*rings dinner bell*
12-27-2018, 01:53 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-10-2019, 08:41 PM by Marvel.)
Position: Thane 4
Name: Deion Aeris
Age: 2 years
Alignment: chaotic neutral
Gender: male
Design:
Description: 39" - heavy
Build// Smooth musculature laces an impressive physique. He could even be called burly, in the right conditions. Though far from the largest of his line, he is still no fine china doll. The male has sturdy shoulders and a deep chest, perfect for endurance and hard hitting brutality. One might describe him as a granite statue, a veritable Adonis carved from mottled stone. The broad planes of his face translate into smooth, high cheekbones and a thick muzzle. His paws are massive, wide and strong. Perfect for uprooting herbs and gripping the ground in unruly terrain.
Coat// Donning a thick, plush coat, the male is the epitome of a northern beast. There is a density to his fur that makes it poorly suited to warmer climates for extended periods. Thankfully, he tends not to retain too much water while swimming thanks to its bulk and makeup. Not that anyone notices the density of it upon first meeting. Instead, they are awestruck by a display of celestial brilliance.
A base coat of deep, rich navy. Mirroring the sky in the dead of night, nearly black. Only as the gaze travels from his face, down his neck, and along his form, does the colour begin to shift. Highlights of rich purple mingle into his ruff, transitioning then to mottled cerulean. As it shifts to brilliant mauve along his thighs, by the time it reaches the tip of his luxurious tail it has returned to inky blue. Gold and ivory decorate his elegant bodice, a pale lattice climbing up his forelimbs from his alabaster paws. Around his elbows it briefly shifts to icy blue, then to gold until it peters out over his shoulders. Along his topline, the purple of his ruff turns to cerulean, back to purple, and then to brilliant white. Broken streaks of these shades alternate along his elegant form, almost too much for the eye to absorb at once.
Features// Thick tusks protrude from his lower jaw, taking up the space behind his (decidedly average sized) canine teeth. Only a few inches in diametre, and curving ever so slightly back and away from his nose. Think of the classic orc tusks, transplanted into the jaws of a wolf.
Eyes// Brilliant amethyst, mirroring the stony gaze of his mother. Though he decidedly lacks in the fullness of his dark lashes.
Scent// wood smoke and mulch, sometimes mixed with gore.
Stance// There isn’t an ounce of fear in the man, not for any mortal being. He stands tall and confident, head high. When walking, he holds his head level with his shoulders, prowling about as the embodiment of a roiling thunderhead.
Personality:
skills: healing and fighting
Cynical// The stars look on, cold and distant. The world cares not for the insects that scuttle upon its face. Bitter to the core, the male has little regard for a positive point of view. To make the most of existence, one must recognize that the world is cruel. This is how he has come to hold countries in his palms, and balance everything on a knife’s edge. Scoffing and rolling his eyes is all but second nature by now.
Greedy// The endless desire to have it all drives him through life. Material wealth, love, devotion, it’s all there for the taking. All one has to do is be smart enough to claim it for one’s own. Once he lays eyes on something he likes, it’s all over. He has to have it, by any means necessary. Short of selling one of his family members, of course.
Affectionate// A weaker point of his character- he is endlessly loving. Anyone who will sit still long enough can expect to be jostled, nipped or nuzzled. Physical shows of intimacy of any kind come easily to him. Leaning his head against someone’s shoulder, or grooming them after a long day are among his favourite things. Granted, it takes quite a while for the male to become close enough to another for this side of himself to see the light of day. Complete strangers would be hard pressed to believe him capable of such acts.
Loyal// The thing about being a piece of shit is that you have to stick by the idiots that are dumb enough to keep you around. He would gladly put his ass on the line for his comrades, no matter the cause. Even if its dumb and misguided, he'll follow them wherever they decide to go. While he loves his family, he stands firmly by the notion that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
Harlot// If there is one thing he enjoys, it’s carnal pleasure. Hardly one to turn down the opportunity to engage in the sins of the flesh. He has no preferences for gender or dominance, only that they catch his attention. Without a doubt, his constant flirting could charm the skin off a cat if he put the effort in.
Standoffish// Deion is a surly bastard, without a doubt. On first impression, he might even be an outright jackass. He tends to wear a scowl, and speak in short, clipped sentences with strangers. He doesn't often want anything to do with those he meets, and it takes a lot of persistence to get him to hold an extended conversation.
History: Caia Aeris abandoned the lands of Ardent in the beginning of her sixth year of life, having surrendered to the reality of her brother and cherished friend being nowhere to be found. She wandered for some time, seeking a purpose (and, perhaps, signs of her beloved brother). Eventually, she found herself under the watch of a strange creature indeed. A male who bore two rows of blunt spines upon his crown, trailing from between his brows, between his ears, to the base of his skull. Smaller than she, and slimmer. Disdaining the attention of a spirit, she ignored him for weeks. A relentless male, he was. It took moons for him to woo her, but he succeeded eventually. Drew her back to his den site, and she did not resist. Regardless of whether or not she would admit it aloud, Caia was smitten with the bold male. Within the bounds of their meagre territory, she began to truly pursue her talents in the art of herbology and healing. She equipped others with poisons, tinctures, and alcohol- for a price. This way, the pair could maintain their lifestyle without having to debase themselves to speaking with the nearby clans and packs.
They bore a litter near the end of Caia's seventh year. Their eldest, named Deion, found himself draped in the stars. It wasn't until he began to grow that his tusks began to poke their way into view. He took after his mother in a surly disposition and interest in healing. The two of them wore matching scowls as they gathered herbs and mashed poultices. His father taught him the art of battle; Deion lacked in the impressive bulk and stature of his mother, so his father was better suited to the task. Of course, having the skills to back himself up at any point did nothing to improve his terrible attitude.
In his youth, Deion wandered far from home to collect something or another under his mother's orders. It was then that he met Valkyrie. She stuck to him like glue, much as his father had his mother, and forged a friendship out of her own sheer persistence. Deion only faced the consequences of this once, when Laufey caught sight of the pair nearer to the clan than he deemed appropriate. When faced with a surly youth and his adoptive child, he resigned himself to allow it (for now). Through Valkyrie, Deion met the wolves who would become his blood brothers. They all got on like a house on fire, and their reign of terror only spread as they aged.
Deion's parents grew older, and felt less inclined to engage with others. They retreated into their small hunting territory, opting to care only for one another until they passed on. This left Deion to continue his mother's practices on his own, and drift away from his connections to his blood brothers in favour of his family. He didn't notice that the wolves he hung around with went missing, one by one. Their absences were forgotten in the faces of his parents' failing health. He watched his father wither away, racked by a cough and breathing trouble neither he nor his mother could cure. Advanced minds might recognize the symptoms as not pneumonia, but cancer. His father passed in his sleep, wrapped in Caia's warm embrace. Wracked by the loss of her beloved, Caia passed on in her sleep as well- only a season or so shy of her tenth birthday. It seems that this final loss was too much for her, after everything she'd seen.
Without his parents to tie him to the land, Deion was quite lost. He caved in the den in which he was whelped, leaving their bodies safely entombed. Their territory would be reclaimed by the wilderness, no doubt. Perhaps another young couple. Numbed by loss, the young healer sought out the land where his mother had come from. Some part of him sought closure within its bounds, no doubt.
Name: Deion Aeris
Age: 2 years
Alignment: chaotic neutral
Gender: male
Design:
Description: 39" - heavy
Build// Smooth musculature laces an impressive physique. He could even be called burly, in the right conditions. Though far from the largest of his line, he is still no fine china doll. The male has sturdy shoulders and a deep chest, perfect for endurance and hard hitting brutality. One might describe him as a granite statue, a veritable Adonis carved from mottled stone. The broad planes of his face translate into smooth, high cheekbones and a thick muzzle. His paws are massive, wide and strong. Perfect for uprooting herbs and gripping the ground in unruly terrain.
Coat// Donning a thick, plush coat, the male is the epitome of a northern beast. There is a density to his fur that makes it poorly suited to warmer climates for extended periods. Thankfully, he tends not to retain too much water while swimming thanks to its bulk and makeup. Not that anyone notices the density of it upon first meeting. Instead, they are awestruck by a display of celestial brilliance.
A base coat of deep, rich navy. Mirroring the sky in the dead of night, nearly black. Only as the gaze travels from his face, down his neck, and along his form, does the colour begin to shift. Highlights of rich purple mingle into his ruff, transitioning then to mottled cerulean. As it shifts to brilliant mauve along his thighs, by the time it reaches the tip of his luxurious tail it has returned to inky blue. Gold and ivory decorate his elegant bodice, a pale lattice climbing up his forelimbs from his alabaster paws. Around his elbows it briefly shifts to icy blue, then to gold until it peters out over his shoulders. Along his topline, the purple of his ruff turns to cerulean, back to purple, and then to brilliant white. Broken streaks of these shades alternate along his elegant form, almost too much for the eye to absorb at once.
Features// Thick tusks protrude from his lower jaw, taking up the space behind his (decidedly average sized) canine teeth. Only a few inches in diametre, and curving ever so slightly back and away from his nose. Think of the classic orc tusks, transplanted into the jaws of a wolf.
Eyes// Brilliant amethyst, mirroring the stony gaze of his mother. Though he decidedly lacks in the fullness of his dark lashes.
Scent// wood smoke and mulch, sometimes mixed with gore.
Stance// There isn’t an ounce of fear in the man, not for any mortal being. He stands tall and confident, head high. When walking, he holds his head level with his shoulders, prowling about as the embodiment of a roiling thunderhead.
Personality:
skills: healing and fighting
Cynical// The stars look on, cold and distant. The world cares not for the insects that scuttle upon its face. Bitter to the core, the male has little regard for a positive point of view. To make the most of existence, one must recognize that the world is cruel. This is how he has come to hold countries in his palms, and balance everything on a knife’s edge. Scoffing and rolling his eyes is all but second nature by now.
Greedy// The endless desire to have it all drives him through life. Material wealth, love, devotion, it’s all there for the taking. All one has to do is be smart enough to claim it for one’s own. Once he lays eyes on something he likes, it’s all over. He has to have it, by any means necessary. Short of selling one of his family members, of course.
Affectionate// A weaker point of his character- he is endlessly loving. Anyone who will sit still long enough can expect to be jostled, nipped or nuzzled. Physical shows of intimacy of any kind come easily to him. Leaning his head against someone’s shoulder, or grooming them after a long day are among his favourite things. Granted, it takes quite a while for the male to become close enough to another for this side of himself to see the light of day. Complete strangers would be hard pressed to believe him capable of such acts.
Loyal// The thing about being a piece of shit is that you have to stick by the idiots that are dumb enough to keep you around. He would gladly put his ass on the line for his comrades, no matter the cause. Even if its dumb and misguided, he'll follow them wherever they decide to go. While he loves his family, he stands firmly by the notion that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
Harlot// If there is one thing he enjoys, it’s carnal pleasure. Hardly one to turn down the opportunity to engage in the sins of the flesh. He has no preferences for gender or dominance, only that they catch his attention. Without a doubt, his constant flirting could charm the skin off a cat if he put the effort in.
Standoffish// Deion is a surly bastard, without a doubt. On first impression, he might even be an outright jackass. He tends to wear a scowl, and speak in short, clipped sentences with strangers. He doesn't often want anything to do with those he meets, and it takes a lot of persistence to get him to hold an extended conversation.
History: Caia Aeris abandoned the lands of Ardent in the beginning of her sixth year of life, having surrendered to the reality of her brother and cherished friend being nowhere to be found. She wandered for some time, seeking a purpose (and, perhaps, signs of her beloved brother). Eventually, she found herself under the watch of a strange creature indeed. A male who bore two rows of blunt spines upon his crown, trailing from between his brows, between his ears, to the base of his skull. Smaller than she, and slimmer. Disdaining the attention of a spirit, she ignored him for weeks. A relentless male, he was. It took moons for him to woo her, but he succeeded eventually. Drew her back to his den site, and she did not resist. Regardless of whether or not she would admit it aloud, Caia was smitten with the bold male. Within the bounds of their meagre territory, she began to truly pursue her talents in the art of herbology and healing. She equipped others with poisons, tinctures, and alcohol- for a price. This way, the pair could maintain their lifestyle without having to debase themselves to speaking with the nearby clans and packs.
They bore a litter near the end of Caia's seventh year. Their eldest, named Deion, found himself draped in the stars. It wasn't until he began to grow that his tusks began to poke their way into view. He took after his mother in a surly disposition and interest in healing. The two of them wore matching scowls as they gathered herbs and mashed poultices. His father taught him the art of battle; Deion lacked in the impressive bulk and stature of his mother, so his father was better suited to the task. Of course, having the skills to back himself up at any point did nothing to improve his terrible attitude.
In his youth, Deion wandered far from home to collect something or another under his mother's orders. It was then that he met Valkyrie. She stuck to him like glue, much as his father had his mother, and forged a friendship out of her own sheer persistence. Deion only faced the consequences of this once, when Laufey caught sight of the pair nearer to the clan than he deemed appropriate. When faced with a surly youth and his adoptive child, he resigned himself to allow it (for now). Through Valkyrie, Deion met the wolves who would become his blood brothers. They all got on like a house on fire, and their reign of terror only spread as they aged.
Deion's parents grew older, and felt less inclined to engage with others. They retreated into their small hunting territory, opting to care only for one another until they passed on. This left Deion to continue his mother's practices on his own, and drift away from his connections to his blood brothers in favour of his family. He didn't notice that the wolves he hung around with went missing, one by one. Their absences were forgotten in the faces of his parents' failing health. He watched his father wither away, racked by a cough and breathing trouble neither he nor his mother could cure. Advanced minds might recognize the symptoms as not pneumonia, but cancer. His father passed in his sleep, wrapped in Caia's warm embrace. Wracked by the loss of her beloved, Caia passed on in her sleep as well- only a season or so shy of her tenth birthday. It seems that this final loss was too much for her, after everything she'd seen.
Without his parents to tie him to the land, Deion was quite lost. He caved in the den in which he was whelped, leaving their bodies safely entombed. Their territory would be reclaimed by the wilderness, no doubt. Perhaps another young couple. Numbed by loss, the young healer sought out the land where his mother had come from. Some part of him sought closure within its bounds, no doubt.