with all the people he can. So he wanders the world with a cheery smile and sarcastic wit, making up rules as he goes along and just trying to have a good time while good times might be had.

A pathfinder sheet for woril's pathfinder persona. (Expect this to gain levels/ get updates since he is currently in an active campaign)
Have a Woril!

Woril, for all of his predatory leanings and sometimes violent temper, is actually a kind young man who wanders about, trying to find his place in the predator/ prey dichotomy. He knows that he is naturally a predator and knows what that implies, but has a hard time accepting the fact that he needs to consume others to keep from going (basically) insane. He also has a problem with the fact that, despite having the ability to reform, there are people who don't want to come back. That people would chose to use him as their cause of death is shocking, but oddly enough not all that uncommon... Well, at least they will go to a nice place. We hope (They get eaten by his predscape and are used as fuel for his reformations... oblivion is a nice place, right? >.> Note, that's the fate for people he perma-vores)

If his prey wants to be certain, then Woril can store their soul in a place called a "predscape", a world inside of his body where permanently consumed prey can talk and just generally "live" with the mutt. This is pretty much optional, and his prey can just as easily move on to the next life or skip this entirely and be remade in a new body if they so desire. If they decide to come into his predscape, his prey can talk with Woril at any time, and may decide to be reformed or move on by themselves. The predscape's main features are a an orchard of every kind of fruit, a mountain you could spend days climbing, a river and pond that are rather tranquil, a room full of rare treasures and things that the prey would find beautiful, and a bed for weary souls to rest in and recover. It's a pretty nice place... if rather empty. Sometimes Woril is able to enter it in his sleep, but other than that the only company are birds, squirrels and the occasional chicken.

Abilities
Woril's powers are based on the manipulation of energy, allowing him to minutely weave matter as well. Most often he uses this to influence temperature, creating multi-colored fire and ice in a magic show, fire works and even plasma (which manifests itself as lightning). His control largely depends on his mood, if he is perfectly calm he can create a ballroom of people at a masquerade, each of them unique in color and shape with even the smallest of details accentuated, to blasts of unrefined fire if he is distracted or enraged. If necessary, Worils body can shift into pure flame... though in this form he loses all of his features and cannot stay still or manifest any other power without dying. He can maintain this power for up to a day, and mostly uses it as a means to escape from danger.

He can make a solid wall of energy if calm and confident, though once created this wall is pretty much immobile. He can change the shape and transparency at range, shifting it from a square to a disk and even a sphere to hold someone in if necessary. If a disc or sphere, this energy can drift and spin ever so slowly and gracefully through the air. It's not all too useful beyond giving people a place to stand or a protective bubble, however. If he uses this to coat his body, it will be more mobile but restrict the movement of his limbs by a bit.

Woril can generate sound. It's rather simple, but it can't get all that loud or terrible. Think "easy listening elevator music" or ballroom orchestra.

Finally, he can make simple things out of matter, such as water, food and clothing. It will always be just slightly off from the real thing in some way, often in taste, color or size (or all three!) so don't take it at face value. He can also make a "shell" of energy that a person's soul may use to reform its body in, though this still takes time and they have to have some natural ability to reform themselves for it to work.

Outfits
Woril has a few outfits, his main one is just a pair of jeans (see the pick), but he also has a full suit, top hat and monocle. You will never see him in plaid. Ever.