Infant
Group: Members
Posts: 1
Member No.: 77
Joined: 22-October 09
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General Information
Name: Seraphim
Nicknames: You shall not ever call him sera as it pisses him off greatly...
Age: four
Rank: warrior
Description: His coat is nothing extravagant, though it has caught the eyes of many, a thick, pure white coat throughout his body. His masculine paws, the hue of dapple gray . His build is smooth and well-crafted, his legs long and fangs sharp. However, there is a ghostly gauntness to his body, as if the skin were stretched a little too tight, his burning, safire eyes a little too sulky. It seems so perfect, but his spiteful attitude ruins what may have been a fine specimen. His expression is almost always the same, and even then only deviates to snarls - bored and uninterested, removed from the world around him. He has a sad face about him, partly due to his bone structure, partly due to his usual pose- head in his paws. Unfortunately, this usually bring about some unwanted attention from the more sympathetic pack mates.
Depending upon which Seraphim is present, his entire manner will change, so much so that it is worth mentioning. When coolly leading and in what has become his usual state (no small feat, mind you!), he will stand tall and proud, his lithe frame hypnotically, mechanically moving. His piercing eyes will smoldering and glitter, little fires lighting here and there. His voice will be deep and frigid, like that of an underground lake, and just as difficult to understand, for his emotions will be carefully controlled. His other self is every bit of flame that the first is of ice. He will slither, as opposed to walk, his sharp shoulder blades and skeletal figure revealing new horrors with each jerk and hiss. His pupils, the dilated, dark abyss, will steal the very souls of his victims. Thus, it is perhaps Seraphim’s particular frame of mind, as opposed to his genes or age, which will have the greatest effect on his physical appearance.
Personality: Despite his deceptively calm, removed demeanor, he's a ball of nerves and a single mistake on way or the other will bring the full force of his anger - he's borderline schizophrenic, teetering between the aloof and the pathetic, angry self-pity. The wolf, though he refuses to admit it or even show it, is desperate to live up to the impossible expectation of being a Son of Morvious by birthright. He must be a strong, unwavering leader, making no errors and forever carrying on his ancestor’s legacy – their blood and beliefs. This unending pressure puts him in quite a dangerous state, even on relaxing days, leaving him high strung and quick to punish. Stress, even little, sudden surprises, will easily aggravate his already fragile condition and send him over the dividing line in his mind, flipping his personality and manner entirely. Perhaps out of courtesy, if he has a shred of such a thing, perhaps out of something else, never seeks company and is rather anti-social.
His aura is a powerful one, the pure malice and religious fervor of it. It seems transplanted, like it doesn't fit him. To others, he is devoted to the ancient ways of Morvious, a patriarchal religion that has been passed down through his ancestors for centuries. He has made his own modifications to it, carefully making it more liberal, freer to its followers. Regrettably, he can only go so far before his own soul is judged unworthy. Thus, he follows his inherited distrust, and perhaps dislike, of she-wolves and their weaknesses, despite knowing, deep down, that it is quite wrong. Not that he’d ever show it, except in his quick retribution to those who doubt him, who fight his laws, ignorant of the sacrifices he has already made. He doesn't even know what type of a wolf he's supposed to be, inwardly and silently torn between duty and his silly abomination of a conscious. It is, perhaps, insanity for him to impose this self-torture, yet he does it anyway. Inexplicable. Naturally, he’d never mention any of this to anyone, having learned from an early age that it was best to go it alone. Not that he's complaining or anything - he prefers this life anyway, it's quieter and somewhat less dramatic in the greater scheme.
His parents were never close to him, fearing a pup with such a malicious, free glint in his eye, his own mother was sickened by it so many times, she grew weak and unable to support him any longer by the second year. Then again, his parents were extremely conservative, much more than he could ever aspire to be. He was not. Thus, he has learned to live on his own, and is rather untrusting. Therefore, it is absolute and unwavering loyalty that he seeks in a pack, the sort of wolf he could trust to die for him. He’s never had something like that, never been well-supported, and now hungers for the very thing most wolves take for granted. It leads him to punish and reward excessively, though, unfortunately, is it often the former over the latter.
Seraphim blames himself for his mother’s death and struggles to keep the dark side of his split personality underneath. His skin seems thick, he's gotten used to the isolation- in fact, it bores him nowadays. He's a smart one all right, all those years spent thinking did something to him. The gauntness that so mars his body was due payment for such intellect – he’s a schemer. It's as if he's been organizing his closet for the past few years, and now knows the place of every fact and answer. He seems to know things he shouldn't and enjoys torturing others with it. Despite being more than capable of being highly ranked, with his intelligence, he seems to have no ambition, no lust for power and seems to have not a care in the world.
The brute seeks intimacy, wooing females left and right. Some think that he is disgusting, and not worth the simple love that you will receive from him. Others must catch their breath as the stud passes by them, holing in their inner emotions, not even knowing the wolf is something that never passes their minds. He is gorgeous, and that is all that is necessary to some jades. He is some very romantic, rapping his elongated neck around yours, giving you uncontrollable chills rushing down their spine. Not many have experience true love with the duke, he is a lock box, that is nearly impossible to open.
Element: Earth-Feeling
Breed: Mackenzie Vally Wolf
Family (Living and/or deceased):
Bloodline: Not necessarily, though his father , Morvious, had been seemingly famous in his pack, leading it so properly and perfectly. No one could meet his standards, and as he passed, the pack fell apart for no one could lead them as he had.
Past Mate(s): Amaranth, she had been his only real love. Yes he had been in 'love', but not as passionately as he had been with her. There love could not have been unwound, though it could be brutally murdered and ripped apart for someone else's pleasure. She had been killed by a wolf from a pack that she had never heard of, they were so far from their's, and so madly in love, that they had not noticed they were passing over many pack boundries. They had trespassed onto a war, between to rival packs, she was attacked by a wolf, only protecting his pack, thinking she had been a wolf on the other pack. He was devastated, he continuously tried to 'purposely accidentally' kill himself. He wasn't the type would could take a fang to the neck or a hanging, it wasn't him, but living wasn't anymore either...
Advanced Information
Unique Trates(s): I can't think of any, but I will surly add some as I think of them, if that is fine. I will make them unextreme, like "Oh, yeah, he has an extra leg!!".
History: I do wish to keep this as a revealing as I go along type of thing, it is fun and makes a wolf like this seem much more interesting.
GOOD Roleplay Examples : I am actually quite new to role playing and I have been very busy with my father illness, so I don't even have three. x]
Two bloodshot orbs quickly appeared. He tried to catch his breath, he was clearly in shock. He peered around with a spiteful look, and was mortified when above him stood the strange male, with an unimpressed expression on his face. Roark quickly jump to a strong standing position and raised his neck to look a bit more sophisticated. Certainly trying to hide that fact that he looked a mess and had just discrased himself in front of what he thought to be the alpha of this pack.
Roark however, was unimpressed himself. He had realized that the wolf didn't care for his health or the fact that he was emaciated. He wasn't looking for a charity or even sympathy at that. He was irritated with the fact that the wolf only wanted to kill him for some petty reason. Roark had purely no clue of boundaries or that a pack was intitled to their own territory. All he was looking for was a simple rabbit, squirrel, a damn bug for all he cared, he was starving. He was hoping that one day a pack of some sort would accept him, but that chance was quickly fading. It didn't bother him any, he had been a loaner all his life, be apart of a team would only disorient him, and he obviously wasn't welcome here, and won't make it into this pack, not now or ever. Though he decided to stay around for these moments to answer the wolf's multiple questions.
He began to study this wolf. Roark's eyes leveled with his lobes and his snout nearly rested on top of this, rather small male. His orbs began to wander around the wolfs outline. He glared down upon his paws laying flat, across from this strange looking, possible alpha. Roark's paws were massive compared to his, and it put a smirk on Roark's face. He then began to eye the wolf's legs, they were short and thin but muscular, he was quite impressed. He knew that the wolf was watching Roark look over him and he was surly not pleased with him. The loaner knew that this wolf thought he was better then him, and Roark believed it. Any wolf that had had others around him constantly, was. He couldn't have gave less a damn if the wolf wanted him dead or just gone.
"No, this wolf is unknown in my eyes." Roark said, not once taking his eyes off of his new spiteful friend. "If I am truly not wanted then I will leave, but I certainly won't stand around a dead wolf only to be interrogated with questions that I am sure you already know." He said, still glaring. And I won't be judged on the fact that you may be better than I or that you live a wonderful life. I don't need that over rated bullshit."
Roark knew that this would only make matters worse and make his stay shorter, but it was those witty snaps that he couldn't hold in these moments. He also guessed that this would make the wolf even more unimpressed, it was one of his new specialties.
"May I ask for your name sir?" Saying sir sarcastically only to piss the wolf off more.
A blur of onyx stirs the leaves of a small tree, almost snapping it. Dirt fills the air with in a dense cloud. The lengthy wolf stopped with a particularly strange grin on his face. His mouth opens and his pearly syringes appeared, as if he were trying to frighten anyone that could possibly be fallowing him. The canine saunters forward only to stop once more. He hunches low to the terra. His ears perked perfectly, twisting and adjusting to the multiple sounds echoing in the dense clearing. His stilt like legs gracefully rocketed him into the air. He then viciously landed on a rabbit, stripping it of its fur immediately. The creature smelled foul? "There must be some disease in some rabbits, damn" He continued on, discouraged. He heard a scurrying noise in the bushes behind him. He ducked and pounced, another rabbit. He began to rip off its hyde. He tore a piece of flesh of the blank faced rabbit and then laid it down. He stuck his snout in it and nearly vomited "What has gone wrong with the rabbits?" Figuring the little bunnies were not going to be today's treat, he searched for a new pray. He came upon a large squirrel. "Good enough". He didn't mother sneaking up on the critter, he only had to chase him. The squirrel was really no match for his athletic build. He smelled the squirrels wretched stench before even causing damage to it. The wolf lifted a brow, his stomach sounded fuming. He peered around the landscape. The sun was trying to break through the forests canopy, streaks of light heated his rough fur. The tall grass wisped in any wind that it could catch, tickling his pillar legs. His eyes turned gold as he looked into the sun. A smell filled the air, it was horrid, but it caught his curiosity. He gently trotted through the tundra with ease with his muzzle cocked in the air, then to the ground. He stopped constantly, standing tall making sure the fragrance didn't change its direction. He embarked forward and came upon a log. The smell only became worse there. He hopped the rotting log and landed on top of what truly terrified him "Fuck!" The word seemed appropriate to him, seeming it was something that he had never seen before, and was hoping he never would. A carcass of a wolf was resting on the ground. Insects flew out of the cavities of the torn body. The smell was certainly that indeed. The wolf was a fluffy white, though it was hard to tell because the fur was coated with his blood. The tuffs of fur blew as the grass did. His eyes were a striking blue and he had a deep cut from his lobe to the tip of his snout. "Whom ever wanted him dead... certainly wanted him dead..."
He heard small branches snapping far in front of him. He stood to tall to look over the area. Another wolf peered at him from behind a tree. He couldn't make out the gender, or full color, but they seemed worried? It couldn't be the wolf that killed this one? It wasn't possible, the carcass was already rotting, it was more then three days old. A wolf that did this much damage would be far from here by now. He waited for the wolf to approach him...
Sand grazed the stallions elongated face, making his features twitch in annoyance. The brutes weight sunk him deeper into the frail sand. He peered in the sky, his eyes burned from the vivid light streaming from the sun. The thick beach grass mimicked blades, scraping the virile's pillars making for an unpleasant place to stand. He thought that he might give the grass a try, but it struck his mind as tasteless and possibly painful.
Radium stood upon a small hill, though it was tall enough to allow him to view the surrounding landscape. He gazed around the land, finding what seemed to be a young colt and a what seemed to be tender of age. He watched over them, as he would his own herd. Memories began to poison his mind, he studied his appendages trying to rub the thoughts out of his cranium. He shook his head as if shaking them out of his life.
He had completely forgot what he had been doing. He then focused on the two equines, as if he were making sure they were safe and sound. "Hmmm..." he said to himself calmly. He then decided that he should go and see what the excitement was with the frisky colt.
Radium let out a playful whinny, as if welcoming himself to this little get together. His legs pounded on the steamy sand, the small grains filled the air with a dense cloud. His onyx tassels weaved around his ears and wisped in the salty breeze. He managed to pull up his front legs upon his stop just a bit for added excitement.
He allowed a smile to appear, but immediately hid it away, forgetting about the deadly syringes. He hoped that neither had saw them. He certainly wasn't there to frighten anyone, so it seemed right to keep his 'features' hidden for now. He didn't worry about his optics, most thought he was merely blind when they didn't see his ivorns first.
"I'm sorry to emerge so quick and abruptly..." Radium said smiling. "... I hope I didn't bother anyone, I just wanted to see what the fun was about."
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Seraphim
