Courser

[meowmix]

original image by Malik_Braun @ Flickr.com

Courser

And they say Pride was the fall of Eden
I don’t think that I believe them
But hey, it’s not like I care anyway
Who wants a garden when you’ve got the whole world?

the character

name, Courser
age, four years
gender, male
pack, none
rank,
appearance: Slender, rough, and wild; he generally comes across as wiry and haggard. He is largely black with silver highlights; there is grey on his muzzle, white on his belly and throat, and white on the tips of his paws.

breed, C. lupus lycaon, aka timber wolf
eyes, one brown, one blue
pelt, black with silver/gray points and white underneath
height, 37 inches
weight, 83 lbs
other, a few scars under his fur, not really visible unless he's wet

personality: For the most part, Courser displays a happy-go-lucky attitude. Apparently that whole ‘life gives you lemons’ theory rolls well with him, at least on the surface, and he doesn’t allow problems to faze him... most of the time. Whatever his emotions, however, he chooses to keep a cool exterior at the very least, even that often covered with a smile and a laugh. He doesn’t like to see his problems on display, and is the very opposite of a wolf who wears his heart on his fur, even if he does look it. However, this comes in stride with a strange sort of heartlessness, for though life may not have got him down it has given him knocks-- mostly resulting from being a loner. Not that he’s inwardly wounded and bleeding; he just has a lot of walls. He shows sympathy when appropriate, but whether or not he actually feels it comes into question, and the answer often seems to lie within the beholder’s eye. He can be gruff, even rude at times, usually when his belly hasn’t had anything in it for a while, and when he drops his lighter attitude he doesn’t brook nonsense. It’s almost as though he’s two different wolves; one side of him is rough, tough, and rather less than gentle; the other, a laughing, playful sweetheart with a lot of character.

history: He couldn’t remember the day his mother had died. He hadn’t been there to witness it. But that didn’t bother him much; they both had gone their separate ways a long time back. His sister, bless her heart, was probably wailing in despair with the news, and as for Kyrs, who knew? He’d disappeared at the same time Courser had, and neither ever looked back. Courser only knew his mother was dead because a little bird had told him, in hopes of wringing sympathy from his slavering jaws.

It hadn’t.

For as long as he could remember, the skinny black wolf had been on the run, but from what no one could tell him-- maybe even the Devil himself. Certainly Mother hadn’t minced words about Father, the lone rogue who had knocked his mother up and left. Maybe he had gone to get food and had bitten off more than he could chew, but it didn’t matter. Of an eight-pup litter, of all things, only Courser and two of his siblings had survived: the strongest of them all, and also the most ruthless. They had watched their mother bury the weaker pups one by one rather dispassionately, all things considered.

Honestly, Death just didn’t frighten him...at least, that’s what he told himself every day of his life, as his lean legs and wide paws carried him across distances many pack wolves couldn’t imagine. He’d discovered this when he encountered them, the hospitable ones anyway, especially when he was so tired and hungry his nose ignored the pack lines and he wandered in without thinking. He’d gotten into a few scraps that way, and had escaped only by the skin of his white, sharp teeth. He’d learned clowning was better than fighting when that happened; the fighting gets less intense when you aren’t a threat to someone’s authority. Of course, it hadn’t always worked, and for this reason he bore more than a few scars under his thick, less-than-sleek fur.

But every Kerl ran like that. It just came with the road.

lineage:
birthpack, never had one

sire, just some rogue
dam, Rapza
siblings, Syree (female), Kyrs (male)
mate,
whelps,

the roleplayer

ooc name, THE MIX. Rawr.
age, 17
gender, zeh female-creature
roleplay level, RAWR. You tell me?

[Flax]

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