[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4][fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 1.3;]— Tybalt: birth name, raccoon. Crimsoncowl: alias, given to him by the city-dwellers. Hellhound identity.
— He used to live in an old city. Smoggy, fucking filthy, pigs at the top, sheep at the bottom. Murder wasn't common, surprisingly, but thievery sure as hell was. Gang wars weren't uncommon, either; you'd wake up and another kid had been rushed to one of the medics because they'd been battered half to death because they got caught up in a spat. This place made the Exiles look like sunshine and rainbows. It was utterly dismal.
— Raccoon, scavenged a lot of the time. Stole parts off people; these animals were mechanics, trying to build things to make their life better. He wasn't interested in much of that, but he liked to know that his alarm'd go off when he needed it to. Kept low, didn't interfere with the crueler side of town until something changed. There was a family that lived near him, and they had a little girl, a tiny thing, and she was adorable. Nice to everything. Somehow, she ended up outside, and was butchered in a gang brawl.
— His life changed. He decided he hated the city and everyone in it, and decided he was going to do something about it. In the form of a Hellhound — without a costume, at first, and he picked the domino mask + collar up along the way — he went out, killing gang members. It was just gang members at first, scum of the Earth, but then he set his sights on the pigs at the top of the ladder, too, knocking people off one by one, getting rid of the bad bad guys. He was a bad guy, too, but he was a good bad guy.
— Made weapons out of scavenged parts and the bones of his enemies. Rarely left a corpse, just a message. Because of this, and because nobody knew who he was, rumours spread that this "villain", or whatever he was, was a cannibal. People used to warn their kids not to go out at night, else they'd be eaten by the cannibal. People told their kids not to misbehave, else they'd be eaten in their beds. He never ate the corpses, though. Just took the bones. He never contradicted the rumours, though. He let them speculate.
— Due to the red domino mask, red collar and the fact that he'd often engage in bloody fights, face stained red, people nicknamed him the Crimson Cowl, a ghost in the night that punished the bad people. Yes, he was bad as well, but he was better than others. He became feared, but revered, too. Supposedly, he was God's left hand man, the unholy one, sent to purge the city of the evil stain that dirtied it. He let them spread that rumour, too. It was better than the one about him being a cannibal, that was for sure.
— But he was no god. He didn't work for a god. Even so, when they cordoned off a statue and made it his, an offering to him, a thanks, or something or other, leaving things to try and save themselves, he found himself wearing a rosary for a few months. A gangster ripped it off and broke it during a brawl. Their death was especially painful. He'd grown attached to the rosary.
— Fire. Finally, the city was purged, but there were still innocents trapped in there. He could've run, but he didn't. He kept reentering buildings, collapsed in on themselves and burning, to dig people out. Kids, adults, it didn't matter — he showed himself, and he got as many people out as he could. Sure, the city was ruined, but the gangs were gone, and the people were safe. He told them to leave, find somewhere else to live, and then he left as well.
— Joins SunClan.