[Noah Samuel Harding]

NOAH SAMUEL HARDING
Myself was formed -- a Carpenter --
An unpretending time
My Plane -- and I, together wrought
Before a Builder came --

To measure our attainments --
Had we the Art of Boards
Sufficiently developed -- He'd hire us
At Halves --

My Tools took Human -- Faces --
The Bench, where we had toiled --
Against the Man -- persuaded --
We -- Temples build -- I said --



S H I F T E R . WORNSWORDS

Name's Noah, but others like to call me things like Nana and Podge because apparently I invite that kind of nonsense. If you're looking for me, you might find me at my workshop which is my base of operations as a carpenter.

I might look like I'm 40 but I'm actually well into my second century ; which isn't so hard to believe once you get to know me. Roughly, I'm 5'11" tall, last I checked, and I'd be the first to admit that I don't really watch my figure , but it doesn't get to me. Loads of people have told me how much I resemble Johnny Depp but I pull off a goatee much better... and don't wear make up...

F I R S T . I M P R E S S I O N S

To see him out and about, he doesn't really draw much attention to himself, and he prefers it that way. And, for a guy in his trade, he moves altogether too gracefully so it's not uncommon for him to don a pair of work boots to make his walk a little more masculine, rather than gliding around the people in a crowd. Altogether though, to see him from a distance, your eye would slip over him as part of the background unless he wants to make himself known.

Don't take that to mean he is a wall flower. Nomad, recluse, loner, whatever, if Noah wants to make a point he's more than capable of speaking up and is well known among his fellow Wornswords for his ability to hold on a speech and make himself heard... for a long time. He isn't really easy going either, taking life far too seriously and reprimanding others for being lighthearted - even momentarily - in the current climate. {This is slightly worse of late, thanks to the loss of the Hunters.}

F A S H I O N . P A S S I O N

Around his workshop you probably wouldn't guess him any different than any other bloke, as he tends to wear grubby gear which won't really matter if he gets a few new rips or varnish marks on them. So, without dancing around the point too much, his clothing looks as well traveled as their owner actually is. Years of experience have taught him that there's nothing than can beat denim for durability and is in eternal gratitude to their creator; denim has saved him countless pounds, which in this era, as a carpenter, are getting scarcer by the day. His denim, be it plain old jeans, or dungarees with the straps slung down by his legs, are usually worn alone, as laboring over woodwork can get rather hot and bothersome, or else with a simple tee or muscle shirt. Noah doesn't really care for anything that's going to restrict his movement or get caught on things, that and his high tolerance for pain, and advanced healing, means he doesn't really mind about a couple of cuts now and then.

Outside of the shop, he adds a little more to himself to his attire. The jeans, he keeps, though for a night out he'll probably opt for slightly trendier patches and 'intentional' fraying and wear, but he will exchange his muscle shirts for longer sleeves which he rolls up to three-quarter a lot of the time. Coverage is a key element, as he often feels he looks rather thuggish with the scrawl of random tattoos accentuating his upper arms, and the single scar on his collar bone is something he'd altogether be without. Depending on the weather, he'll choose to wear either a short sleeved button up shirt, or else a turtle neck over the top as he really can't stand the cold of Autumn-Winter.
Accessories wise, he can go a little over the top, but it shows a flair for the sentimental as almost all of his trinkets, bracers and necklaces were gifts or else mementos of times, places and people that he likes to have with him all the time. No' has a bad memory, so to keep hold of traces of where he's been, and where he's come from is a big deal to him, but he won't go into it at length if he can help it.

D I M P L E S . A N D . T H I N G S

There's a scattering of freckles over his back and shoulders that only came about after he died the second time and his shift shape became present. They're faint, perhaps only a shade darker than his over all skin tone, but noticeably rosette like in design. Aside from that is the chunk missing from his left love handle and another ragged scar on his collar bone; trinkets from each Shifter attack he did not live through.

W H Y . D I D . Y O U . D O . I T

He has a small collection of tattoos, mostly picked up on drunken nights out, though a couple - the eagle's feather on his right shoulder and the miniature scales on the crux of his left thumb and finger were intentional. The scales are for his father, for justice and equality, and the eagle feather was a semi-patriotic gesture to his first love and her country.

M A N . W I T H O U T . S K I N

A lot can change and affect a man in over a century. Love. Loss. Experience. All the advice you did and didn't take. Nana has come to appreciate the effect of time, and how much of it he happens to have left in which to amend those parts of himself he does not care for, and hone to greater heights those parts for which he happens to care dearly. It'd be a lie to call him erudite, Noah has never been a student of the academic variety, though, like many of his kind, he has learned a fair amount of his life lessons in the school of hard knocks. A painfully cliché phrase, but then these things become such for a reason.

Whilst once he was an arrogant, gregarious tom-cat, he is now far more lain back and reserved in his nature. Many have interpreted this as him being stand-offish and, going on first impression basis, continue to hold him at arm's length, incorrectly assuming he is a snob and somewhat up himself, where as the truth couldn't be further from this. Those who have the ability to see past that though, to follow his lead and postpone any final judgments until an individual has chance to prove their real character, will learn to like this side of him, finding him a somewhat sage character – he doesn't seek to lord his opinions and ways over others, nor does he expect to be treated differently because of his alternative approach.

His reserved nature does have a certain amount of foundation in distrust though. Placing too much reliance in others, too early on to judge whether they merit such a level of confidence, has cost him dearly and he is certainly in no haste to make those expensive mistakes again. Thus, on top of keeping people at bay until he fully makes his mind up about them, it is made into quite an arduous task to get close to him. However, being a lycan has its advantages in that respect, no? And once you've labored to get into his 'inner circle', someone he considers a confidant and companion, there are few things strong enough to severe that bond, his limitless loyalty persevering even in the most adverse situations when in the defense of his friends.

Determination is a repeated trait in No', something which comes up in pretty much every walk of his life. Once he takes a mind to achieve a goal or complete an assignment, there happens to be very little to sway him from that. More often than he'd care to admit, this is closely woven with matters of pride. He hates to leave something incomplete, and to fail when he sets himself a bar would leave him disappointed in himself and fraught with concern that he may well disappoint others who would place their faith in him.

Quite strangely for a man with his lycanthropic existence and experience, someone for whom people – humans in particular- will come and go from his life in the twitch of a whisker, Noah is quite the sentimentalist. He has a powerful sense of nostalgia which, whilst it gets on the nerves of many of his Clan members, they can find humor in it too, thus he hordes anything that reminds him of a safer, simpler time. 'Back in my day' –the watchword of grandfathers everywhere, is one from his own pool of favorite sayings and never seems to go out of fashion with him.

Another, probably far less tolerable personality factor would be his pious nature. Harking back to his many years of, in his mind, living in a golden era where black was black, white was white, he has difficulty seeing the grey areas which often puts him on the outside of the Clan he's come to love so dearly. It makes him harder to live with when he sets up his pedestal, especially when he's over ruled on something he has a passionate opinion upon – and, as we've already covered, his grudges can last a human's lifetime and a Noah walking around with a sore head on his shoulders is not a popular choice.

S H O W . O F F

Patience.
Like his feline blood counter-parts, Podge has the patience to see out worlds being born and eventually die. This is particularly useful when on stake-out or when waiting for the opportune moment to make his move, where others might take flight after the first moving object they see, he has the ability to remain steadfast and see out the entire scene, weigh out his options, then make his move.

Empathy.
You don't live quite as long as he has without having your view of the world, and those who inhabit it, broadened considerably. He may have been born into bigotry, being the victim rather than inflicter, but whatever effect it might have had has been overcome and set to rights, and these days, older and far wiser, Noah no longer makes instant judgments.

Humanity.
It is possibly this trait that Podge holds above all others. He has seen in other Sentinels, the monsters that his condition could have turned him into. It has been a hard task, at times, but with discipline and perseverance, he has held on firmly to his humanity, thus putting himself entirely in his own control, the inner beast never once being allowed free reign of his thoughts nor emotions and instincts.

Reflex.
Largely dependent on these in a fight, never having been one for using weaponry, Noah finds himself at a point now where his reflexes are particularly honed, his body reaction precious seconds before his enemy has chance to catch him unawares.

Detail.
As with any cat, Noah's eyes are of infinite value to him. Nothing escapes their notice, even if only in the periphery, and they are applied, naturally, in his attention to assignments and to his 'day-life' when working on commissions he's been charged with. Nana feels privileged to have such a skill as an inherent part of being a Leopard, as he has learned to pick up rather quickly on certain 'tells' that give away others' intentions.

E P I C . F A I L

Baby-Daddy.
Noah has an unyielding urge to Father children of his own but seems utterly incapable of finding a woman suitable enough to be a Mother. Shifter women are too independent, preferring to wait much later in their lives to 'settle', human women are fragile which, while it draws him, is fatal during childbearing. A soft spot for children is why he was an avid candidate for 'Den Mother' to the Clan and all the kids tend to have him round their little fingers.

Stubborn.
He has claws and knows how to sink them into the ground and hold on for dear life. Of all things you're likely to do, getting him to just forget a trespass or a thread of argument he planned on acting on is very improbable.

Shifting.
Super abilities and decomposition, these things come easily enough these days, but his Shiftshape is still very hard for him to embody entirely. He's a turned Shifter, lest we forget, and so the introduction of an Earth element will never really be married with his soul. It would be a bad idea for him to shift to cope with oncoming disaster.

Modern Life.
The twenty-first century confounds Noah no end. He can't stand cars very well, much less computers and telephones. So, to get by, he ignores them. {As if communication with him weren't already difficult!}

T R I C K S . F O R . T R E A T S

Wereleopard
More akin to a Jaguar than a Leopard, his rosettes being altogether tighter in formation and neater in size and similarly his figure is a lot stockier and muzzle broader and slightly more canine like from some angles. The tone of his fur color is a deep gold, more bronze than anything though he does have lighter streaks that run from shoulders to tail base underneath his spots. He needs to be in contact with trees or soil in order to achieve it, and it's impossible to do with haste.

Reaper's Touch.
Things go through a rapid rate of decomposition when Noah touches them. It's been more than a hundred years since he died the first time and naturally he has gotten it under control, and it seems to be why he hasn't aged a day either, but if he wants to he can give you Grey hair and wrinkles within minutes, forcing your body matter to deteriorate -- and it's a one way road, folks. A bi-product of this ability is Noah's ageless face. Since he died way back in the 1920's and came back curse with death, not one wrinkle nor one pocket of sagged skin has developed. What he hopes, once he finds the right woman, is that his power does not prevent him from creating life.

Superman.
Cat like reflexes are where this one comes into it's own, but he has the usual abnormal strength and speed to go with it. Part and parcel of being one of the animals.

L I K E S

Hiking.
Smoking Socially.
Sketching/Designing.
Carved Art.
Real Fur.
Brunettes.
Blue Eyes.
Texture/Smell Of Fresh Wood.
Natural Scents.
Late Spring.
Morning Runs/Walks.
Silver.
Leather.
Acoustic Rock.
Solitude.
Belonging.
Being On The Outside.
Quiet.
Quirks In Personality.
Traveling.
Gypsies.
Open-Mindedness.
Superstitions.
Folk Lore.
Giving Gifts.
Laughing/Making Someone Laugh.
Being Looked Up To.

D I S L I K E S

Giving Away Too Much.
Jealousy.
Judgmental People.
Too Much Make-Up.
Drama-Seekers.
Slovens And Sloths.
Nail Polish.
Rain/Snow/Frost.
Immaturity.
Rotten Wood.
Unnecessary Violence.
Masochists.
PVC.
Pollution.
Green Tea.
Mayonnaise.
Paying Over What You Know Something Is Worth.
Easy Women.
Being Patronized.

D O W N L O W

Quirks/Habits
Unerring Sense Of Justice, Right and Wrong.
Lighting Up Without Permission.
Picking At Healing Wounds.
Collecting Interesting Stones/Shells.
Buying Things He Will Never Use.
Refusal To Learn To Drive.
Lecturing Others.
Holding Grudges Long Past A Sensible Point.
Techno-Rage.
Taking Life Too Seriously.

Fears.
Computers Replacing Everything.
Sushi.
Losing His Ability To Work.
Letting Down The Clan.
Vampires 'Winning'.
Not Seeing Out Another Century.

I M M E D I A T E

Maya Paleo }--Mother--> Nurse.
Peter Paleo }--Father--> Track Engineer.

S I G N I F I C A N T

Artemis Kale }--Dame--> Stalker.

T H I N G S . I V E . S E E N

Humble Beginnings.
Of course, Noah only knows what little there is to be said by word of mouth. If you were to ask him, he'd say he was born in a doctor's surgery in what we now know as Boston, into a stable family home where, prior to her death when he was 3, his Grandma would care for him whilst his father lay down train tracks and his mother tended the unfit at the hospital. The reality of it is that his real Grandma died several years before his birth, and the woman who cared for him through the day was just the neighborhood busy body, who did in fact die when he was just a tot. As to his birthplace? The same as his mother and father's, Bahia. Brazil. At the time they were on the run, his father a wanted man for crimes against the republic – he played a somewhat major role in the local rebellions around the same time Noah was conceived. They kept their names, though, paperwork was not really of utmost import then, not when there were tracks to be put down for the trains and a distinct lack of nurses on hand to help.

Brighter Tomorrow.
Boston was a world of opportunities, and even when the tracks were no longer necessary, and younger men to take the place of Noah's father when it came to maintenance, they still managed to go on. Back in Bahia, Peter Paleo had been apprenticed to a joiner and was armed with enough skills to be considered a worthwhile asset to a local carpenter, content enough to take the Paleo's under his wing and teach both Peter and Noah everything he knew. Fortune smiled on them again, as in 1872, when the great fire tore through the city, the workshop they'd come to love was left unscathed, sheltered by the brick buildings on all sides. Things were going better than anything they might otherwise have hoped for, and in the early 1880's – when the carpenter passed away – it was revealed he'd drawn up a new will some years prior, leaving the workshop and all its contents to the Paleo's. The secure life that they'd dreamed of for their only child was snugly in place, all the paperwork signed, the relevant t's crossed and i's dotted and father and son set about learning all they could about woodcraft; Noah showing a natural flair for design and matching furniture trends with his own unique quirks added.

Fate Has Other Ideas.
Life after this, at which point Noah was in his early teens, was fairly uneventful. He courted a couple of women, his ego swelling a little as the Paleo's became the men to speak to if you wanted exquisite furniture, in a position now to command steeper prices. Life was good and continued to be so for a great length of time, for at least another decade, up to not long before Noah 27th birthday in 1891. They all thought that life would go on like this. However, the first of several large blows rocked the Paleo's lives. Peter Paleo, now well into his late 40's, years of mistreating his body taking their toll, ran into a familiar face. A man who had been on the opposing side during the revolution, the very same who'd hunted the Paleo's for a great many years. Peter did not survive the resultant wounds, and by the end of the week Noah was bearing the weight of a lovingly carved coffin with the help of the apprentices they'd taken on.

As far as Noah knew, this was an unjust fate for his father, unaware of his true origins, and of the lives Peter had taken in the name of a small town revolution, and it was not long after this that he got himself branded with the scales on his hand. A constant reminder which he frequently has re-inked to remind him of his father; whilst neither of them were religious men, Peter Paleo had strove to teach his son right and wrong in the world, and it was a mark of respect and a tribute to his life for Nana to brand himself in his father's honor.

Breaking Family Ties.
The result of this incident was profound in the effect it had upon the younger, impulsive Paleo. The time and money he'd frittered away making merry and whoring were almost completely gone from his leisure-life, allowing himself only a tipple on certain occasions such as celebrating a piece particularly well done. His father had been a drinker, and as the new head of his household, responsible for the care of his heartbroken mother, Noah was following that example. He continued to gain a level of fame for his carvings, bigger and more demanding commissions coming in, and he was even being approached about exhibiting some of the pieces he'd worked on for his own simple enjoyment.

Stepping into this new lifestyle meant he was able to buy his mother a new, more suitable house out in the suburbs, the increasingly polluted air left over from the previous decade's industrial over haul, was no good for her ailing body after all, and he himself bought up a rural farm, something he'd long had the desire to do. A woman entered his life at this point, clearly interested in naught but his money and growing influence in the 'art' world, and against his better wishes, and the rage of his mother, he ended up marrying her. Dolores Paleo nee Sweet was a calculating but fiery woman, ruthless in getting where and what she wanted, whatever it was, and in taking her into his life Noah had inadvertently closed the door on his mother.

Allowing himself to be coerced into thinking that putting his mother in a home, at that point the level of care even more deplorable than these days, he saw her perhaps a handful of times before she finally passed away in May, 1899. Dolly quite firmly had her claws into Nana now, but there was no convincing him that a child was not what he desired. With no parents, no siblings, and most nights only an empty house to come back to – his rather spoilt wife attending parties and making important connections – his desire for an heir only grew stronger.

He approached Dolores about this for the final time on the eve of New Years', the turn of the century. He'd be 36 in February 1900 and time was getting along, the average life expectancy seemed shorter than ever to him, and the only resolution he had was to coax his 'Darling' Dolly into giving him a child. They had fought, walked out of the party being held at an old Mexico town, owned by one of their many celebeautant friends. Regrettably, blows were dealt, softer and open handed from Noah, of course, but that does not excuse him, and it was perhaps her wounded, outraged cries, and the smell of his blood where she'd clawed him, that brought them both to the attentions of a wild feline lurking in the ruins nearby.

A Cat Always Lands On His Feet.
Dolores did not survive, and only partial remains were retrieved from the scene. In his grief, Noah went into frenzy, carving statue after statue of grotesque, distorted felines, a period in his work which gained him an almost cult like following, many curators and collectors have written papers and given lectures on this disturbed era of his life as an artist. Many thought this was a reaction to the attack, a way of coming to terms with his pain. Only Noah and his assailant happened to know the truth of it.
Artemis, she'd called herself. Fiery red hair, strangely amber eyes, she was dangerous and irresistible. She presented herself to him as a woman curious only in his carpentry, interested in the ways in which he worked, and to Noah anything was a welcome change to being consoled over the loss of his wife. Each day he'd open up a little more, feeling an otherworldly bond with her, exposing parts of his soul he'd tried to shut off forever.

Within a fortnight she'd made him her bedfellow, romping at every opportunity, spending endless hours with him and he similarly consumed by her. So besotted, having never known a meeting of souls so completely, it escaped his notice how quickly they had moved, she'd even distracted him from how miraculously, almost completely without scarring, his wounds had healed over.

By the end of the next fortnight, during which the moon had waxed to its fullest shape yet again, they were inseparable, and it was a struggle for him to be outraged when she revealed who, and indeed what she was. Taking him out to his lake-side retreat, in readiness for what she said would be his first shift -- though he was highly dubious, he tried to humor his new lover, only to be proven indisputably wrong. She strapped him down to the bed, 'for your protection, my love', before taking a large chunk of flesh from his side. He bled out and died there in the cabin before she then dragged his body to where a convergence was at it's most powerful. He now barely recalls the first agony of rising from the dead even as his vacuous gauge finished filling itself out and scarring over, what he does recall is her eyes, changing shape in front of him, her pupils eerie in the moonlight and an image he always sees if he closes his eyes late at night.

For the week or so during which he was forced to accommodate and accept this side of him, she taught him the basic controls as best she could, leading by example, teaching to harness the will of the 'beast' and make it bow to his human mind. These first, very infantile steps, were not wholly successful, as the abilities he had awoken with were unlike any she had known before. Out of her depth, Noah was 'presented' to her Pard. {Noah did not Shift, had not on that first night, in fact. All that had become of it was hid regeneration and the decomposition of the leaves and trees around him. Artemis, perhaps thanks to her dna in his veins, was thankfully immune.}

By this time he had figured out that his beloved Artemis had probably been stalking him for some time, her 'attack' not so inadvertent and random as he had wished to perceive it. However, the only sensible route, as far as he was concerned, was to keep the situation in check. With no family left in Boston, he agreed to leave his workshop to the apprentices, take a few of his tools and set out with his watcher to the Pard home. He'd visited once with her, been embraced readily into their waning ranks and found himself approving. The pard - though they called themselves a Tribe - lived on a private estate, mostly untended farmland and forestry, the domiciles consisting a refurbished farmhouse and converted barn and a number of rudimentary huts huddled together. They had use for a hardworking carpenter like him.

Life was basic, and the people uncomplicated, and whilst he hadn't ever previously agreed with autocracy, believing it one and the same with dreaded 'communism', it seemed that for those of his own ilk, their chain of command worked. His life settled into a new routine, helping develop the huts into more suitable dwellings, tilling the land and performing duties as part of the patrol. There was little need to bother with the outside world, though it was not forbidden to venture there, and newspapers were circulated around on at least a bi-weekly basis, to be charged with ignorance was to bring shame upon you in the Tribe.

Yet Another Cruel Twist.
The next years, all things considered, were decidedly uneventful. No one cared to intrude on their countryside haven, and the locals were kept at bay by tales of horrific mountain lion attacks. It would be to bend the truth more than slightly to say their co-existence was peaceful. Once or twice a rogue was brought in for causing trouble, facing the wrath of their 'King'; this biased and cruel justice didn't sit well with Noah, but he was too grateful and too blindly loyal to question these events, even if he saw them as an excuse for their leader to exercise his violent demons.

After spending seven years with them, having built the courage to dare dream of it, Noah was met with a familiar heartache. Where as before his unloving wife had refused him a child, he learned, tragically, that it was improbable, not to mention ill-advised, for he and Artemis to conceive of a child. Learning to live with this, also with the knowledge he was destined to live a much extended life as well, had been the hardest test of his character. Permitting himself a rare break, he'd run from the Tribe, hitting the nearest town's bars hard, seeking to drown any longing of father-hood, and to have a true family to guard over, in a swill of hard liquor.

Unfortunately, much as his father had met his maker by the deeds of a man he'd crossed on rare happenstance, so too had Noah nearly faced his own. In the last bar he'd reached, senses heavily compromised by the alcohol he'd consumed, he'd met an individual who seemed so understanding, so empathetic, who provided the right amount of silence at his end of the conversation that the drunken Nana was only too happy to fill with a time line of himself and his misfortunes. My, what a long life he'd had for such a youthful face..

The hunter aided Noah's return home that night, passing out only to be thrown from the stranger's pick up at speed, and to awake and return to a massacre. Nana's most shameful and deeply hidden regret, is that through the haze of drink fumes, he cannot envision the man's face, that he might have hunted him down and avenged his red headed mistress and the rag-tag family he'd known on the reservation.
He left that day, after setting the Tribe land aflame, taking a memento from each of them - oft worn jewelery, hand crafted blankets, favored books - and paying his final respects as the furnace raged.

Going It Alone.
It was no longer viable to stay in the area, and though he had intended, for a time at least, to return to Boston, it raised too many questions. Too old in appearance to pass for his own son, too young looking to keep his own name, so he'd vanished within a week, leaving a trail of whispered wild theories about copy-cats, doppelgangers and ghosts in his wake.

Trailing up and down the country, living rough for the better part of what was left of the 1920's, avoiding conscription as the first world war raged around the globe, though he rather thought afterward that perhaps a little time in his Country's service might not be such a bad thing. Years rolled by, he earned a meager living by carving caricatures of tourists up and down the East coast and moving further into the Country during the harder months, earning his keep as a general laborer.

Doing a stint in a work camp in 1935, serving time for petty theft, it put him in the company of a small-time forger and a deal was reached that allowed Noah access to his old bank accounts, the interest on them amassing to a great deal after roughly three decades. A secondary part of the bargain, after helping set up his business partner with a couple of thousand, allowed Noah to leave America behind him and sail to Europe.

On The Road
By now, aged 79, Podge's vision of the world was considerably jaded. Without fatherhood to look forward to, without anyone except himself to pick him up from his own lows, and without any real direction to look toward, he had a pocket full of cash and not a lot of motive to do anything with it. He was far from suicidal, but where once he'd enjoyed the company of others, even humans, he found himself distrustful, becoming increasingly withdrawn from the world at large.

He'd started to carve again, soulful and abstract shapes, elongated and reflective of the search inside himself for a deeper meaning and purpose, and as these began to circulate, draw attention, it would not be for much longer that he could escape the notice of those who were looking for repeated patterns. Cropping up again in art journals and review papers was a hazardous move, even if he wasn't trying to get himself a little piece of limelight, it found him anyway and made him into a marked man.

Through Europe, and briefly through Asia, he escaped time and again just by the skin of his hide, and for a time he entertained the thought of going completely feral, returning to his blood land - Brazil - and existing amidst the big cats there, shedding his worldly connections for a life far more primal. Like a South American Tarzan. But, each time he stood at the terminal, the dock, the station, his heart cried for his humanity and the haunting eyes of Artemis behind his own lids would not let him go further.

It went on this way, pausing, being discovered, being hunted and going again into hiding in the next country, getting by with mime and a couple of translator guides, until his feet could take no more running. It was 1953 when he started to backtrack, revisit places he'd only seen fit to pay a flying stop to. He knew, by then, that he needed to find a way to settle, and surely if all is time spent traveling had not put him in touch with another like himself, then perhaps it was time to plant his roots and take stock.

Rome.
Not exactly his first choice, as he'd preferred Southern France for several years, but the food and the people didn't take his fancy, too concerned with modernizing everything. And though the weather and soil seemed good for the vineyards, it could not support decent trees. Finland, whilst better for materials, was far too chilly and windy, and perhaps the feline in him didn't entirely agree with living on ice. It was only a brief fling with a girl there in 1958 that kept him there longer than a year, but she soon got sick of his old-timer ways, his soul aged - or so he feared - even in advance of his worldly years.

So, back to Europe in 1962, reveling in Norway's natural beauty, he could have stayed there even longer than the decade that he did, but he got sloppy. Starting to carve again, having forgotten previous lessons, had brought a familiar, and undesired, kind of individual prying around him and for the remainder of the 1970's he hopped around the continent. Italy, a country he'd paid very little heed to, was inevitable, and once he gave it a chance he felt he could probably happily settle here... so long as he kept beneath the radar.

Expecting to find some way or other to exist here undetected, he was mildly surprised when a bossy 'pup' of a boy swaggered into his rented work shed and demanded an audience. Noah did not recognize him and wouldn't be spoken to in so gruff a manner by a child. About to send him on his way, with a few extra years on him to teach him a lesson, he was met by a bristling wolf flying through the air in a hail of soil. The wolf's name, it turned out, was Sworn. Sworn Hunter. Noah found him to be ridiculous and irrepressible and the pair of them would be friends for life.. well.. what would be left of it.

Convinced to resume his traveling ways with talk of another grouping, waning in numbers, in England, Sworn and Noah embarked across Europe again as the then Alpha {and future grandfather to Thane and Benjamin} collected shifters from known clans and packs across the continent. Noah did acknowledge that an exception had been made in his circumstance; he was an outsider and a drifter and it would not be until he got back to England that he would know why. The other members they had picked up were all related to Sworn, or at least a member from the Clan back home, Noah himself had been brought to Sworn's attention by pure happenstance.

Sworn's own parents had been connoisseurs of art and strong wooden creation and they owned a number of pieces from Noah's early days that suggested a knowledge of their people -- to other shifters at least. A little investigation when trying to get said pieces valued broached a few questions. It was hard for antiquarians to know which were genuine and which were the reproductions; apparently there was a family somewhere out there who had mastered the style and yet were entirely untraceable. Only by keeping the receipts at the time were they able to prove that without doubt it had been created by the carpenter's hand... but what Sworn had found out had intrigued him. The artist, formerly known as Paleo, was still out there.

That was told to Noah after the first month they had been back. Sworn had been nervous that it might make him seem like a stalker, perhaps, or some delusional fan. He need not have worried. The opportunity for companionship and to be part of a group again was more than enough to encourage Noah to set down his roots and he had a real interest in the lores and mythologies of the Wornswords. He was initiated in the usual ways, trial by fire and having to prove his worth, but when he came out the other side he was a man with a mission. If this was to be his family -- for a long time, judging the way he still had not aged even a day -- then he wanted to know everything about them.

Five years after Noah joined the Clan, he and Sworn went for a walk through Christchurch, something clearly playing heavily on the Alpha's mind. Noah had expressed a wish some years ago, to know what it was like to have the freedom to run as an animal, to throw oneself through the forest and leap and bound with an abandon.. it didn't need to be added that he felt it would be most unlike the trappings of his own somber self. So, broaching the topic tentatively, Sworn offered to give Noah the chance to know what it was like. Conspiring together, Noah let himself be killed and lain out on a convergence. In the last moments, losing control of his powers, for his efforts his friend was given a tuft of grey hair and some extra crows feet around his eyes. It was all worth it, Sworn would say, Leopard and Wolf loping back into the village after what turned into a lengthy camping trip.

H E R E . A N D . N O W

Officially, Noah is the story teller and the overseer of traditions. He knows more about the Clan than anyone else -- and makes sure he keeps it that way -- but the actual title for his role is Den Mother. It's his job to watch over the young one's tutelage and make sure that the old ways are not lost; loyalty to Sworn and his descendants being a large part of that.

Prior to that, his role had been as a Beta, standing at Sworn's side as his council and friend. When Sworn was murdered, it was Noah who took the task of seeking out his killer and taking justice in the Alpha's name. However, Clan life was not the same after that. He could no continue to be such an integral part of the leadership; the other members, including Knight, making their feelings clear when it came to Noah's unwavering self righteousness and vocal opinions. In mourning, as well as shunned to a degree, he went back to the hermit like solitary life he had known for many years before.

Noah is a Wornsword though, loyal to the end and never denying his responsibilities. With tragedy taking the complete Alpha pair from them, and the questions over Thane's birthright, he has become a touch more active and perhaps a little hostile towards the others. It's not just his opinion he's giving them now, it's their Lore he is thrusting upon them. Making something of a black sheep of himself, at least he's aware of it now, and that in itself makes it easier on him -- if he knows he is doing the right thing then, no matter the consequences, at least he's doing right by the Clan.

You can call me LEXXI and I'm in the GMT time zone. You guys suckered me in with AMAZING LAYOUT AND SEXXI AWESOME ADMINS and I guess I'll be sticking around to post NEVER! per week. Tell you something though, WE NEED MORE WORNSWORDS!!

srsly. serious.

R P . SA M P L E

See Thane, Fiona, Amadeo, Adrien or Imogen.

[lexxibeth]

. C O N G R A T U L A T I O N S .
guess that means they like you

You've made the ranks as a SHIFTER, love, very well done indeed.
So what're you waiting for? Get to the good stuff already and go rip
some throats out!

.. or post your plot page if you're into that kind of thing.