Whelp is a tall, desaturated 'lycanroc' with black goop leaking from his eyes. He has a pink scar that runs from the bridge of his nose to his chest, along with a handful of others that coat its pelt.
In the very beginning, Whelp wasn't a haunted lycanroc. He originated as a normal rockruff, taken in by a family who happened to be searching for a travel partner. Their child took Whelp under their wing, and the two started trekking across Alola. Much to Whelp's dismay, he had signed up for more than he prepared for.
One day it was crossing rushing waterfalls, the next it was staring into the mouth of an active volcano. The kid was reckless, with how often they threw their pokemon into battles. Whelp didn't do anything, because he couldn't. Life stunk, but he had a home.
Things got worse. Whelp became injured during an expedition, but the child didn't let him rest. They didn't know any better. So, one day, while he was limping behind his trainer, he noticed they were in a new enviorment. A rocky canyon, with dotted trees and foliage. In the middle, scattered tar pools. They walked over logs to keep from slipping, but even so, Whelp missed a step and stumbled. He grasped onto the wood for purchase, but it was futile. He fell into the puddle with a sickening SPLAT. In that moment, panic filled his brain.
The rockruff squealed, trying to wiggle himself free. His trainer had walked off somewhere, he noticed. His jaw was covered by tar, making it nearly impossible to make sound. He felt himself becoming weaker, as if his lifeforce was being drained from his body. Color seeped out from his fur like blood from an open wound, dulling his fur as he lost consciousness.
When Whelp woke up, he couldn't see a thing. His vision was clouded by darkness. He lifted a paw up to claw away the darkness, which... worked. Tar fell away from his vision, but still dripped from his eyelids. Whelp was able to crawl his way onto solid ground, out of the tar pit. He felt weak, so, so weak; a single gust of wind could blow Whelp over. He needed food. Bad. He quickly came to realize he wasn't in the tar pit canyon anymore, rather, a cave deep underground.
Luckily, in front of him laid a spearow. The bird had been unlucky enough to get trapped in the tar, the stuff that was spilling from the ceiling, but was still half alive. Desperate, Whelp grasped it between his jaws and slammed down. The prey dissolved into black flakes. Though he couldn't feel any flesh or meat in his mouth, he felt rejuvenated regardless.
Even so, just one piece of prey wasn't enough. If he didn't find enough food, and fast, he'd die. He didn't want to die.
For the next hour, Whelp mauled every pokemon in sight with increasing brutality. Be it made of rock or flesh, it didn't matter to him. His body stretched and contorted as he became stronger, hours melting into days. These creatures didn't matter to him. All that mattered is that he didn't die.
When his mind finally cleared, Whelp realized what had been done. How much time had passed, he didn't know, but enough so hundreds of pokemon corpses were strewn across a single dripping tar puddles. No longer was he the same rockruff- he had evolved, or so that's what trainers call it.
Both literally and metaphorically, Whelp continued to suck the life out of things. Too afraid of death, he wanders underneath Ula'ula island, causing sickness and death if he lingers in one spot for too long. In his strongest forms, he's able to beckon victims into a cave so he can finish the job. Problem is, he needs the person alive. They can't die from external factors, so older people are typically sparred.
Whelp doesn't know what happened to the trainer that raised him, nor the family that gave him away. As his influence on the caves of Alola grows, the less he emerges. Shadowy amalgamations- the corpses of his victims- do the work for him. Inky veins grip the once peaceful region, and Whelp has no intention of ever letting go. This world never cared for him, so he doesn't see a reason to care for it. All that matters to him is that he gets to live another day, and he's willing to do anything to make that happen.
For now, Whelp's content to live in his tar-covered cave, untouchable by any living creature.
