I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon
After all I knew it had to be something to do with you
I really don't mind what happens now and then
As long as you'll be my friend at the end

*Name: Caleb
*Gender: Male
*Appearance (include eye/skin/hair colour): Caleb is almost identical to his twin, Jacob; he has russet skin, a very muscular form, and black hair. However, three things set him apart: he has a scar on his left eyebrow; he has hazel eyes; and he has a bite mark scar on his left shoulder that seems faintly silvery on his russet skin. He’s as tall as a level one fairy can be.
*Defects (only required if the character has any): Werewolf curse.
Age: However old Jacob is? >.> let’s go with 17.
Personality: Caleb is the guarded, hot-tempered one. He can be sweet, but he’s filled with self-loathing as the result of his curse. He tries to stay away from people so he won’t hurt them, but once he makes a friend, he’s committed.
History: Caleb and Jacob were born in a far off land; all of the men in their tribe could shape shift into wolves and all tribal members had a wolf familiar. Caleb and Jacob, however, were the golden duo – until Caleb, out hunting one night, was attacked by a true werewolf and infected. Once he realized what had happened, he ran away, ashamed and horrified by his curse. The tribe (and Jacob) had assumed he was dead. For a while Caleb lived in a state of almost madness; he scavenged, he killed, and he acted like a wolf. He let his werewolf nature take over. Coming to Shaman, he has lost his wolf-shifting powers and now can only turn into a wolf via his curse. Hopefully, coming to Shaman and meeting up with his twin will ease away his madness and let him heal. He also lost his familiar when he fell through the rip, so he’s going to try and find Zek.
Sample post: He exists for the earth and the earth alone.
(Aponi and Charity were gifts, tokens he treasures until they are taken from him and they always will be – he understands now)
He does not mind it – it is a simple truth and simplicity is something he takes great pleasure in. To run and dash and dart from rock to tree to cliffside, to glory in the knowledge that he will pass and die and that his bones will break, his blood will spill and he will become the food for the next generation, the foundation on which the children of the earth will run across and revel in their infinite simplicity, in how small and little they were and mattered in the scheme of things –
(if he had cheeks they would be rosy with delight, because this delight is small and simple and it shapes itself, unfurling slowly in his chest and wrapping around his heart with a sensation that feels like warmth)
things he is sure Aponi would understand but she, great snake-like woman, is not here and besides he would never discuss such things with her.
Words were never needed for what bridged the distance between them. Touch and sounds and the ability to run, to listen to the Earth when it sang and to beat against the ground with hooves and legs until you are far away and beautifully surrounded by it all.
It does not make sense to those that have not experienced it, but Ian
(simple, silly boy – country bumpkin boy)
has experienced it and oh, how he lives for it!
For the Earth, the Earth.
He sees many mares in the field but they hunger for different things and he only wishes for a companion, someone to speak to and share long golden afternoons and slanting nights with.
He does not often have the chance to go and select a friend from a vast arrangement.
Palomino attracts him, and the color is pretty enough for him to turn and think – of Aponi, surely, because she has never taken that color with him and he wonders how she will look
(beautiful as always, even if she is scarred and bandaged and armored against the harshness of this world with her great ugliness, her crowning glory but he loves that weeping eye and the bare skeleton of the ear – loves it more than is human, loves it with a fierce bestiality that scares him)
wearing the color of the sun.

The palomino is joined by her twin, but a twin that has been dipped in darkness, in shadow or the night or even ink but Ian doesn’t know what ink is. Buckskin boy, golden and beautiful and Ian, simple in his bay-roan-grullo coat, enjoys the glimpse of beauty even if it blinds his eyes
(blood hound eyes because they are so sad but sometimes he is fierce so they are lion eyes or even wolf eyes, he is fierce and he runs with his brothers and sisters, the wolves – runs while they howl and yip and sometimes he just runs with them for sport, because when he runs they are not hungry for prey)
because of the fierce sun.
Yes – the buckskin was Magnus and Ian is uncomfortable but he does not show it, simply halts far enough away to not tempt the lad
(because Ian knows he is bursting with need for violence and hate and attack – Ian had been that way once)
but close enough to speak.

A nod, deep and slow
(for that was his nature currently, because the Earth was tired under the sun’s relentless glare and Ian shared the opinion, wanted to stretch out with his tongue lolling from his mouth like a dog, like a coyote or a wolf and bake beneath the sun and the impossibly cobalt sky)
before he says anything, and an odd, quirky smile – a smile that rests on lips that have smiled or frowned so many times they are oddly creased.
Permanently in a half-smile, sad and pitiful, but he is Ian and that is his way.
“And I am Ian.”
But he says no more – instead he relishes the companionship
Anything else you wish to include: Jacobness and story used with permission/agreement of Miss Radar.
*Your player name: Faith

C A L E B
unpredictable werewolf twin of jacob