"Listen, I ain't really a bad guy. Jus' a businessman, love. An' this is strictly business, innit?" Full Name: Cpt. Gall Blacwin Hastings II Age: 50...~ Someodd. Race: Human. Worg cursed. Gender: Male Hair: Greying, black Skin: Olive Eyes: Steely/pale blue. Height: 6'0 Weight: 210lbs Place of residence: Wulves Den, Western Plaguelands Place of Birth: Gilneas City Occupation: Trader/Mercenary/General troublemaker. Group/Guild affiliation: Greatwulf M.C Likes: Whiskey/bourbon, fine cigars, guns and bikes. Dislikes: Bad deals, troublesome clients, mechanical issues History: His parents and upbringing were, at best, fairly average and nondescript. Born into the Gilnean admiralty, a young Gall's life was hallmarked by enrollment in naval academies and ceremony. While showing little aptitude for the seafaring aspects of his schooling, he did wonders in the more physical aspects; dueling, boarding actions, the apprehension of goods and people- Gall's worth as a marine, compared to a seaman, was quickly made note of. But so was his trouble making- Gall had always been a mischievous child, and the mix of fooling around in academy and not following exactly in his father's footsteps created quite the contention at home. Contention compounded even further with him meeting Elizabeth Royston, heiress to the Royston noble house during a soiree- How a noblewoman might come to fancy the company of a minor noble would be beyond her parents. With the second war came buzz and opportunity, exploration and excitement. Accompanying a detachment of the Gilnean navy, Gall, then a Sergeant, found his opportunity at glory. Many orcs fell to his saber and naval revolvers, but the war also introduced him to the black market- Who else would be so willing to pay for seemingly paltry things? A few 'misplaced' rations and signatures here and there... And Gall could see a return in officer luxuries or banned items? It was something he could get behind. With the end of the second war, Gall was plucked from the navy and set into duty with the royal guard, a captain's rank on his breast... And even greater privileges for him to abuse. There were more innocent moments to be had in light of it all, though; his marriage to Ms. Royston, settling into a place of their own. Kickbacks from the Gilnean citizens for specific guard stationins or patrols, the occasional goody from outside the wall when smuggling shipments managed to wiggle through, and for the most part, first dibs on the slim pickings that came through. Things were good behind the wall, a man could retire on a life like this- hunting, fishing, a wonderful woman at home, a cabin in the highlands for retreats. There were even talks of conceiving a little one. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Suppose I might be the right man for the job, sure..." Attacks in the highlands, they said. Rangers, sheepherders, hunters, all going missing, or coming back half crazed, talking about massive wolves on their hind legs, tearing and gnashing respective parties to bits. All bollocks, Gall figured, and even if it weren't, it wasn't his problem. It didn't pertain to Gilneas City or the crown, it wasn't his concern. But with each day, each week, the reports got closer. Trade routes, outlying towns... And then one day, city guards- Light, the city itself. Lines were tightened, patrols made more active, more vigilant. And Gall steps outside for a smoke. Something bites him, sinks it's fangs deep into his forearm, catches a face full of lead for it's trouble and scampers into the alleyways, screaming. Dreg. A nasty wound, to be sure, bruised quickly. No matter. Nothing a little gauze and whiskey wouldn't repair. Over the night, the wound worsened, faster than any injury Gall had ever dealt with before. It'd be fine in the morning, he'd slap some salve on it when he got home and- Home. He was home, tea on the kettle, Elizabeth fluttered around him, fretted over his arm. It was fine, he'd be fine, he- Nausea, the room spun. Fine. Reassurance on reassurance. Burning fever. No, he was fine. Bed. Wife. Quick kisses turned to intimacy and more talks of a child. Pounding headache. Elizabeth. Pounding head. Liz- Gall stirred back to his senses, somewhat, a brief moment of clarity. He was hot and wet, his hands ached. Everything hurt, but his hands especially. Elizabeth was... Pinned beneath him. Her face- what was left of it- covered in blood. Did he do this? He turned his head to the vanity near them, and the beast that stared back in the reflection dared suggest that he was indeed responsible for this. He faded again. Seagulls, crashing tides against the hull of a ship, a mist of ocean water on his face. Around him- strange elves and other Gilneans. Gilneas was no more, for the time being, Greymane fleeing with them. The worgen curse. It was all far too much, and Gall opted to roll on his side and watch the passing tides, rather than hear more. With the loss of his home and former life, Gall saw it fit to create a new life; petty crime, racketeering, laundering and protection scams. Things he'd picked up from his days in the service, and then expanded upon greatly. Years of business in the black market to build his clout. He dived head first into engineering as a hobby, taking a keen interest in bikes. Gathered other veterans of the 2nd War, of the 3rd, any displaced veteran, any sneakthief, bruiser, miscreant, anyone dissatisfied with their surrounding and took his craft to the Plaguelands, establishing a base of operations for his black market dealings. Greatwulf was born, and as time passed, the Wulves grew, establishing other chapterhouses here and there. As of recently, a botched run saw him imprisoned in a Horde work camp, making an escape after two years of incarceration. His latest jobs have seen him working with some rather... Higher profile organizations, guilds.