Post by Beowulf on Apr 9, 2018 16:41:09 GMT -6
OOC
Name: Susy
Years RPing: Freshly back from a hiatus after 8 years
Slot Used: 2nd slot
How You Found Us: Proboards ad
General
Name: Beowulf
Birthday: 7th April 2014
Gender: Male
Species: Mackenzie Valley Wolf
Physical
Height: 34"
Weight: 145 lbs
Coat Color: Black, brown, and white
Eye Color: Red (previous player purchased)
Health Issues: None
Other Information: Has survived extreme drought.
Mental
Mental Stability: Sane
History: Of packs and histories, territories and the ancients, he knew not, he could only go from his own remembering, and that was hazy at best before The Burning.
The siblings he ate to survive, one he recalled was a sister, her high pitched yelp of death rang through his jaws and needle teeth as he crushed her. Bit of a pack he had only vague recollections, of blood and hunger. The heat seared the rest from his memory.
There was wandering. That he definitely remembered, although for how many weeks or months he travelled under a relentless sun it had all been bleached, like how the ends of his coat had turned to frazzled wire, and step was like step as he managed to hulk his frame through the scorched landscape in a never ending quest for water and prey.
Seasons should have changed, should have rolled onwards, a part of him recalled snow and cold and water.
But that was before The Burning.
Before Kharak.
For Beowulf, that day of their meeting was his beginning, each moment forged forever within his broad skull and his very being.
It was a time of fierce heat, that cooked what fell, seared the grass from under the caribou and left fish flopping in muddy pools. Even with his tenacity, Beowulf struggled on the edge, held there with an iron will that pushed his heart to beat and his lungs to breathe, it was the only thing that kept him between this world and the next.
The lure of even the thinnest hot liquid on the surface of mud was literally intoxicating, and as each long leg flipped paw over paw, his eyes watched the shimmering surface from deep sockets, willing each step to bring him closer to the prize. The rapidly evaporating liquid was hardly more than the idea of water, but as he lowered his head to the surface, his eyes focused outwards across the half baked silt to see the reflection looking back was not his own.
There was another.
As their snarling eyes locked across the ooze, something else spoke to him. A memory. A desiccated whisper, something he had long forgotten the notion of. It's echo shuffled past, his brain too fried and too distracted to read it on its way.
He hadn't eaten for longer than he could remember, a strained lope stride was impossible to use against hoofed prey, so as his eyes met with this stranger, they stayed locked, poised against each other's soul, each seeing the state of the other, neither wishing to waste precious resources and yet neither willing to stand down.
Again Beowulf had felt something stir his heart as he stared towards the lean frame in front of him, his lips quivering to give his deep throated snarl room to leave.
Stale mate.
He could feel the sun burning into his hackles.
Perhaps it was the hand of Fate, the whim of Destiny that saw a withered caribou stagger into the clearing at that precise moment, to dazed in its weakness to recognize the danger until it was too late.
Beowulf had watched his aggressor move an ear in time with his own as they still bared their resolve at each other, both unwilling to break the line of locked sight should it give the other the opportunity to charge. Not that he could have probably managed more than to throw his bulk into the other.
Then something changed between them as the waft of caribou assaulted their senses in the hot air. Neither had the strength to fell the creature on their own….. But together…..
“Kharak” The other had snarled.
“Beowulf” He had returned.
The light in both their eyes had changed as an unspoken strategy passed between them, blood hungry eyes turned four-wise to the hapless animal then back to each other. Curled smiles of knowing had raised their heads high (despite Beowulf feeling his drought starved neck muscles trembling to support his massive skull). Both stood tall, and with what probably was his body's last surge of adrenaline, he cast a glance at Kharak, this fierce and proud looking stranger. All he needed was a signal to begin.
From each side they had trotted low, matching each other in a slinking jog towards the prey which still stood frozen watching death sweep towards it. It only had a brief burst of fear reflex before it stumbled to its knees, the momentum of its desperation smacking its head to the baked earth, anchoring its escape.
Even today he would lick his lips in memory of that moment - the deliciously warm burst of life force that came with the splintering of bones as the vice of his jaws had crippled the hind leg of the animal to allow Kharak to take the kill.
So dehydrated was it, the blood was cloying, but to his senses and his system it brought life. The two of them had feasted in virtual silence, beyond the sounds of meat rendering between his teeth, pushing through the dire ache of his jaws to fill his belly. Sleep had followed, capturing them, collapsing them to doze atop the carcass, the dust that swirled around them held the smell of their success within the clearing in another twist of fate. Crisp blood had cracked along his muzzle as they awoke simultaneously, only to reconsider each other across the roasting flesh. He had gathered his long legs underneath him, raised himself to full height, the strength of will within his gaze never backing down, as Kharak had done the same. He would fight if he needed to, to the death if he must, but the desperate times that had thrown them across each other's paths now pulled at a deeper need within him.
The need to join. To come together.
It wasn't as if physically he wanted to challenge the wild and wary voice that shifted from caution to threat across the caribou. It was a thing far more intangible that finally lowered his ears but not his head. With tail still high he spoke his first words to Kharak.
“One step in your shadow,
One paw to your back,
One eye to the distance,
One eye on the pack,
All hearts that beat together
bring one mind to the fore,
In strength we are together,
The pack lives for ever more”
At the last line he dipped his head in fealty, lowering his tail, for just an instant, half a heartbeat, before meeting Kharak’s gaze.
“My life for you”
It was their start. Their beginning….
Personality: From behind the keen eyes that surveyed his world, Beowulf’s mind had been forged by fire. The mental scars of those times of drought had stripped his soul to the bare necessities of survival. And yet his heart’s bond with Rajah Kharak, his loyalty to the alpha would never waver, as close to the concept of ‘brother’ as his mind would allow.
His sense of superiority was not born of arrogance, as some would assume, his sheer size and braun put paid to many a young pretender’s ideas as they found teeth and claw within his sharp temper. Better to nip something in the bud, carry through instantly from any sleight or perceived threat, than always have one eye open through his sleep.
The times of heat, The Burning, had taught him to be disciplined and waste nothing of himself. For him the lines of hierarchy were clear, and he never hesitated to redraw them if they muddied themselves outside the tournaments. He was also known to ‘thrill kill’ as the mood took him, so all were warily respectful of his gaze if it ever fell upon them.
As to females he had never seen them as any more than to fulfil an urge or whim as Kharak saw fit to allow, his heart stayed firmly his to beat alone. Although it was caged it wasn't closed, it was simply that none had stirred his blood enough to care, although he certainly enjoyed the few that had attempted to win him over.
His apparent aloofness was only his alertness to other things, and it was not to say he was cold. Pup training he took up with as much ferocity as any other task, dispensing with the weak with an easy snap to keep the bloodlines strong. And yet, for all of that, it brought out in him a peculiar tolerance for their youth.
Heart and soul he followed Kharak, some would say to hell and back, but they had already been there and returned, their mutual trust often made Beowulf his eyes and ears among the pack.
For the future? He will stand tall for Rajah Kharak, bonded by blood through fire.
For in essence there is no future, there is only now and the remembering.
And now the times were good.
Image: No larger than 500 x 400 px
Name: Susy
Years RPing: Freshly back from a hiatus after 8 years
Slot Used: 2nd slot
How You Found Us: Proboards ad
General
Name: Beowulf
Birthday: 7th April 2014
Gender: Male
Species: Mackenzie Valley Wolf
Physical
Height: 34"
Weight: 145 lbs
Coat Color: Black, brown, and white
Eye Color: Red (previous player purchased)
Health Issues: None
Other Information: Has survived extreme drought.
Mental
Mental Stability: Sane
History: Of packs and histories, territories and the ancients, he knew not, he could only go from his own remembering, and that was hazy at best before The Burning.
The siblings he ate to survive, one he recalled was a sister, her high pitched yelp of death rang through his jaws and needle teeth as he crushed her. Bit of a pack he had only vague recollections, of blood and hunger. The heat seared the rest from his memory.
There was wandering. That he definitely remembered, although for how many weeks or months he travelled under a relentless sun it had all been bleached, like how the ends of his coat had turned to frazzled wire, and step was like step as he managed to hulk his frame through the scorched landscape in a never ending quest for water and prey.
Seasons should have changed, should have rolled onwards, a part of him recalled snow and cold and water.
But that was before The Burning.
Before Kharak.
For Beowulf, that day of their meeting was his beginning, each moment forged forever within his broad skull and his very being.
It was a time of fierce heat, that cooked what fell, seared the grass from under the caribou and left fish flopping in muddy pools. Even with his tenacity, Beowulf struggled on the edge, held there with an iron will that pushed his heart to beat and his lungs to breathe, it was the only thing that kept him between this world and the next.
The lure of even the thinnest hot liquid on the surface of mud was literally intoxicating, and as each long leg flipped paw over paw, his eyes watched the shimmering surface from deep sockets, willing each step to bring him closer to the prize. The rapidly evaporating liquid was hardly more than the idea of water, but as he lowered his head to the surface, his eyes focused outwards across the half baked silt to see the reflection looking back was not his own.
There was another.
As their snarling eyes locked across the ooze, something else spoke to him. A memory. A desiccated whisper, something he had long forgotten the notion of. It's echo shuffled past, his brain too fried and too distracted to read it on its way.
He hadn't eaten for longer than he could remember, a strained lope stride was impossible to use against hoofed prey, so as his eyes met with this stranger, they stayed locked, poised against each other's soul, each seeing the state of the other, neither wishing to waste precious resources and yet neither willing to stand down.
Again Beowulf had felt something stir his heart as he stared towards the lean frame in front of him, his lips quivering to give his deep throated snarl room to leave.
Stale mate.
He could feel the sun burning into his hackles.
Perhaps it was the hand of Fate, the whim of Destiny that saw a withered caribou stagger into the clearing at that precise moment, to dazed in its weakness to recognize the danger until it was too late.
Beowulf had watched his aggressor move an ear in time with his own as they still bared their resolve at each other, both unwilling to break the line of locked sight should it give the other the opportunity to charge. Not that he could have probably managed more than to throw his bulk into the other.
Then something changed between them as the waft of caribou assaulted their senses in the hot air. Neither had the strength to fell the creature on their own….. But together…..
“Kharak” The other had snarled.
“Beowulf” He had returned.
The light in both their eyes had changed as an unspoken strategy passed between them, blood hungry eyes turned four-wise to the hapless animal then back to each other. Curled smiles of knowing had raised their heads high (despite Beowulf feeling his drought starved neck muscles trembling to support his massive skull). Both stood tall, and with what probably was his body's last surge of adrenaline, he cast a glance at Kharak, this fierce and proud looking stranger. All he needed was a signal to begin.
From each side they had trotted low, matching each other in a slinking jog towards the prey which still stood frozen watching death sweep towards it. It only had a brief burst of fear reflex before it stumbled to its knees, the momentum of its desperation smacking its head to the baked earth, anchoring its escape.
Even today he would lick his lips in memory of that moment - the deliciously warm burst of life force that came with the splintering of bones as the vice of his jaws had crippled the hind leg of the animal to allow Kharak to take the kill.
So dehydrated was it, the blood was cloying, but to his senses and his system it brought life. The two of them had feasted in virtual silence, beyond the sounds of meat rendering between his teeth, pushing through the dire ache of his jaws to fill his belly. Sleep had followed, capturing them, collapsing them to doze atop the carcass, the dust that swirled around them held the smell of their success within the clearing in another twist of fate. Crisp blood had cracked along his muzzle as they awoke simultaneously, only to reconsider each other across the roasting flesh. He had gathered his long legs underneath him, raised himself to full height, the strength of will within his gaze never backing down, as Kharak had done the same. He would fight if he needed to, to the death if he must, but the desperate times that had thrown them across each other's paths now pulled at a deeper need within him.
The need to join. To come together.
It wasn't as if physically he wanted to challenge the wild and wary voice that shifted from caution to threat across the caribou. It was a thing far more intangible that finally lowered his ears but not his head. With tail still high he spoke his first words to Kharak.
“One step in your shadow,
One paw to your back,
One eye to the distance,
One eye on the pack,
All hearts that beat together
bring one mind to the fore,
In strength we are together,
The pack lives for ever more”
At the last line he dipped his head in fealty, lowering his tail, for just an instant, half a heartbeat, before meeting Kharak’s gaze.
“My life for you”
It was their start. Their beginning….
Personality: From behind the keen eyes that surveyed his world, Beowulf’s mind had been forged by fire. The mental scars of those times of drought had stripped his soul to the bare necessities of survival. And yet his heart’s bond with Rajah Kharak, his loyalty to the alpha would never waver, as close to the concept of ‘brother’ as his mind would allow.
His sense of superiority was not born of arrogance, as some would assume, his sheer size and braun put paid to many a young pretender’s ideas as they found teeth and claw within his sharp temper. Better to nip something in the bud, carry through instantly from any sleight or perceived threat, than always have one eye open through his sleep.
The times of heat, The Burning, had taught him to be disciplined and waste nothing of himself. For him the lines of hierarchy were clear, and he never hesitated to redraw them if they muddied themselves outside the tournaments. He was also known to ‘thrill kill’ as the mood took him, so all were warily respectful of his gaze if it ever fell upon them.
As to females he had never seen them as any more than to fulfil an urge or whim as Kharak saw fit to allow, his heart stayed firmly his to beat alone. Although it was caged it wasn't closed, it was simply that none had stirred his blood enough to care, although he certainly enjoyed the few that had attempted to win him over.
His apparent aloofness was only his alertness to other things, and it was not to say he was cold. Pup training he took up with as much ferocity as any other task, dispensing with the weak with an easy snap to keep the bloodlines strong. And yet, for all of that, it brought out in him a peculiar tolerance for their youth.
Heart and soul he followed Kharak, some would say to hell and back, but they had already been there and returned, their mutual trust often made Beowulf his eyes and ears among the pack.
For the future? He will stand tall for Rajah Kharak, bonded by blood through fire.
For in essence there is no future, there is only now and the remembering.
And now the times were good.
Image: No larger than 500 x 400 px
*******Credit to @ravengarde for the character biography, I am adopting him.*******
Valkyrie 
93 | 
