slay · me ?

[slay]

» s l a y «

the character

name, » slay
age, » two
gender, » male
pack, » none
rank, » --
appearance: » bulky, this wolf was the epitome of his breed. hearty and with an underlying russet tone to his predominantly grey fur, he blended in nicely to the tones of the earth - in both the mid heat of summer and the chilled depth of winter. his shoulders are broad, giving him a "swagger" of a leisurely walk, and his copper eyes were usually far set and relaxed.

breed, » timber wolf
eyes, » copper
pelt, » grey top coat, brown shades mixing halfway, cream underside
height, » 2'8"
weight, » 139lbs
other, » --

personality: » The personality of a wolf can be deciphered by interaction with others, and disposition shown on the surface. But what of a wolf who has had little to no interaction with other animals, save for the small prey items – ( and if personality was deciphered from a prey animal’s standpoint, the conclusion would be heavily biased on a negative summary ) and the occasional skittish run-in with others?
One might personify this wolf in the aspect of mysterious, quiet, thoughtful and highly intelligent. Moreover, shy though levelheaded, meticulous yet lazy. Slay is quite content to rely on himself for survival, carrying the title of loner with an uplifted head and alert, penetrating eyes. Self-sufficient, Slay has turned the life of a loner from a depressing, ribcage-showing life of vexation and dependence on the scavenging of others into a mild mannered run around, teeth closing onto enough small prey to satisfy his stomach and keep his mind in a level of nonchalance. Not often would his upper lip curl to a pack member – his calm understanding of ranks and repertories make tucking tail an easy feat to accomplish. A bit lacking of testosterone, maybe? Not exactly, the kid could definitely hold his own for a rogue. Rather, he took the big picture with an intelligent viewpoint. Survival of the fittest was easy to surmount and overcome, if the fittest steered clear of any unnecessary combats. He knew of the fact that he had no pack members to lick his wounds and watch over him while healing from a fight. So, at all costs, he avoids unneeded conflicts.

history: » Marauder’s Vale held a brief life. Just shy of Auckland, the wolves milled along the outskirts of the early ( and yet bustling ) civilization and thrived on what the humans did not want. Trash was plundered, unsupervised food, livestock and small pets were confiscated for the better of the pack. The small family of wolves was a number of five, two adults and three pups. Life adjacent to human living was risky business, that only the thick and hearty could handle. Mephisto and Artemis were nasty creatures, lips almost always curled into a sinister snarl, eyes always aflash with putrid anger and ferocity. The three whelps, Slice, Slash and Slay, were brought up with an iron fist, per se. Discipline came readily before family bonding. Harsh teeth upon flesh, savage shakes in midair, teeth and spit and blood aplenty, the two brothers and one sister were forced to follow in Mom and Dad’s pawprints, if only just to stay alive.
When the numbers are greater than two, there is always a best and a worst amongst the crowd. Such was no exception for the pups. Slice and Slash took joy in the wicked, confrontational ways of their parents. Slay, on the other hand, only displayed enough aggression to get him by, sidestepping an annoyed snap of the teeth from Mom, or a swift slash of a paw from Dad. Not one for intense amouts of aggression, he made better of his time to study life surrounding him, keeping mental notes about how quiet yet still audible the flight of a butterfly was, how dead twigs breaking on the ground sounded different depending on what struck them ( paw, booted foot, hoof, etc. ), and how each action from his parents as well as he and his siblings, held a reaction, no matter what.

One December night, when the pups were eight months old, the parenting pair decided on a raid on the small shepherd’s hut closest to the outskirts of town. They had just lost their dog to the cold of the season – their sole defender and alarm system against the perilous wilderness. The night would be a restless one – no one to alert them to oncoming intruders, or sheep thieves.

Just what the Marauders wanted.

It might have been because the old pair were becoming clumsy in their old age, or perhaps the humans who resided in the hut were jittery and sleeping lightly that night. Maybe the pups made too much of a racket, even though they followed at about 200 yards away. Whatever the case might have been, fate took hold of the situation and brought down a smiting hand upon the pair of wolves. Immediately upon entering the hut, Mephisto was met by a sharp, though crudely fashioned knife entering his neck just below those jowls, holstering pearly white rows of jagged teeth. Artemis, spooked at her lover’s sudden shriek of pain, lost her footing on the matted down dirt floor of the hut. She scuffled and managed to snap teeth around the forearm of the man living there, but his other arm was free, and deftly lodged an equally crudely fashioned blade into the back of her neck, severing her spinal cord almost immediately.
The pups were greeted with loud explosions of gunpowder and a display of fire bursting from the sole hut that lingered a mere 200 yards away. The whelps held the mild advantage of exquisite eyesight in the dark, but the moon was bright in the clear winter sky, and their frightened movement had not gone unnoticed. They fled with tails tucked into the thicket, past their den, past anything they ever knew, fleeing deeper and deeper into the forest, trained ears pinned back to listen for any sign of the humans following them. Once satisfied and exhausted, the pups slowed their pace at about two and a half miles away from the scene of the onslaught. Frightened and feeling alone, they crowded together and slept until morning. When Slay and Slice awoke, they noticed that Slash was nowhere to be found. The pup had wandered off in the night, and they were never to hear from him again. For three months, Slice and Slay stuck close together. They never once went back to the border civilization of Auckland and its surrounding small towns. Rather, they ventured further into the uncharted territory of the wilderness, until one morning Slay had stirred awake to the remnants of a dream, something plaguing his thoughts – heavy and burdening. He awoke to find his sister had vanished, and there was a faint scent of another wolf in the air, but it was too faint to be followed. The true epilogue of his sister was never known, but Slay could do nothing more than to venture onward, and find his own place in the wilderness, doing his best to keep well away from any sign of human civilization. That was indeed a lesson already well learned.


lineage:
birthpack, » Marauder's Vale

sire, (father) » Mephisto
dam, (mother) » Artemis
siblings, » Slice, Slash
mate, » --
whelps, » --

the roleplayer

ooc name, » tyler
age, » 22
gender, » male
roleplay level, » published author [ definitely meaning - literate. ]

[Wolfen]

(i must say, that was a delight to read. awesome app.)

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