A murky storm cloud, Constantine is easily lost to the rolling fog of autumn. Draped in gray and accented by smokey soot and dim brown, the tom is no sight to behold with his plain and dull coloring. There is little richness to his pelt, only the smallest amount of life shining through an otherwise drab cloak of smoke. Such luster is found within the rare flecks of mocha brown that paint his flanks, and ghostly-colored tendrils that pull along his underbelly, eventually reaching up to give him a hunting collar - pressing down with clawing paws to have him be sucked into the ground where such a grave soul belongs.

He is not a pretty thing, nor boasts to be so. Compared to those of his kin, he is small and barely relatable. His appearance speaks of no import, leaving him to the shadows where he finds his peace. Dense, thick fur envelops his frame, keeping him warm through bitter winters and the biting words of others. While muscular, he is neither stocky nor robust. Bordering lanky, what definition he does possess comes from years of running, climbing, and digging. Under his fur lay a broad maze of scars, though his pelt did little justice when it came to the rivers that carve through the skin of his face. Jagged and rough, there is nothing elegant about his injuries. Twin scars deface his visage, working in tandem in their efforts to mark him as unworthy, and call attention unto themselves instead. The larger of the twin defilers runs from the bottom of his right eye, across the bridge of his snout, to connect with the corner of his lip on the left side of his muzzle. Its sister, while indeed lesser, shattered his vision with her presence - striking though his left orb like crooked lighting. A foggy colored disc still dares to part the water, however, even though its arms grow weaker with each passing year.

Constantine's eyes are arguably his most unique feature, bright olive dominating each lens. Though his mask is a broken one, be it by blemish or color. Coal shrouds his face, while tainted iron coats his throat and underside. Eyes are supposedly thought to be expressive, portals to one's innermost being, but if that were true, one would find an empty husk of a cat where Constantine's soul should be. Even gazing into his functional orb will yield little promise of emotion. What does shine through has been curbed by years of emotional repression - though he is far from any master of deception. Hard emotions such as fear, bitterness, resentment, and sadness have an easier time passing through such filters; but that is simply because he has never had many opportunities to express the others - which might make his often sullen or empty expressions more animated.

The beast's aura is generally one of passive regard. His presence is not one that commands or influences respect - his posture lax - keen to simply stay as seamlessly absent as possible. He has a long and slow stride, careful thought put into his steps so as to not slaughter mother nature's greenery for no reason other than selfish gain. He has surprising grace and quick reflexes, though he falls short on brute strength - easily able to handle dead weight, but dominating a living creature his size proves difficult, if not only by lack of physical prowess but lack of the same depth perception as his brethren as well.

TW: {kithood abuse, brief mentioning of endogamy (in-marriage)}

Sybeth was born not from love but for a purpose. Her father Cedric had grand plans for her, just as he did with all of his children. The grey and brown creature of fluff had quickly grown into a larger more formidable foe for her siblings to try and tackle. She was the most capable of the progeny produced from Cedric's coupling with Taem. While Liara was his mate, the two of them were not daft enough to believe their own coupling could result in any good, so they had delegated the task to two others. Sybeth, Aegon and Wynne had been sired by Cedric. And Gailham, Giersa and Iraud fathered by Liara's chosen substitute. The sibling lovers had raised them together, quick to instill their values of mental supremacy over physical dominance, though they did not shy their kits away from violence. Favored by her father, despite looking more like her dam than him, Sybeth was quick to take her family lessons to heart. She was large, muscular, and bulky, though she still had subtle curves. She was charming, intelligent, and deadly - exactly the one Cedric trusted to infiltrate the budding tribe that formed on their doorstep. Tasked with charming the leader's son to hopefully incite an insurrection that would place the both of them as leaders one day, Sybeth slowly integrated herself into this band's culture.

She was horrible at being the demure and quiet thing expected of her, though thankfully her mark could look past those shortcomings. She was too smart to be tied down, to live in the shadow of a mate. Sybeth longed for an equal, one that wouldn't make her hold her tongue, but lash back exactly what she gave, one that could best her in a fight and not go easy on her for her status. She found that in Enryn. He was a striking black tom, smaller than she, but still powerful, with green eyes that set every part of her aflame. There was only one problem. He was not the one her duty allowed her to entice. Foolish, reckless and young, Sybeth thought she could pull it all off. In a moment of weakness she consummated her relationship with Enryn, a consummation that ended in a problem - kits. Despite liberal use of herbs and toxins, there was nothing she could do to rid herself of these unwanted passengers. It was her fault, it was Enryn's fault, she had failed.

She wasn't quite foolish enough to try and escalate her and her mark's relationship, it would only arouse suspicion, but she did hide her pregnancy for as long as she could. Eventually she was confronted by the leader's son, hurt and betrayed, he cast her out when she would not give up the name of her kit's father. He should have killed her, according to his customs, but he showed uncharacteristic mercy - and more intelligence than Sybeth expected. Killing her then would only enrage her father and start a war between the two bands, so she left. Enryn tried to come with her, but she blamed him for this, and it was her burden to live with, her failure not his. He encouraged her to go back to her family, but she refused that path also, she wouldn't dishonor them with her presence. Instead she would do this alone.

Sybeth's pregnancy was a troublesome one. She was sick more often than not, and the life of a lone cat was never an easy one. Eventually she gave birth to four kits. Though one refused to breathe. Her heart cracked then, another failure on her part. Left with three, two of them seemed healthy, though the last, a male, was smaller than the rest of his littermates, a runt. Sybeth contemplated leaving him to the elements, but she couldn't find herself able to do it - she was weak - she had grown soft. Instead she distanced herself, if he died, it was nature's will. She would care for him, but he also had to take care of himself.

Despite the odds, the kit lived past the time frame Sybeth had calculated for him. He was healthy for the most part, just...inferior, like his father. He even had his eyes, or so Sybeth fashioned them similar enough. Constantine's childhood was nearly nonexistent. There was no time for play, they were always moving, their mom never stopping more than a few hours to rest after they had been weaned. They traveled all over, endless endless miles. All he had were his siblings, but Constantine was content enough with them. Sybeth had grown harsher as age smothered her; bitter, resentful, and cruel, she would take out her frustrations on her children. Had the three of them known what sanity was, they'd say she was slowly losing more and more of it each month.

At 24 moons, his sister Alyn had conceived kits by a tom from the band who's territory they currently bordered. Outraged, Sybeth was quick to attack her second eldest, making wild claims of abandonment and claiming to try and prove herself a better mother than she. Savage and brutal, if not for the intervention of Constantine, Alyn and her unborn kits would have very likely have died by their mother's hand. Instead, angered by her son's intervention, Sybeth turned her attack on him, ultimately disfiguring and blinding him in one eye before she met an unmeant end by her son. Scared, the siblings ultimately sought Alyn's new mate's favor in entering his band. Though Constantine quickly felt that he didn't belong and left the group. Taking up with a traveling group of medics and herbalists, they shared with him their ways before he bid them goodbye as well. Following the north star, his current aim is to discover the lands of 'the clans', mentioned in passing by many of the cats he's met in his travels in hope to find his own purpose.

A smart creature, what Constantine lacks in brawn he makes up for in mental skill. Shrewd and observant, the tom notices the finer details in life; the way someone presents themselves, the way they talk, how they do things in relation to what they are doing. Constantly being on the outskirts of society has given him enough time to practice his arts of observation and analysis. Though, perhaps he thinks too hard. Where one might be forced to a halt by emotional conflict, Constantine pursues his quarry without thinking how it might affect others. Eventually, he might realize he has overstepped his bounds, but usually, he is too focused on the light at the end of the tunnel to notice the tunnel closing in around him. For this, he is often shunned by his own kind. Be it temporary or permanent, he has precious few friends that forgive his oversights and far fewer who understand that he's never been trained to think in any other way than the most effective and callous way possible. Thought that does not mean he is purposefully insensitive or single-minded. On the contrary, many thoughts crowd his mind day in and day out. However, lack of social interaction has left him to be more content with postulations and hypotheses than conversing with those of his own species. Constantine is a deep thinker, craving to know how things work, though oftentimes finds himself unable to find solutions to the questions he asks.

Although extremely resistant to change, distancing himself from it when he can, Constantine is resourceful under pressure. He enjoys doing things a certain way and can become easily irritated at anyone or thing that disturbs his routine. He tolerates the shenanigans of most, as a kindness that is normally not offered to him, but he is thrown off mentally and socially when interjected into a group of more than three cats. Withdrawn and solitary by nature, it is easy for those with a loud personality to rattle him. Often dumbfounded by their tenacity, he attempts to ignore them in hopes of finding an opportunity to get away, but with enough effort, you can get him to listen to your ravings with an open and calm mind.

When given the floor on a topic he knows and enjoys, Constantine can explain things with a level head and thick patience as long as his company is willing to listen and learn. He is by no means charismatic though, normally he chooses not to speak if he can help doing so, but isn't entirely against private conversation. He is not charming, nor is he sociable, but the unique outlook he has on the world certainly shines through in his words when he chooses to relay his thoughts.

With a naturally curious mind and lack of fear for the things others of his kind might be too superstitious or cautious to investigate, the dull-colored male has found his knack in medicine. Constantine finds illnesses and ailments fascinating, perhaps garnering a sick sense of satisfaction when those who scorn him come with pleas of desperation to cure them of their current plight. There is a certain perversion that plagues him day and night. Some social norms are lost to him, and overall he acts in manners others might consider abnormal. He is not completely oblivious to emotion, though he rarely acknowledges it as something to be shown or commented on. For this reason, he can be seen as cold and uncaring while in reality, he may show some concern but not allow it to surface. Constantine is a solider for others. A follower and not a leader in many regards, but no mindless pawn; He chooses to support those already there rather than assert his own claims. Naturally drawn to the outliers in any equation, he covertly seeks out their comradeship. His full respect and allegiance take effort to earn but once gained they are yours. Constantine gives his loyalty to precious few, though those that have it have him at their beck and call. There is nothing he won't do for someone closest to him's safety - for if they continue to see past his strange ways - he'd give his soul to take their pain away.

Pre-Plotting: New to the valley, Constantine is still coming to terms with the politics shrouding the land. If he had to be put into a category, perhaps a blend of temperance and lawless. He does not make attachments easily and usually nests nearby, but not with, the other barn cats in his self-imposed exile and discomfort around many other cats at once - instead offering them and any passing loners medical aid should they need it. Or finding a place to nest somewhere secluded on the fringes of clan territory in his travels. Never staying in any one clan's land for long. 

While he does not understand belief in Starclan and thus the sparking of a holy war, he does understand ownership of land - even if he may not fully agree with the intensity some clans go about it - and tries to respect clan boundaries when he can by taking the shortest route through and abstaining from hunting unless absolutely necessary.

▪ Family: The only remaining family he has are his brother, sister, and her kits. The former of which is not necessarily hostile, but the two have near opposite views on life and thus have drifted apart long before his departure. He is still extremely fond of his sister, only leaving to give her the ‘normal’ life he thinks she deserves. He misses her, but would not want her to sacrifice her kits' safety by continuing the life of a loner with him when she has found a place elsewhere.
▪ Friends: It is far more common for the other party to consider themselves friends with him before he thinks likewise. Not because he’s averse to friendship, he simply has not had many in his life and to him, true friendship is an unbreakable bond he does not go into lightly.
▪ Romance: He has never had any romantic interest in anyone throughout his life. He’s not harshly closed off, but you would have to be dear friends with him before he might even think of someone that way - and even then he would never take the initiative, in fear of rejection.
▪ Rivals: Not one to hold grudges, he doesn’t consider himself to hold any rivalries personally. Others might name him a rival for some perceived affront, but he isn’t likely to reciprocate.

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