Cain grew up in a small pack scratching out a living in the shadows of Talingarde. As they grew, they realized they were so much more than the lambs around them. Unlike the hunters before them, however, they realized they could use the laws of this urban jungle to their advantage, and began to throw their weight around as a criminal cell. They would take whatever jobs would get them a little money and a little rep without bringing too much spotlight. Cain was never the alpha. He had the skills, but he didn't have that something that a born leader does. As soon as he realized his place in the pack, the pack flourished.
Over time, his pack was hunted by the Church, and he's the only survivor. Those damn paladins throw their weight around and don't consider that they are just as much a target as the sheep they shepherd. Cain revels in every kill he can make on those arrogant, self-righteous bastards.
As the years passed, a dangerous lifestyle and the constant war with the Church knights took a toll on the pack. Only a few remained of what was once a fuller group, their urban territory diminished to a much smaller run. Cain felt the loss acutely.
An answer showed up one day, striding out of the dreary rain in the form of a most un-dangerous looking woman. Cain distinctly remembers sizing her up quickly, identifying her as a mark for a later theft, murder, or… well… whatever she had to offer him, really. This wool-maker? Wash-woman? Her scent was of cloth, wood, and cleanliness with a certain… something underneath. Whatever she was, she would be an easy take, he had thought.
He'd been wrong.
Her name was Price -- a seamstress by trade. But she was oh-so-much more than that. Some kind of devout Asmodean; she had proven skillful and competent in a cold, calculated way. And she had come to recruit him for his skills. Either he had been slipping in his caution (unlikely), or she was very good indeed.
She was an excellent employer, then colleague, then -- strangely enough -- friend. He grew to rely on her like he did his old pack-mates. He would only learn later how meticulously and carefully she had cultivated their relationship. She paid well, but he would have run the jobs for free if she asked.
After all, the strength was in the Pack… not the lone wolf.
They ran countless jobs. Some were his. Some were hers. Some for her god. But often they targeted the Iomedaens. Their mutual hatred was a bonding thing, and every victory over those hypocritical blow-hards was a howl of exultation to fallen pack-mates.
This job smelled different from the get-go. Price seemed frustrated; something about it put a burr in her fur in a big way.
The plan was genius, really. Simple, but elegant in its simplicity. The goal seemed to be some kind of dark summoning ritual, but it required the killing of Iomedaens and the burning and desecrating of one of their cathedrals. Oh, how he would have done that job for free.
When the time came, their break-in was flawless. The guards were half-asleep and most died without a noise. The delicious scent of their warm blood made him want to let his inner-beast loose, but cool heads were needed that night.
The altar was defiled. The temple was torched. Everyone inside dead. The angry orange-red flames were a beautiful sight as they padded into the night and towards their final location. And here Cain had waited as Price's people had done their little ritual. Without being asked, Cain found an out-of-the-way spot to watch. He mostly watched for intrusions, but he had to admit a part of him watched the ritual out of a morbid curiosity.
Thats when the damn doors burst in. This many guards couldn't coordinate like this without warning. This was a setup. For a heartbeat Cain had suspected Price, but she fought with a viciousness rivaling his own. She didn't know, either. His Pack had been loyal to him. In the end it didn't' matter, though.
They were overwhelmed. Cain had't even gotten a shot at that jack-ass Balin who'd lead the charge. Pity that. He'd taken that man's scent, though. This hunt was just beginning.
If he could only slip these chains and clear the walls… he'd track the man down and enjoy spilling his blood. Now there'd be a hunt!