Information

Vincent Goodale has a minion!

Kieran the Werekumos

Vincent Goodale
Legacy Name: Vincent Goodale

The

Nightmare Telenine
Owner: LadyRosary

Age: 14 years, 9 months, 4 weeks

Born: May 19th, 2011

Adopted: 14 years, 9 months, 4 weeks ago

Adopted: May 19th, 2011

Statistics

Level: 2
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 2
Books Read: 2
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

"Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me Man, did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?" (Frankenstein)

*****

I was born in 1846 as son of a textile factory owner in Cork, Ireland. My childhood was quite happy. I grew up with my brothers and my precious little sister Lucy, who I loved more than I could say. Even though I was 3 years older we were equal in character, liking and even appearance and she followed me everywhere I went. When she grew older her favourite story turned out to be "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe and my mother and I had to read it to her every evening. Life was easy for me in that times. Our family was only slightly affected by the great famine between 1845 and 1849. But as time passed by I discovered that I was somehow different. While friends of mine enjoyed courting young ladies of society, my looks wandered to other men.

One night I met a man named Kieran in a small pub near the harbour. His dark and mysterious air fascinated me and so I went with him - this was my first fault. In that night I was turned into a werewolf by Kieran who himself turned out to be a selfish, violent creature. The moon was nearly full and he left me half insane in a place near my parent's house. When the full moon rose I transformed into a wolf the first time. The beast was still young and unexperienced and my human mind had no control over it. So the hungry wolf followed the only sensation it knew - my sister's smell. It wasn't until the next day when I was tasting the blood in my mouth I knew she was dead. Yet, I returned to my childhood home to be sure and found Lucy torn into pieces. It nearly drove me mad! I ran into the woods hiding and praying that God might release me from my sufferings.

In the end it wasn't God but Kieran who found me. He took me with him and imprisoned me in his apartment. Still today I don't know what this behaviour should be good for. Did he really think letting me murder my own sister was a good way to cut all bonds that linked me to my human life? At least it seemed so. He had a strange way of recruiting new mates. Nevertheless, I wasn't in the mood to be friends with him at all and the next 2 weeks developed into a real hell. Finally, when I woke up one morning, Kieran had removed my fetters and left the door open. It was an invitation to escape and I didn't hesitate and made my way back into the world. But my life did no longer exist. My sister was dead, I came in time for her funeral, my parents were grief-sticken for they lost their daughter and their son. Everybody thought I was dead, too, though they could not find my body. I couldn't go home, even if I wished for. My guilt rested heavily on my shoulders. So I turned my back to my family and friends and left the city.

I can't say that I didn't try to finish my life over the next months. . . but killing a werewolf is harder than you might expect! Finally I ended up accepting my existence, though I never managed to like the wolf inside me. The wolf and I were enemies like Kieran and I were enemies. The only thing that kept me alive was my hatred and the aim to find Kieran and tore him into pieces â€“ what was exactly what Kieran planed when he left the door open that morning. He was an old werewolf and liked some games to spice up his life. Letting me chase after him was quite fun for him. And so one year followed the next ...

Over the decades I discovered that I couldn't control the violent nature of the wolf completely, though I tried to repress the beast as good as possible (I found out a good deal later that it was this repression that deprived me of the ability to tame the wolf). When there was one thing I was really good at it was killing. Finally I arrived in the USA, it was the year 1946. This was the time I started to offer my services as a professional killer. As codename I chose "Nevermore" - the only thing the raven in Poe's poem utters. At this point I didn't know that in the near future my life was going to be changed by some people I was to meet and that Kieran, whose trace I lost some years ago, had also made his way to America ...