i'll be the one to decide if you're worth healing

sascha - elite mender

if it makes you feel better, we can pretend i'm timid. i calmed your mother as she passed- it was close enough.

male - he/him - panromantic, demisexual - 5 years - marigold and musky orange rines - open to relations/plotting

curse the minds of the wicked
Standing at 45 inches tall and at a hefty weight of 160 pounds, Sascha strikes as a mender only in disguise. Atypical in expectations regarding a creature in a position that eludes to a more peaceful demeanor, Sascha is a bit intimidating at first glance- if for nothing else, for his size.	Large paws lead to narrow, nimble ankles and long legs which support muscle used for gathering utility; herbs, gnawing sticks, cobwebs and the like... and often, treking his lonesome to remember that the grass and the trees breathe as he does.	Elongated, broad snout only accentuates the wideness of his skull, his large, narrowed eyes set deep under furrowed brows. Before approaching, you know already his voice is a low baritone of grizzle and might- though it may surprise you the languidity in which it is used, as if he finds his own words unimportant, or as though he expects them to go 'truly' unheard.	Deep, rich browns furor his body, clutching tight to his woven sinew and bone. He has not aged poorly, but rather grown into himself over the moons.
He's a grandeur gentleman for fun- opposed to improper language or practices which would leave his company wanting. In this virtue, he has habit of listening more, speaking less, and only offering advise when requested. Sascha only speaks when he feels his words are of importance- he never speaks lest he feels it necessary or worthwhile, which might leave him and company in an unassuming silence.	Presuming that as one of the few Sinners who isn't quick to fan their own flame or leap into the carnage, he has a responsibility to observe his packmates and subtly drive forward his personal vision. Sascha is the type of brute to plant a seed of an idea to sprout in anothers' mind, making them think that the idea was theirs all along. This is oft never done out of malice, but rather to soothe or compel for the 'greater good', which may or may not align with another's alignment.	Sascha's goals are simple, really. Keep his pack together, keep them alive- at least the ones that don't get in his way- and ensure that he's able to proceed living without much qualm. This means making himself useful, while also not stepping on too many paws- and still, somehow, pulling strings in his own favor, should he find himself able to manage it.	Thoughts of family are from long ago- daydreams of a young, naive wolf who thought of things such as 'true love' or 'soul mates'. Once upon a time that might have been a goal, but now in his aged sense, he can't imagine trusting himself- much less someone else- with his vulnerability, or offspring.

how i practice is wholly your concern, and entirely out of your control
mender traits	sascha is a notable archetype of leverage in vengeance; he is not a mender for having found a 'worth' in the lives of all birthed wolves, though he has, in a way, done so. rather, he has found a sick sense of satisfaction in meeting the gaze of a wolf done wrong against him, and declining them the special treatment they need to move forward. there are rumors that sascha has whispered to the ears of a steadily declining wolf that he would love to see them pass for the way they had overstepped, lost in their ego and place in the pack, mistreatment of the elite mender- and thought that their position a layer of thick armor- only to find out that their placement meant nothing to the healer should they not respect him in life. 'better you dead, than forcing a drain on my herb supply." in this same vein, you find he hasn't a sense of pleasure or real satisfaction in treating a wolf their ails, and simply treats it as something to be done when the need arises. a methodical oak, he might fondly be called.	.	through his strange behavior, sascha found his way to utilizing even those beyond his pack; crows, as he'd recalled his grandfather on his father's side would say, were "stupid, intelligent creatures of partnership- ready to cull a misdoer, and revive a storyteller". sascha, through his earlier moons, had never quite understood the notion- but rather found it a saying that reaped the meaning of 'usable'. and thus this was true, though only through learning the truth the saying had intended was he able to utilize the crows about in full. the crows weren't kind, no- nor did they trust blindly. however, they were almost easy to manipulate- at least, that's what he thought at first. it was later, he realized, perhaps the crows had manipulated him. it was only after repetitive offerings of nuts, shiny findings, and other inoculate findings [ bugs ], that there was any show of the effort being noticed- though when it was, it was a general appeal through the crows, as though they had all seen his offerings and came together in counsel to report if they were fine enough- that the clan of crows in the woods began assisting in herbal and other treatment-oriented findings. after enough time- which was far too long, in sascha's opinion- it would be that a singular crow would fly closer than the rest, and seem to learn sascha's native tongue; making requests easier. thus far this is the closest and most fond relationship sascha has curated, having been noted by his packmates as particularly odd. his reference to his friend with wings is 'fellow' more often than not, though is often subject to changes dependent on sascha's mood.

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