Post by Michelle on Aug 15, 2006 14:23:35 GMT -5
Michelle’s page for her character profiles, adurr.
Character profiles, in order;
Shrike
Darren
Characters unborn or yet to be posted;
Annabelle
Arsenic
Ella?
× General ×
Name: Shrike
Gender: Female
Species: Gray & Arctic
Age: Two
Height: 2’ 8”
Weight: 65 lbs.
Pack: The Greater North
Rank: Subordinate
× Appearance ×
She isn’t the most beautiful wolf you’ve ever seen, but she’s attractive in an average way. Most of her pelt is a velvety black, but a rich burgundy dabs the end of her tail, covers most of her legs like stockings, starts halfway up her back to broaden until some burgundy locks of fur fall over her eyes, and lastly, cover her ears. Her nose is burgundy aswell.
Dusky walnut brown compliments both of the other hues, taking up a large portion of her face and stopping the black halfway down her muzzle, dipping under her eyes and then dropping down until it passes the face, covers her chest, under her stomach and to the tip of her tail. It also fits neatly on the edges of her paws like gloves. The most striking part of her appearance are her bright chartreuse eyes, easily seen on even the darkest night.
× Picture Gallery ×
Temporary Character Sheet
Colored Template
Adoptable
Markings Reference
× Personality ×
Spirited and yet easy-going, she’s a wolf many would get along with. She’s laidback enough not to hold grudges, move on with her life when things go wrong and start anew when she needs to. When it comes to meeting new wolves, she can be shy and timid, but once you get to know her, you’d find the humorous, adventure-loving wolf that hides behind her mask. She loves new experiences; be it new places, new faces, or something else altogether. While she does love adventuring when she gets the chance, she’s just as content to bask in the sun or hang out and indulging in a little small talk.
Nonetheless, she’s not the life of the party; she prefers quietly enjoying her surroundings and daydreaming, or discussing interesting topics with a friend. The biggest notable difference in her personality is that despite her usual temperament, when she’s given authority, her shyness disappears for the moment and she can take control of a situation, keep everyone calm and working together. The only flaw in her skills of command is that she shies away from violence against others unless while hunting. This aversion comes directly from her past, but she doesn’t talk about that very much.
× The Past ×
Shrike comes from a rather unusual background. She lived in a family pack with her parents, her two brothers and her sister, but they were part of something bigger than themselves. They belonged to a clan, sharing a common ancestor with a community of wolf packs, called the Atlachre Clan. This Clan had traditions and customs of their own, which often were connected with their affinity with the sky. Because of this affinity, the wolves named their children after the birds that soared through the heavens they so admired, where they could not follow. The Clan was led by the Skuultor Pack, which was the most powerful family of the Clan, and had been so for many years. This pack had decreed long ago when they had come into sovereignty that each family mate only with families named after like species of birds, such as birds of prey, water fowl and songbirds. They did this only as a show of power, to put the seal on their authority. The Clan had consented to the proclamation in the frame of mind that all newly risen influential families did this, and the decree had become rigid custom over time.
Several lifetimes later, a case of cliché forbidden love grew quietly in the background of Clan society. Iora, a sweet young wolfess of a middle class family pack fell in love with Osprey, a brave young wolf that had some real potential to be a renowned warrior, if that was the path he chose. It wasn’t long before separating became harder and harder, and their families were wondering where they went when they disappeared. They didn’t want to cause their families grief, but the couple didn’t want their love to be made public by someone who wished them ill. They announced it themselves, causing turmoil among the Clan wolves. The generations that had lived by the Skuultor Pack’s decree were upset by their bond, quickly turning to the Skuultor Pack once more for jurisdiction. Osprey and Iora pleaded with them, arguing that there was nothing wrong with their bond, and that if they just gave them a chance their decision would be worthwhile. The current reigning alpha of Skuultor at the time was Harrier, not the best of alphas they’d ever had, but far from the worst.
He mused the matter over in his mind for awhile, and much to the discontentment of the majority of the Clan, allowed them to be mates; but under one condition. They must swear their children to the Skuultor Pack, for the pack to do as it wished with them when they came of age. Osprey grimly agreed, and managed to convince Iora that everything would turn out alright. Two summers later they had four hale and hearty wolf cubs, two males and two females. They named most of them after predatory birds for Osprey’s family, who had been uncomfortable with their mating much more than Iora’s, but named their eldest daughter for Iora’s family. And so Merlin, Shrike, Peregrine and Shikra were born, in a comfortable den under the roots of a sycamore tree deep in the land they had claimed for themselves near the heart of the Clan’s territory. The wolf cubs lived out normal childhoods, playing, tumbling and mockfighting in the forest that encompassed a large portion of the territory, happy to be young and alive. Shrike was especially close to Merlin, and they were rarely apart, best friends forever.
Unfortunately, good things never seem to last. Osprey and Iora had been working hard to be beneficial members of the Clan, Osprey rising to an elite rank of warriors through long hours of sweat and blood, while Iora labored long days at learning the shaman’s trade, until she gained a respectable repute among the Clan shamans. The Clan had slowly accepted them back into society as reputable wolves, and their children didn’t often tease or bully the four siblings as mixbloods. They were an entirely proper Clan family pack, but they did love each other and pulled their own weight. Osprey and Iora had begun preparing their sons and daughters for life in the Clan, Osprey teaching his sons how to fight and Iora teaching her daughters how to heal and read the stars, and a number of things shamans must know. Shrike loved these arts, but she missed spending the day with Merlin enough to switch over to learning how to fight with her brothers. Peregrine loved fighting, and threw himself into his training every day, but Merlin seemed content with whatever he was doing was long as he had his family at his side.
Leaving Shikra happily learning her mother’s work, she learned with her brothers and more time went by. They were almost yearlings now, time for Shikra to spend the night alone on the mountain to find her spirit guide as shamans did, and for Shrike and her brothers to participate in their first battle, or what the Clan called their first blooding. A few months before their coming of age, a messenger came from the Skuultor Pack and spoke quietly with their parents, then left. Shrike grew worried when she saw them looking anxiously at each other, for the siblings knew well that they had been promised to the Skuultor family. They had not worried very long about this, as they assumed it would merely mean swearing their loyalty as warriors or in Shikra’s case, a shaman to them. It turned out that while this was true, they also wanted their eldest daughter as the promised mate of their own eldest son. The news was shocking--they were mixbloods! Thoughts of them being inferior because of that had never crossed their minds, but that wasn’t how the rest of the Clan saw them, even if they did accept them now.
Osprey had pinned down the messenger with his enormous paw on his throat and forced him to explain further, and when the wolf could breath sufficiently again, tell them he did. Apparently, the Skuultor family’s eldest son, simply named Raptor, had heard about Osprey and Iora’s promise, and had made up his mind that he wanted Shrike for himself. Initially, his reasoning had been that his bloodline would then have the blood of three families instead of just two all at once, making them stronger and a cut above the rest. That was, until he had gone to see Shrike on his own at the public exercise grounds, where many young wolves learned to fight. He had approached her after ordering the other young wolves into silence about his identity so that he could talk to her as if he were a normal wolf of another middle class family, and see her true colors. She and her brothers often conversed with wolves of other family packs just as anyone would, making friends now and then and just being normal kids. Shrike hadn’t ever even heard of the Skuultor Pack’s eldest son, so she talked with Raptor just as she did with everyone else. He was quite taken with her, surprising himself. Was he in love?
He returned to his family grounds with an even stronger conviction to have her betrothed to him, standing firm with his decision even after initial disapproval from the rest of his family pack. His primary reasoning was all Shrike’s parents learned of, and as unhappy as they were about the whole matter, there was nothing they could do. When Shrike herself learned of this, she was confused and uncertain concerning her feelings about it all, pushing the matter from her mind until after her first fight. The day of the battle came, and she and her brothers fought side by side, defending each other as they fought with one of the raiding parties from a neighboring pack outside of the Clan. Raiding parties were fairly common, but their bad luck had brought to across a particularly big and nasty one, determined to win because their own lands were suffering a famine. If the invading group broke through, they could kill at least half a dozen families at the worst in their quest for the Clan’s available prey. Because of this, the three fought bravely, for the Clan but more importantly, for their own family.
Despite their best efforts, they were separated in the maelstrom of violence, and Shrike saw not a glimpse of either one of them until the fighting had died down, leaving most of Clan patrol wolves still on their feet if a little worse for wear, and the remaining trespassers retreating with their dead and their tails between their legs. Afterwards, Shrike quickly found Peregrine, and together they searched among the survivors for Merlin. Shrike began to panic more and more when they couldn’t find him, desperately searching among the two dozen or so fallen, hoping that Merlin had simply sustained an injury that prevented him from gathering with the others. His body was never found. Shrike’s anguished howl tore from her chest and left her throat dry and raw when Osprey came to take them home, back to a den that was one family member short. The next day the wolves that had died during the fighting were carried up the tallest mountain in the Atlachre Clan’s territory, to the expanse, flat shelf of land high up the mountainside that served as the Clan’s graveyard.
The wolves were laid among the bones of their ancestors as close to the sky as their families could bring them, so that their spirits could easily run with the birds now that they had passed from their bodies. Since Shrike’s family could not bring Merlin’s body, they each brought a feather from the bird they had been named after, in the belief that the spirits of the birds that the feathers belonged to would guide his spirit here since they could not, and laid it with the bones. The whole family was devastated by their loss, but Shrike was hit the hardest. When the grieving howls of the wolves slowly dwindled away and the families withdrew to their homes, Shrike asked her family if it would be alright if she stayed behind awhile. They understood and with an few emotional goodbyes, left her there for as long as she felt she needed to stay. The forest grew on the mountainside almost to the snowy tip, and while the shelf was only a short ways under the treeline, it wasn’t too cold to spend the night. Shrike found a place beside one of the icy, clear mountain streams that were always running through the mountainside forest, fueled by the melting snow. They would later form rivers that ran through the Clan’s lands, and she knew this one eventually led to the river than ran through the edge of her family’s lands, so she could find her way home.
But when dawn came, she couldn’t bring herself to follow the cold, mirror-like water as it trickled down through the trees. Why should she return home? There was only her family to tie her here, and all wolves eventually left home. All that was left for her now there was a betrothal to a wolf she thought she’d never met, and emptiness at her side where Merlin should’ve been. She formed her own path down the mountain until the land leveled out again, and she made her way slowly out of the packlands, careful not to be seen. From there, she fell into a murky depression, aimlessly wandering from place to place on autopilot, not caring how ragged she appeared or what happened to her. Unconsciously, she’d been following the northern lights, which Merlin had pointed out to her one freezing winter night when they were younger. She had stared in wonder, forgetting the temperature in her amazement. Now she stumbled across the border into the Greater North without realizing she had until she met Whitelightning, one of the twin alphas. The fire inside that had died began to burn again, weakly at first, than flaming higher. She was a wolf of the Greater North now, and proud of it. She built a new life in the North, beginning to feel like she belonged again. She’s come back to herself now, facing each day with a stronger heart than the day before.
× General ×
Name: Darren
Gender: Male
Species: Blackblood Dire
Age: Two
Height: 3’ 7”
Weight: 110 lbs.
Pack: The Blackblood Alliance
Rank: Scout
× Appearance ×
Unlike the usual Blackblood, Darren is lean and slender. He moves with a strange, feline grace, like a mix of a lion and a wolf. The darker fur on his back stands up slightly in a rift, a short shock of it falling over his eyes. He can hold a gaze steadily and his eyes are a delicate mix of carmine red and yellow, combining to make a bright titian shot through with both other colors. His pelt is mainly brown, with beige fur starting on his chest and continuing until it fades away at the end of his tell, passing under his stomach.
An ebony patch of black is centered on his back, disconnected from the black rift, and the same hue rims his ears. Lastly, deep burgundy completely envelopes his legs. He looks this way because of selective breeding, an immoral custom of his old pack. He might have timber wolf blood somewhere in his line because he more resembles one on a bigger scale, but even if he did his parents would never admit it for their arrogant pride. He would be considered rather handsome if a female was evaluating him, but his appearance doesn’t concern him.
× Picture Gallery ×
Character Sheet
Adoptable
× Personality ×
Usually, Darren keeps to himself and works tirelessly. His dream is to be a Blackblood warrior, believing that this would make up for some of the mistakes he made in the past. The strain to work harder and be recognized can stress him out and make him irritable, but regardless, he has somewhat of a temper. This isn’t uncommon among Blackbloods, but unlike the usual wolf he uses his anger with cold proficiency in battle. He harnesses it and uses the emotion to fuel his attacks, but is careful not to lose control of himself.
Some ways of surely infuriating him are treating him with contempt, disdain or disregard. If handled with respect, as an equal, he can be a valued ally and even a good friend. Underneath the bitter and vicious exterior, conditioned by years of mental abuse, waits a wicked grin and a personality brimming with trouble-making intentions and a deep instinct to protect what is dear to him. The worst thing you can ever do to Darren is underestimate him.
× The Past ×
When he was young, Darren quickly learned the ways of society in his homeland. There was heavy division in the pack, enforced by the higher-ranked wolves. The lower-ranked wolves, considered peasants, were pressured mercilessly by those of noble blood, forced to do the grunt work of the pack. They weren’t worthy to lick the nobles’ blessed paws. Darren himself was born to two noblewolves, who were both in good standing in the pack and as he grew older, so did their alpha. Rumors started circling that either Darren or his rival would murder the alpha and take the throne, which was always how new leaders were selected. Darren was always trying to impress his father, working harder and harder at bigger and bigger accomplishments to receive just a word of praise or a whisper of pride for his son in his father’s voice. What he wanted never came, and he couldn’t figure out why his father was so cold to him.
He would disappear into the woods for hours on end, stalking through the trees angrily, howling his frustration and hurt. When he was almost a year old, he met some peasant lads his age in the forest as well, where they weren’t allowed to be. Normally, noblewolves would turn up their muzzles and looks down their nose at peasants in disdain, and in this case, punish the peasants severely before sending them home. Darren, however, was feeling rebellious again because of his father, and instead of calling on aid to drag them pack to the peasant’s small portion of packland, he stayed and got to know the three other wolves, becoming good friends with them. They introduced him to a few more peasant wolves, and soon he had a half-dozen friends, more than he’d ever had in his entire life. For once, he was happy; the feeling was strange and alien to him. He spent more and more time with the peasants, his friends, out in the woods.
Noblewolves began to notice, but they assumed he was training himself for his eventual battle with his rival. The day came when his rival followed him into the woods, declaring the challenge, bringing his “friends“, which were more like bootlickers who wanted good positions in the pack when and if Darren fell. Darren signaled for his own friends to stay out of sight, not wanting them to get hurt or punished on his account. They grudgingly obeyed, worried for him. The fight commenced and both wolves fought savagely, though it wasn’t meant to be to the death. Regardless, they lost themselves in their bloodlust and no one did anything to stop the bloodletting. At the end of the night, Darren rival lay dead in a pool of his own blood, and Darren’s as well. The dead wolf’s friend bolted off to tell the alpha, hoping to get him knocked from the noble ranks for good. When he was, Darren was furious.
He had been planning to make life better for the peasants if he took the alpha position, and now that avenue was cut off forever from he. But he couldn’t abandon his friends to the rule of a crueler leader. Abandoning his family, bitterly thinking that his mother had always been too busy in court and his father had ignored him anyway, he and his friends formed a rebel pack on the borders of their old one. They began smuggling peasants out of the packlands, but while it went good for some time, things began to crash and burn. No more than five moons after they had left their pack, Darren and his friends were tracked down by some of the noblewolf warriors, intent on putting an end to the rebellion. They fought with everything they had, but there were more noblewolves than they, and they were backed against the lip of a cliff where they had been chased; purposely, because the warriors knew where they wanted them for the fight.
Horrified and enraged, as Darren fought, he watched friend after friend fall to their enemies’ teeth. He began feeling light-headed and dizzy from loss of blood and exhaustion, but he stayed on his feet and keep fighting. Despite his efforts and his usual nasty temper, he grew desperate when the best friend he had died with a slashed throat. It was unreal; this was some kind of sick, violent fairy tale, a cliché story that shouldn’t exist. Nonetheless, the nightmare continued until the warriors left, sure their job was done. Darren looked dead or near dead, but he was still alive. Trying weakly to stagger to his feet again, he nearly tripped over the side of the cliff when he slipped in the his blood. His father had pushed him back to the ground with one enormous brown paw, glaring down at him with no expression at all on his face.
A long moment passed, before Darren’s rage broke and he screamed for his father to kill him and be done with it. The silence stretched on again, until his father simply turned and left, without looking back. Furious at the pack, his father, and himself, Darren crawled away to lick his wounds in more ways than one. Eventually, he carried his scars on with him when he left for the Blackblood Alliance lands, feeling it was the only place left for him. Believing that becoming a warrior there and trying to make life better for anyone he could be fighting for it as he’d always done seemed like the best plan of action for him, all he had left. Since then, he tried hard to impress their Master Warrior, Reicher, and was rewarded for the effort with the rank of scout. For now, he works from there; having come across an older wolf named Archangel during his scouting duties, and after a small skirmish with him, the two came to terms with each other and Darren agreed to let Archangel teach him how better to train for the warrior rank.
Comments are appreciated. =)
Character profiles, in order;
Shrike
Darren
Characters unborn or yet to be posted;
Annabelle
Arsenic
Ella?
× General ×
Name: Shrike
Gender: Female
Species: Gray & Arctic
Age: Two
Height: 2’ 8”
Weight: 65 lbs.
Pack: The Greater North
Rank: Subordinate
× Appearance ×
She isn’t the most beautiful wolf you’ve ever seen, but she’s attractive in an average way. Most of her pelt is a velvety black, but a rich burgundy dabs the end of her tail, covers most of her legs like stockings, starts halfway up her back to broaden until some burgundy locks of fur fall over her eyes, and lastly, cover her ears. Her nose is burgundy aswell.
Dusky walnut brown compliments both of the other hues, taking up a large portion of her face and stopping the black halfway down her muzzle, dipping under her eyes and then dropping down until it passes the face, covers her chest, under her stomach and to the tip of her tail. It also fits neatly on the edges of her paws like gloves. The most striking part of her appearance are her bright chartreuse eyes, easily seen on even the darkest night.
× Picture Gallery ×
Temporary Character Sheet
Colored Template
Adoptable
Markings Reference
× Personality ×
Spirited and yet easy-going, she’s a wolf many would get along with. She’s laidback enough not to hold grudges, move on with her life when things go wrong and start anew when she needs to. When it comes to meeting new wolves, she can be shy and timid, but once you get to know her, you’d find the humorous, adventure-loving wolf that hides behind her mask. She loves new experiences; be it new places, new faces, or something else altogether. While she does love adventuring when she gets the chance, she’s just as content to bask in the sun or hang out and indulging in a little small talk.
Nonetheless, she’s not the life of the party; she prefers quietly enjoying her surroundings and daydreaming, or discussing interesting topics with a friend. The biggest notable difference in her personality is that despite her usual temperament, when she’s given authority, her shyness disappears for the moment and she can take control of a situation, keep everyone calm and working together. The only flaw in her skills of command is that she shies away from violence against others unless while hunting. This aversion comes directly from her past, but she doesn’t talk about that very much.
× The Past ×
Shrike comes from a rather unusual background. She lived in a family pack with her parents, her two brothers and her sister, but they were part of something bigger than themselves. They belonged to a clan, sharing a common ancestor with a community of wolf packs, called the Atlachre Clan. This Clan had traditions and customs of their own, which often were connected with their affinity with the sky. Because of this affinity, the wolves named their children after the birds that soared through the heavens they so admired, where they could not follow. The Clan was led by the Skuultor Pack, which was the most powerful family of the Clan, and had been so for many years. This pack had decreed long ago when they had come into sovereignty that each family mate only with families named after like species of birds, such as birds of prey, water fowl and songbirds. They did this only as a show of power, to put the seal on their authority. The Clan had consented to the proclamation in the frame of mind that all newly risen influential families did this, and the decree had become rigid custom over time.
Several lifetimes later, a case of cliché forbidden love grew quietly in the background of Clan society. Iora, a sweet young wolfess of a middle class family pack fell in love with Osprey, a brave young wolf that had some real potential to be a renowned warrior, if that was the path he chose. It wasn’t long before separating became harder and harder, and their families were wondering where they went when they disappeared. They didn’t want to cause their families grief, but the couple didn’t want their love to be made public by someone who wished them ill. They announced it themselves, causing turmoil among the Clan wolves. The generations that had lived by the Skuultor Pack’s decree were upset by their bond, quickly turning to the Skuultor Pack once more for jurisdiction. Osprey and Iora pleaded with them, arguing that there was nothing wrong with their bond, and that if they just gave them a chance their decision would be worthwhile. The current reigning alpha of Skuultor at the time was Harrier, not the best of alphas they’d ever had, but far from the worst.
He mused the matter over in his mind for awhile, and much to the discontentment of the majority of the Clan, allowed them to be mates; but under one condition. They must swear their children to the Skuultor Pack, for the pack to do as it wished with them when they came of age. Osprey grimly agreed, and managed to convince Iora that everything would turn out alright. Two summers later they had four hale and hearty wolf cubs, two males and two females. They named most of them after predatory birds for Osprey’s family, who had been uncomfortable with their mating much more than Iora’s, but named their eldest daughter for Iora’s family. And so Merlin, Shrike, Peregrine and Shikra were born, in a comfortable den under the roots of a sycamore tree deep in the land they had claimed for themselves near the heart of the Clan’s territory. The wolf cubs lived out normal childhoods, playing, tumbling and mockfighting in the forest that encompassed a large portion of the territory, happy to be young and alive. Shrike was especially close to Merlin, and they were rarely apart, best friends forever.
Unfortunately, good things never seem to last. Osprey and Iora had been working hard to be beneficial members of the Clan, Osprey rising to an elite rank of warriors through long hours of sweat and blood, while Iora labored long days at learning the shaman’s trade, until she gained a respectable repute among the Clan shamans. The Clan had slowly accepted them back into society as reputable wolves, and their children didn’t often tease or bully the four siblings as mixbloods. They were an entirely proper Clan family pack, but they did love each other and pulled their own weight. Osprey and Iora had begun preparing their sons and daughters for life in the Clan, Osprey teaching his sons how to fight and Iora teaching her daughters how to heal and read the stars, and a number of things shamans must know. Shrike loved these arts, but she missed spending the day with Merlin enough to switch over to learning how to fight with her brothers. Peregrine loved fighting, and threw himself into his training every day, but Merlin seemed content with whatever he was doing was long as he had his family at his side.
Leaving Shikra happily learning her mother’s work, she learned with her brothers and more time went by. They were almost yearlings now, time for Shikra to spend the night alone on the mountain to find her spirit guide as shamans did, and for Shrike and her brothers to participate in their first battle, or what the Clan called their first blooding. A few months before their coming of age, a messenger came from the Skuultor Pack and spoke quietly with their parents, then left. Shrike grew worried when she saw them looking anxiously at each other, for the siblings knew well that they had been promised to the Skuultor family. They had not worried very long about this, as they assumed it would merely mean swearing their loyalty as warriors or in Shikra’s case, a shaman to them. It turned out that while this was true, they also wanted their eldest daughter as the promised mate of their own eldest son. The news was shocking--they were mixbloods! Thoughts of them being inferior because of that had never crossed their minds, but that wasn’t how the rest of the Clan saw them, even if they did accept them now.
Osprey had pinned down the messenger with his enormous paw on his throat and forced him to explain further, and when the wolf could breath sufficiently again, tell them he did. Apparently, the Skuultor family’s eldest son, simply named Raptor, had heard about Osprey and Iora’s promise, and had made up his mind that he wanted Shrike for himself. Initially, his reasoning had been that his bloodline would then have the blood of three families instead of just two all at once, making them stronger and a cut above the rest. That was, until he had gone to see Shrike on his own at the public exercise grounds, where many young wolves learned to fight. He had approached her after ordering the other young wolves into silence about his identity so that he could talk to her as if he were a normal wolf of another middle class family, and see her true colors. She and her brothers often conversed with wolves of other family packs just as anyone would, making friends now and then and just being normal kids. Shrike hadn’t ever even heard of the Skuultor Pack’s eldest son, so she talked with Raptor just as she did with everyone else. He was quite taken with her, surprising himself. Was he in love?
He returned to his family grounds with an even stronger conviction to have her betrothed to him, standing firm with his decision even after initial disapproval from the rest of his family pack. His primary reasoning was all Shrike’s parents learned of, and as unhappy as they were about the whole matter, there was nothing they could do. When Shrike herself learned of this, she was confused and uncertain concerning her feelings about it all, pushing the matter from her mind until after her first fight. The day of the battle came, and she and her brothers fought side by side, defending each other as they fought with one of the raiding parties from a neighboring pack outside of the Clan. Raiding parties were fairly common, but their bad luck had brought to across a particularly big and nasty one, determined to win because their own lands were suffering a famine. If the invading group broke through, they could kill at least half a dozen families at the worst in their quest for the Clan’s available prey. Because of this, the three fought bravely, for the Clan but more importantly, for their own family.
Despite their best efforts, they were separated in the maelstrom of violence, and Shrike saw not a glimpse of either one of them until the fighting had died down, leaving most of Clan patrol wolves still on their feet if a little worse for wear, and the remaining trespassers retreating with their dead and their tails between their legs. Afterwards, Shrike quickly found Peregrine, and together they searched among the survivors for Merlin. Shrike began to panic more and more when they couldn’t find him, desperately searching among the two dozen or so fallen, hoping that Merlin had simply sustained an injury that prevented him from gathering with the others. His body was never found. Shrike’s anguished howl tore from her chest and left her throat dry and raw when Osprey came to take them home, back to a den that was one family member short. The next day the wolves that had died during the fighting were carried up the tallest mountain in the Atlachre Clan’s territory, to the expanse, flat shelf of land high up the mountainside that served as the Clan’s graveyard.
The wolves were laid among the bones of their ancestors as close to the sky as their families could bring them, so that their spirits could easily run with the birds now that they had passed from their bodies. Since Shrike’s family could not bring Merlin’s body, they each brought a feather from the bird they had been named after, in the belief that the spirits of the birds that the feathers belonged to would guide his spirit here since they could not, and laid it with the bones. The whole family was devastated by their loss, but Shrike was hit the hardest. When the grieving howls of the wolves slowly dwindled away and the families withdrew to their homes, Shrike asked her family if it would be alright if she stayed behind awhile. They understood and with an few emotional goodbyes, left her there for as long as she felt she needed to stay. The forest grew on the mountainside almost to the snowy tip, and while the shelf was only a short ways under the treeline, it wasn’t too cold to spend the night. Shrike found a place beside one of the icy, clear mountain streams that were always running through the mountainside forest, fueled by the melting snow. They would later form rivers that ran through the Clan’s lands, and she knew this one eventually led to the river than ran through the edge of her family’s lands, so she could find her way home.
But when dawn came, she couldn’t bring herself to follow the cold, mirror-like water as it trickled down through the trees. Why should she return home? There was only her family to tie her here, and all wolves eventually left home. All that was left for her now there was a betrothal to a wolf she thought she’d never met, and emptiness at her side where Merlin should’ve been. She formed her own path down the mountain until the land leveled out again, and she made her way slowly out of the packlands, careful not to be seen. From there, she fell into a murky depression, aimlessly wandering from place to place on autopilot, not caring how ragged she appeared or what happened to her. Unconsciously, she’d been following the northern lights, which Merlin had pointed out to her one freezing winter night when they were younger. She had stared in wonder, forgetting the temperature in her amazement. Now she stumbled across the border into the Greater North without realizing she had until she met Whitelightning, one of the twin alphas. The fire inside that had died began to burn again, weakly at first, than flaming higher. She was a wolf of the Greater North now, and proud of it. She built a new life in the North, beginning to feel like she belonged again. She’s come back to herself now, facing each day with a stronger heart than the day before.
× General ×
Name: Darren
Gender: Male
Species: Blackblood Dire
Age: Two
Height: 3’ 7”
Weight: 110 lbs.
Pack: The Blackblood Alliance
Rank: Scout
× Appearance ×
Unlike the usual Blackblood, Darren is lean and slender. He moves with a strange, feline grace, like a mix of a lion and a wolf. The darker fur on his back stands up slightly in a rift, a short shock of it falling over his eyes. He can hold a gaze steadily and his eyes are a delicate mix of carmine red and yellow, combining to make a bright titian shot through with both other colors. His pelt is mainly brown, with beige fur starting on his chest and continuing until it fades away at the end of his tell, passing under his stomach.
An ebony patch of black is centered on his back, disconnected from the black rift, and the same hue rims his ears. Lastly, deep burgundy completely envelopes his legs. He looks this way because of selective breeding, an immoral custom of his old pack. He might have timber wolf blood somewhere in his line because he more resembles one on a bigger scale, but even if he did his parents would never admit it for their arrogant pride. He would be considered rather handsome if a female was evaluating him, but his appearance doesn’t concern him.
× Picture Gallery ×
Character Sheet
Adoptable
× Personality ×
Usually, Darren keeps to himself and works tirelessly. His dream is to be a Blackblood warrior, believing that this would make up for some of the mistakes he made in the past. The strain to work harder and be recognized can stress him out and make him irritable, but regardless, he has somewhat of a temper. This isn’t uncommon among Blackbloods, but unlike the usual wolf he uses his anger with cold proficiency in battle. He harnesses it and uses the emotion to fuel his attacks, but is careful not to lose control of himself.
Some ways of surely infuriating him are treating him with contempt, disdain or disregard. If handled with respect, as an equal, he can be a valued ally and even a good friend. Underneath the bitter and vicious exterior, conditioned by years of mental abuse, waits a wicked grin and a personality brimming with trouble-making intentions and a deep instinct to protect what is dear to him. The worst thing you can ever do to Darren is underestimate him.
× The Past ×
When he was young, Darren quickly learned the ways of society in his homeland. There was heavy division in the pack, enforced by the higher-ranked wolves. The lower-ranked wolves, considered peasants, were pressured mercilessly by those of noble blood, forced to do the grunt work of the pack. They weren’t worthy to lick the nobles’ blessed paws. Darren himself was born to two noblewolves, who were both in good standing in the pack and as he grew older, so did their alpha. Rumors started circling that either Darren or his rival would murder the alpha and take the throne, which was always how new leaders were selected. Darren was always trying to impress his father, working harder and harder at bigger and bigger accomplishments to receive just a word of praise or a whisper of pride for his son in his father’s voice. What he wanted never came, and he couldn’t figure out why his father was so cold to him.
He would disappear into the woods for hours on end, stalking through the trees angrily, howling his frustration and hurt. When he was almost a year old, he met some peasant lads his age in the forest as well, where they weren’t allowed to be. Normally, noblewolves would turn up their muzzles and looks down their nose at peasants in disdain, and in this case, punish the peasants severely before sending them home. Darren, however, was feeling rebellious again because of his father, and instead of calling on aid to drag them pack to the peasant’s small portion of packland, he stayed and got to know the three other wolves, becoming good friends with them. They introduced him to a few more peasant wolves, and soon he had a half-dozen friends, more than he’d ever had in his entire life. For once, he was happy; the feeling was strange and alien to him. He spent more and more time with the peasants, his friends, out in the woods.
Noblewolves began to notice, but they assumed he was training himself for his eventual battle with his rival. The day came when his rival followed him into the woods, declaring the challenge, bringing his “friends“, which were more like bootlickers who wanted good positions in the pack when and if Darren fell. Darren signaled for his own friends to stay out of sight, not wanting them to get hurt or punished on his account. They grudgingly obeyed, worried for him. The fight commenced and both wolves fought savagely, though it wasn’t meant to be to the death. Regardless, they lost themselves in their bloodlust and no one did anything to stop the bloodletting. At the end of the night, Darren rival lay dead in a pool of his own blood, and Darren’s as well. The dead wolf’s friend bolted off to tell the alpha, hoping to get him knocked from the noble ranks for good. When he was, Darren was furious.
He had been planning to make life better for the peasants if he took the alpha position, and now that avenue was cut off forever from he. But he couldn’t abandon his friends to the rule of a crueler leader. Abandoning his family, bitterly thinking that his mother had always been too busy in court and his father had ignored him anyway, he and his friends formed a rebel pack on the borders of their old one. They began smuggling peasants out of the packlands, but while it went good for some time, things began to crash and burn. No more than five moons after they had left their pack, Darren and his friends were tracked down by some of the noblewolf warriors, intent on putting an end to the rebellion. They fought with everything they had, but there were more noblewolves than they, and they were backed against the lip of a cliff where they had been chased; purposely, because the warriors knew where they wanted them for the fight.
Horrified and enraged, as Darren fought, he watched friend after friend fall to their enemies’ teeth. He began feeling light-headed and dizzy from loss of blood and exhaustion, but he stayed on his feet and keep fighting. Despite his efforts and his usual nasty temper, he grew desperate when the best friend he had died with a slashed throat. It was unreal; this was some kind of sick, violent fairy tale, a cliché story that shouldn’t exist. Nonetheless, the nightmare continued until the warriors left, sure their job was done. Darren looked dead or near dead, but he was still alive. Trying weakly to stagger to his feet again, he nearly tripped over the side of the cliff when he slipped in the his blood. His father had pushed him back to the ground with one enormous brown paw, glaring down at him with no expression at all on his face.
A long moment passed, before Darren’s rage broke and he screamed for his father to kill him and be done with it. The silence stretched on again, until his father simply turned and left, without looking back. Furious at the pack, his father, and himself, Darren crawled away to lick his wounds in more ways than one. Eventually, he carried his scars on with him when he left for the Blackblood Alliance lands, feeling it was the only place left for him. Believing that becoming a warrior there and trying to make life better for anyone he could be fighting for it as he’d always done seemed like the best plan of action for him, all he had left. Since then, he tried hard to impress their Master Warrior, Reicher, and was rewarded for the effort with the rank of scout. For now, he works from there; having come across an older wolf named Archangel during his scouting duties, and after a small skirmish with him, the two came to terms with each other and Darren agreed to let Archangel teach him how better to train for the warrior rank.
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