Juraj Mikhail Jovanovic was born in 1980 and raised in what at the time was known as Sarajevo in Yugoslavia. In the 1990's the country became immersed in a bitter war for independance that would soon tear not just the country but villages, friends, and even whole families apart. The Jovanovic family were not to be spared on any of these counts. Sarajevo would soon become part of Bosnia marking Juraj's Croatian father an outsider not just for his Catholic faith but now too for his nationality. For his mother it was equally difficult as she crossed between borders, a Bosnian Muslim always wary of the Serbian soldiers.
At first no one wanted to believe that the war would come to Sarajevo and so they stayed and pretended nothing was wrong. How could it happen here they asked, to Sarajevo, the most beautiful city in the world? But happen it did, slowly at first, with the loss of services and then a slowdown of supplies, soon there would be no electricity and no water and those that could get out had begun to do so. By the time the rations grew scarce and the snipers appeared it was too late as Juraj's Father was among the first to learn, even getting water became a matter of life and death. His mother was beyond grief and even the care of her son became more then she could manage, at the age of 11 he became the man of the house. So it was, not a month later, he lost his mother as a shell struck the bulding they had been living in. Juraj himself was spared only because he had been out in search of food and by the time he returned all that remained were smoldering embers.
The next several months were spent wherever he could find shelter, scavaging food from dumpsters and abandoned buildings, or dodging sniper fire as he tried to reach the water lines. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be warm and dry, what it felt like to be clean. Mostly he'd forgotten what it was like to have someone do anything more then chase him away for trying to steal something from them when all he was trying to do was survive.
He would never quite remember where he first saw the Priest or how he came to let him take him to the church but he had, the next week would be a blur. He had family in America he was told, Grandparents in New York who would take him and so he was put on a plane, if only he had known what those next few years would be like.
It's best to leave those memories behind, his Grandfather had disapproved of the marriage between his parents and took every opportunity to remind Juraj of it. Every evening he would return from work and begin to drink and as he drank he would grow angrier and angrier and as he did he would take it out on his grandson. Juraj began looking for ways to escape, skipping school, doing drugs, drinking, running away, stealing, whatever it took he did it. Along with the abuse came the nightmares slowly at first, images he could barely remember that left him soaked and trembling with a fear far worse then that he'd known in Sarajevo. The abuse continued and his Grandparents refused to accept responsibility for his behavior, surely it was related to his past experiences in the war they claimed and so he was placed in a hospital for observation. On his 16th birthday Juraj escaped to the streets, they became his home as they had in Sarajevo and as he had at 12 he did again, living hand to mouth, doing what had to be done to survive.
It became survival of the fittest and over the years Juraj became a champion of the game, growing to a height of 6'4" and weighing close to 180lbs, his hair so black it often seemed almost blue. His skin remained a deep bronze year-round, and his face with it's prominant cheekbones seemed the perfect canvas to accentuate his vivid green eyes.
Life on the streets is never routine even though to some it may seem so and such was the case with Juraj. Hustling soon become second nature to him, he wasn't gay, but with his handsome dark looks and sensual Europeon accent he had found it a steady means for insuring he had a roof over his head and enough of whatever else he craved on any particular night. After a few months it had become almost a game, if a deadly one at that, he'd smoke a little weed, or run a line then hit the streets, most nights he would have his first John within minutes. Male or female, it didn't matter to him. as long as they had the cash to pay, as long as he knew that for at least one more night he had the means to escape and survive. If only he had known there was more to life then what lay on the surface.
The John had felt wrong from the start, no, not felt wrong, smelled wrong...how could that be? He needed the cash though and worse he needed some weed, if only he had known. He never saw the knife until it was in the man's hand and then it was like he was watching a dream...no, he was in the dream...seeing it through some animal's eyes. He could hear the growls, the tearing of flesh, taste the coppery blood on his tongue. The man had attacked him and he was fighting back...no, this animal had come out of nowhere and was fighting...why couldn't he tell them apart? When it was over the animal was gone and he was the one standing over what remained of the man. He was the one covered in blood...why couldn't he remember what had really happened?
Dominance and submission, mastery and servitude-such concepts form the basis of Shadow Lord society. To the Lords, hierarchy is everything. No other tribe is organized so rigidly, yet because their elders are masters of politics, they also have a reputation for treachery. As the rest of the world plunges into darkness, they argue, political power is the only strength holding the Garou Nation together. Leadership is the only measure of worth, so it must be maintained by any means necessary. Machiavellian and manipulative, the Lords are often maligned. Bearing others' disdain and mistrust with simmering rage, they skulk back to their shadowy chemes and furtive activities. It's best to exact revenge when your rivals least expect it...
All Werewolf tribe infomation copyright of White Wolf Publishing /Juraj "Greymist" Jovanovic is an Original Character, created for play in White Wolf's Werewolf:The Apocalypse, his PB image is Goran Visnjic. Goran is not a werewolf, and his image is in use here purely for entertainment purposes.