Post by Vice on Jul 26, 2009 22:23:09 GMT -8
vice
[/color]"Trust me, you dont like me. No one ever likes me."
[/center]B E H I N D . T H E . M A S K
[/center][/color]Name: Alex
Age: 17
Contact Information: HA. Find me 0.0
S T A N D . U P . S T R A I G H T
[/center][/color]Name: Vice
Pronunciation: Vuh-i-sss
Meaning: a physical defect, flaw, or infirmity or a bad habit
Titles Given: Vice the Strange, That Freak
Nicknames: N/A
Birthday: Spring
Age: 5 Years
Pack: None, but looking
Alignment & Loyalties: None
S M I L E . L I K E . Y O U . M E A N . I T
[/center][/color]Pelt: White
Marking’s: Only Scars
Eyes: Green
Figure: Small, Lanky, Long (70 in long)
Height: 28 in at shoulder
Weight: 88 lbs
Breed: Himalayan Wolf
Voice Tone: Soft whisper, speaks quickly. When loud: Paranoid, almost panicked voice.
Basic Description:
Vice was quite a precarious subject when he was born. Both of his parents argued whose pristine genes he inherited, while cursing each other on his random oddities. Puppy coat flawless as the purest cloud in the sky, more brilliant than the still falling snowflake that has yet to be tainted, was clearly from one of their pure lineage. While suckling at his mother’s side, she noticed his luxuriously long tail, a sign of a well warmed future and long afternoons of careful fluffing and grooming. Blessed with long and delicate legs, his mother envied the trait for stealth and quickness, while his father insisted that stealth and quickness did not matter when delicate legs broke. However, the first time his clear sea water orbs blinked up at his mother, she had given a terrified yelp. Neither of his parents or any pack members could remember the last wolf that obtained green eyes. His modest paws also poised an issue; both bloodlines produced large brutes and vigorous feas while his tiny paws promised a stunted frame.
In time, innocence is lost to wisdom and pain.
At five years old, he looks far older than his real age. His once lush and impressive coat is mutilated by dozens of deep scars along his shoulders, back and flank. At a distance, his luxurious pelt of snow looks a bit ruffled and messy, but upon a closer look his sole coat of warmth is now only patches and long strips of territory. Past adversaries carving out their claim of pelt as each scar is carefully hidden by a vigilant muzzle. His frame is thin and he is often considered sickly at how frail and weak he appears. Through strict breeding, his blood line pulled his body’s length to an almost freakish aspect. Thankfully still at the base of his rump, the white bushy tail is often valued by others as the only whole survivor of the brutes past. Once bright, optimistic orbs laced with the essence of a newly budding seed are now dulled and glossy, taking on the hues of a drowned bamboo stalk. Ears most often twitching or folded across his crown, his expressions change quickly while his key features are slim and narrow. Presenting himself as lost or distracted is not unusual, and while focused, a distasteful quality slithers into his hollow orbs, creating uncomfortable atmosphere. Slick fangs kept sharp through his scavenging ways and love affair of white bleached carcasses, his claws are skilled at grasping prey and selfish when bones are present.
Played by: Me? I hope. Lol.
C R O S S . M Y . H E A R T
[/center][/color]Likes:
( SNOW!!! )
( Chatting )
( Traveling )
( Silence of Body Language )
( Being considered a wolf )
Strengths:
( Agility )
( Hunting )
( Patience )
( Gentle )
( Cunning )
Life Goals To overcome his past.
Dislikes
( Agressive Wolves )
( Young Males, 1-2 years )
( Fighting)
( Hot Places )
( Happy Situations )
Weakness':
( Blood Lust )
( Frail )
( Easily Intimidated/Frightened )
( Bit Insane )
( Soft Spot for Pups )
Past Illness/Injuries:
Deep scars along his shoulders, back and flank.
Personality
Ah, his personality, the crowning aspect of his defected demeanor. No doubt he has a sharp mind and rather active imagination, but these qualities were channeled down a narrow path where insanity and brutality had battered his innocence. Leaving the once joy bounded pup into a flustered, paranoid and demented creature of wolves. He can be caught alone bickering with an unknown presence, or simple discussing the state of the universe with the still wind. First impressions are not his shinning glory, since most of the time he is abandoned or beaten for his strange greetings and conversations. When conversed with, he simply forgets to speak normally and will express himself in metaphors and figuratively until reminded that he’s only speaking gibberish. When wolves can tolerate him, he is very patient, as one would have to be if rarely anyone can understand you. If you seem to cling to him, he is very gentle with the feelings and hearts of others.
Having a soft spot for young pups, it is common for him to bring live gifts to nursing mothers and retreating quickly without explanation or reason. However, he is extremely terrified of young male wolves, between the ages of one and two, and can unexpectedly stop in mid conversation to flee from an approaching male yearling.
Very slow to anger he will avoid confrontations at all cost, leaving him a helpless victim to words or claw. Once feeling the first assaults of the mind, he will become distant, retreating into the depths of thought while rarely responding to his aggressor. When forced into submission, he will not protest and will let his foe do as they please, waiting patiently for the chance to slink away.
A peculiar aspect of his nature is not his readiness to submit, but his actions that take place when another is abused or wrongfully offended. This strange brute holds deep grudges against those who assault his companions (does he actually have any?) physically or mentally. His ability to reason with aggression against other completely cease to function when his loved ones (love, have you ever been loved Vice?) even become slightly uncomfortable.
There is one major defect in his personality. One issue that can not be over looked with the most pure intentions or labeled as a small flaw and nothing to bat an eyelash at. When blood is spilled, whether from prey or offspring (ha, Vice having whelps?), the seductive scent of blood seeps into every fiber of his mind, releasing the blood lust and irrationality his calm and gentle demeanor so carefully binds in chains and locks. The ecstasy of tasting it surpasses his morals and values, leaving his mind numb and enslaved to the primitive functions of tooth and claw. Philosophical remarks deteriorate to pitiful snarls and unnerving howls. The fatal flaw that ruined his past corrupts this gentle and calm hermit into an agile demonic vessel with a lust for torture.
W A Y . B A C K . W H E N
[/center][/color]Grand Sire: Unknown
Grand Dame: Unknown
Sire: Unknown
Dame: Unknown
Brother/’s: None
Sister/’s Blurr, and unnamed sister.
Other Kin: Smudge, his niece.
Closest Friend: None
Interest/’s: None
Courting: N/A
Courted by: N/A
Mate None
Whelps: None
History:
Vice is not comfortable talking about his past, though it seeps out in his stories, conversations, hallucinations and arguments. His story is of abandonment and innocence.
Vice was born in a litter that was a surprise their dam and sire. His own stunning white coat was the prized jewel of the litter, though his frame promised a withered future. The black splashed sister with a base coat of snow was gifted with a pristine body, with looks set aside, she was her mother’s favorite. However, the first born female pup was an exact replica of her sire: a pelt of pure black with no trace of white. In any other situation, a healthy litter of three in the unforgiving terrain was a gift from Tor and Fenris themselves. The fatal flaw was that their mother was a loner, an outcast, an unwanted, while their father was the Dragga of the powerful pack nearby.
Desiring security for her own well being, their mother discarded their black pelt sister at the edge of a river with thin ice. Padding away from the pitiful cries of her whelp, she returned to her den. It was six weeks after the pups had been born, and almost three months since their sire had visited his mistress. Disgusted and disgraced, their sire tried to dispose of his unexpected offspring. Irrationally their mother created a scene outside of the den, attracting the pack. At the arrival of the Drappa and the witnessing of whelps, Vice's mother was torn open with claws and fangs.
All the while, a barren female loner took advantage of the forgotten pups. Stealing them away as the Dragga and followers watched the spectacle.
This twisted and bizarre barren fea raised the two pups in her image. Teaching the pair of betrayal and self loathing, that nothing and no one is as they seem and everyone should only care for their well being. With nothing but tough love, they joined pack after pack, only staying long enough to spoil family bonds and mutilate the sacred trust of mates.
Her most important lesson to them, was that they only had each other.
On Vice's and his sister Blurr's one year birthday, they were welcomed into a peculiar pack. This peculiar pack dedicated its future generations to blood lust, rape, and war. Where Dragga had a harem and the brutes were trained at an early age to enjoy delivering torture. For their new mother, it was a perfect place to raise a family. However, the pack had other uses for the new trio. Sacrificing their new mother to Wolfbane, she went gleefully to deaths door. Blurr was delivered as a gift from the Drappa to the Dragga, another addition to his harem. Vice was sent to the caverns to feast on what mice he could catch and used for practice combat. Letting budding new warriors feel their first sensations of ripping flesh, with all these new passions experienced safely with a broken brute.
After a year of endless blood flow and mental deterioration, Vice was gifted with news of his sister from harassing yearlings. They had cursed the coming whelps of his sister, as all whelps born in the Dragga's harem were either sacrificed or sentenced to the caverns. Vice and Blurr escaped two months later when the pack was in confusion over challenging of ranks. With hell on their heels, the stress, panic and exhaustion caused Blurr to give birth under a snow veiled pine. One beautiful white male was born, and the second female was an exact replica of Blurr. With only a night of rest, Blurr grabbed the female and Vice took the male. Separating at dawn as the blood thirsty howls of the pack approached.
A month later, the pair reunited in a hidden stone den, at the edge of the packs territory. The stunning male pup that Vice had carried died from lack of warmth, the female pup plum and healthy with her mother. Stricken by grief, his sister refused to leave the den until her brother found her pup, insisting he was alive and Vice had abandoned him. Confused and heartbroken, Vice took the barely weaned female pup that his sister continued to kick away: saving her milk for her lost male pup.
Vice named her Smudge.
Searching the lands for a new pack, he joined one set deep in the mountain ranges. The pack he found made was on peace and love. A pack in which Vice could not function in, a pack in which they saw him as a threat. For his own good, the barren Drappa announced, he was banished from the pack lands, while Smudge would become her own. Wisely bowing heads, the pack committed to chasing Vice away from their land.. Since it was for his own good. No matter how hard they tired, they could not separate Vice from Smudge. Heartbroken howls haunted the borders of the pack land, making it a game for the pack to spot-the-dying-moose. Raised to fear the howls, Smudge grew strong within the pack. Filling her new parents with pride, desire spread for her in young brutes’ hearts, elders envied her for her quick wits. She was destined for a bright future.
One night in winters cold grip, Vice crept into the pack den site were every member was tucked away in logs and stone dens. Hiding from the bitter chill, their coats not as thick and lush as Vice's. Nudging awake his stolen pup, Smudge welcomed him with snarls and fangs. As he tried to explain his reasons, she admitted he smelled and looked familiar, but her mother had told her she was delivered here by a demon. And that same demon must be destroyed for its own good. With the pack rising from their slumber, Vice fled the territory with Smudge snapping at his heels.
Fleeing his past, he arrived... Here.
W I S H . Y O U . W E R E . H E R E
[/center][/color]Views on Life and Death:
Vice believes that everyone deserves a chance at life. No matter how weak and deformed, every pup should be given a chance. Every life should be spared, even if their soul is tainted with the purest of evil. Death is a cruel punishment delievered by the weak and selfish. However, Vice tends to be suicidal when times are at their happiest and has no problems assisting those who choose death.
Views on Purity:
He believes everyone should be treated equal, no matter what age, gender, or species. Prey should be given proper respect, while the hunters should acknowledege the life in their prey. If he could, he would make the world a happy, beautiful place. A place that would not judge him, and accept him. If they didn't, since he had control of making such a world, he would make a little space for himself to be out of everyones way so they could be happy.
Views on Darkness:
Evil should be treated with respect and care. If he had the courage, he would become a valiant wolf and vanquish those that commit sin. He doesn't, so he merely goes by his passive ways. He does not mind the evil that is done unto him, but when others are victimized.. Well, he doesn't like that at all. Most of all, he believes there has to be SOME good with every evil being, or there wouldn't be a good and evil. There would be govil.
Views on the Pack:
Pack life has never suited Vice well. He has always been the omega, the out cast, the bad example. He never minded what the mocking brutes and snickering feas said, he still cared lovingly for their pups and did the Alphas bidding. He never tries to fit in, because sooner or later, all packs kick him out.
Views on Her/Himself:
Vice admits that he is a little weird. Atleast thats what everyone else calls him, with various other names. Truely, he consideres himself unique. Other wolves simply do not have the patience or time to understand him, but he doens't mind. He is perfectly content with who is he, and truthfully, he has more happy memories with himself than with other wolves.
RPG Sample:
Stray rays of light trickled within the cracks of a long fallen tree. Its insides first opened by creatures of feather that bore beautiful life before the ones born in earth took its pride at the forest floor. The winds of the north soon teased and played with the ancient rotting timber. A small brown hare emerging from underneath it, quickly retreating as the gust blew its scent across the forest. A doe and her fawn paced gracefully through the under growth, every fresh green shoot catching the fawns eye. By example, the doe did not pluck them as he sensed his mothers uneasiness. With a snap of a twig, the doe froze with fear. A mass of fur lunging out from the inside of the decomposing tree. A feral snarl and a sharp yelp later, the doe and her fawn had fled into the woods. Leaving behind a scrawny, scarred and limp wolf upon the dirt.
Vice laid defeated on the ground, not because of pain, but pure embarrassment. He had been sleeping in the moss covered log when the snap of the twig woke him with a fright. His body said flee, but his still dreaming mind said fight. Both agreeing for a compromise, he had fled the log backwards, snarling at the the concealed opponent. As his flank emerged from the log, his torso swayed gracelessly backwards. His paws awkwardly grasping the air. The end result was his crumpled body unharmed, but his confidence shattered.
Its to early to be me..., Vice thought. He debated whether to lay still on the ground longer, or leap up and regain his composure. Pretend that the last five seconds was never weaved into time, a five second gap of nothingness. Two dreary howls inturrupted his thoughts, etching their message through the still air as Vice ascended to his feet. Heart broken by the meaning of the songs, he dare not answer as his mind became paralyzed with fear. A torrent of malignant memories caught hold in his minds eye. Wincing backwards at the painful memories, he laid back down. Forearms outstretched, he rested his maw between them. Ears folded back against his fur, he pressed his body into the comforting earth. The rich and musky aromas filling his lungs, his eyes gazed terrified into the forest, heart beating through him as if he were chasing the essence of blood.
Are these brethren friends or foes?
