Phantasm is an inquisitive creature. Some might call him controlling, but the brute wants to know everything - everything that's going on around him, why the political currents are changing thusly, what makes you tick - so he can exploit you fully. And once he sets his mind to a task - there is nothing in the world that can stop him, except death. So if he's coming after you, pray hard, and hide.

The wolf is often, hostile. He trusts no one - and for good reason. Precious few approach him with no ulterior motives in mind. He is less than friendly to strangers, unless, of course, it suits his purposes. He cares nothing for others' feelings; only what they can offer him, hence coming across as callous and cold. He is, however, quite form of sarcasm, as well as those who are able to play The Game.

Phantasm is a skilled liar. He easily deceives people, and likes to manipulate both people and events to suit his devices. He uses everything in his arsenal, including his good looks and charm, to seduce others to his cause. He is predatory, ambitious, and extremely possessive over those he sees as 'his'. He can be quite the player, never giving his heart out to any one.

He is calm and collected, his smooth facade never wavering for others to peek at the simmering turmoil beneath.

Summary: Inquisitive | Obsessive | Determined | Hostile | Calculating | Manipulative | Ambitious | Predatory | Possessive | Volatile | Confident | Sensual

Phantasm grew up in a nest of thieves, murderers and assassins. Since birth, he was fed, with his daily meals, a healthy scoop of lies and deceit. The white stallion knew nothing else but this life of betrayals, cold-bloods, always having to watch out for knives in the darkness, even from his closest friends.

He quickly learnt to play the game.

He was good; very good. So well-versed in this lifestyle that at the tender age of two, he was already one of the Masters' proteges. His 'friends' swarmed around him like sharks drawn to blood, eager to usurp his position of the coveted favourite, the unofficial 'heir'. He could never rest; one after another, relentlessly, they came after him with foaming jaws and snapping teeth, maneuvering to oust him from his position.

But good as Phantasm was, he could not guard against everything. With no allies, no information except that which he could desperately glean from eavesdropping, he was ensnared by a pretty female who came to him, whispering words of love and sweet promises within his ears. And Phantasm, who had experienced near everything that the underworld had to offer, could not guard against this. For he had never experienced love, nor friendship, even, and he was lonely.

By dark the following night, he had been left for dead. He does not remember exactly what happened, only that when he awoke, he was in a strange place, with numerous wounds and no friends. And then he realised - and his heart broke - that the sweet love's words had never been true. His heart froze as ice crept in, bars were erected around it, and the rest of all the useless, petty emotions like love and friendship were burned out of him.

Over the years, he wandered, surviving on nothing but his instincts and any training he might have had. He quickly realised that his white pelt could be easily used to manipulate others - for wasn't white the colour of purity?

Phantasm has had many, many dalliances - but never again has he allowed his heart to open to another. He came close - very close, however. One mare had been carrying his pups. And despite himself... he did. As the seasons turned, he didn't realise how much warmer he'd gotten, how hopeful, how like a proud father he had been.

Until - he lost it, even before Phantasm had a proper chance to be a father. Another jealous brute had slipped some herbs to her, without the would-be mother knowing. The other claimed he was only doing what was best, because Phantasm had never loved the femme, and would only corrupt her.

True, but that excuse didn't help any. Phantasm tore into him, ripped him to pieces, enraged and grieved, beside the bloody corpses of the tiny pups who never had the chance to live.

Maddened with grief, he fled, leaving the femme to bleed out, presumably, to death, turning a deaf ear to all her desperate calls. He returned to his roots, plundering and killing, trying to exorcise his demons, to no avail.

If possible, he felt even emptier, at the end.

And as he enters this new land, he brings along his shadows and demons with him, ready to corrupt the innocent, along with some unnamed agenda, as he desperately tries to slow the creeping of madness towards his very heart.

He might stay, he might move on. Phantasm thinks he would very much like to... taste, just what this land has to offer first.