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Fachon
Oct 3, 2007 18:40:02 GMT -5
Post by Fachon on Oct 3, 2007 18:40:02 GMT -5
Name Fachon. Age Eight years or so, one cannot be positive. Pack - Rank Elder. Appearance This wolf's appearance doesn't start with her body shape, it doesn't start with an odd scar or a strange smile, it doesn't even start with her voice. Her appearance is judged and clarified before anyone even lies an eye on her figure, the judging can begin as much as a mile away from her, depending on the breeze and just which sensitive noses were around for her to ruin today. To state things bluntly, she stinks of a rotting carcass on a hot day, reeks of disease and smells of death. A killer, one will whisper, one will first believe. But why would the killer itself stink of rot? There are not many that are willing to answer this question, the smell alone is enough to turn heads and tuck tails. There are the few brave that will enter the repulsive cloud of scent to find the brute that lies within.
The scent will grow stronger, if you're really lucky, you'll see a few crows in your path, poised on their perchs and glaring at you, like it's your fault this smelling creature isn't dead yet. Fachon shows only a hint now of the rose grey she once was, with black and brown and tan neatly lining her legs, chest and hackles, now most of her colour is a grey that appears tinged with blood of both old and new varieties, some of that description true, but most of it just describing what's left of her old colouring among the old grey hairs, none of them quite reaching the same length as the other. More often than not, it is matted and coated with a layer of mud, dirt and heaven knows what. Her body structure can be described as thin, scrawny and skeleton-like, which is not kind but very, very true. Ribs ripple beneath her pelt, hips jaunty and spine making ridges down her back. This seems to be a permanent state for Fachon, no matter the amount of meals she shoves down her throat or the seasons. Her tail wags behind her, very short in length, scabby pink skin able to be seen through the hairs if you look closely through the thinning hairs.
Her paws are small and dainty, pawpads hard as rocks which is the outcome of several years of trotting the globe through all the seasons. Cracked and dull nails sprout from each toe, the longest one being the dew claw farther up her legs. Legs are wrapped about with a thin layer of muscle, improving neither speed or strength, but with a defense system like she has, there aren't many willing to take her down, no matter the crime she commits. Her scent helps prevent attacks, obviously, but there needs to be something rotting in order to cause that scent, correct?
And unluckily for her, it's not an ear or a past meal, but it comes from the fact she is partly blind. But it's not that fancy-dancy blindness, with one eye plain and the other the most beautiful! shade of blue. Gag her now at the very thought of that fairy tale. She has one eye, and one eye only and literally. Where the other should be is an empty socket, and rather than being all perfectly smoothed edges (where are we getting all these foolish fantasies?), it is not completely healed. Claw marks scar her entire socket and all around it, the skin that has healed a fleshy grey colour and the skin that hasn't yet closed is covered with scabs, a nasty shade of yellow and red mottling the healing skin. They crack open often, dried tracks of blood and pus running in random tracks all over her face. Her teeth will spread to reveal breath worse than her normal smell, her very last defense if someone didn't quite catch the warning that she could be possibly infectious. Teeth are of a yellowed shade, the ones to the back either not there or turned a shade of black or purple due to complete rot.
Her good eye will glare out at you, still able to capture all the emotions of any other wolf. It is a dull shade of grey, often found shining with light due to it's highly reflective nature. Her facial shape is broad and flattened, her muzzle rather box-shaped compared to a usual narrow muzzle on other lupines. This wolf is about a moon's distance away from being considered pretty, and apparently, she likes it that way. No one said life was fair, and she's a living proof of it. The scales are heavily tipped in one direction in her life, and it ain't the side full of pixie dust and fairy tales.
Personality What are we to expect from this creature? Pure, unrated evil? A thirst for blood? An outcast, pathetic and upset? Complete normality? Insanity? This is a difficult question, and she's been affected by her looks in a far different way than most expect. There will be those who expect her to shy away from the public eye, to store herself in the highest bell tower and simply follow beneath a strict religion: the one thing that will accept her. Sightless, scentless and forgiving, they see nothing of the true Fachon, so they say, they see nothing of her ugly face and just see her pure soul. It's probably surprising to learn that Fachon believes nothing in religion, the true and lonely atheist. It is understandable once you delve in her history; she's learned that tough lesson that not everyone learns, other creatures will worship what they fear. After being named various forms of the Devil, Death and the Graveyard Hag, she's been taught that lesson thoroughly to the point where she even has her own opinion about it, and she's not afraid to flaunt it.
The rank of her beauty has not forced her to hide, but rather the very opposite. Her confidence and attitude has been raised to an almost intolerable level, yellow, blackened and broken teeth showing a wild grin as she looks down her crooked nose at you. It's frustrating to watch her slink about like she's the highest on the dog pile, but are you going to be the one meeting up with those diseased jaws, is it you that'll even dare to touch her flesh with your teeth? Whose to say that her missing eye isn't from some horrible contagious disease, whose to say that she even has the ability to die: perhaps she already is the living dead. Oh how she laughs at such thoughts, how she smirks as they hesitantly loom over her shoulder at every move she makes, making mental notes of which areas they can no longer touch. Her past life has been spent in actual luxury, who will deny the stare of her gaping socket? Besides, not everyone is as stupid as they appear. If her disease is somehow contagious, it would only make sense not to let her infect their prey.
Oh she seems cruel and heartless, how she will demand her food or push others out of the way, but perhaps she is just the misunderstood beast. Perhaps under everything, she has the heart and kindness of a saint, that she shoves people away to avoid giving them grief while they sympathize over her condition. Apparently, she has quite a sarcastic and dry sense of humor, for she'd simply chuckle sadly at the accusation above. She enjoys the attention, as much as she hides it, she will willingly place herself in a dangerous situation just to see the surprised faces at her reaction, she is literally addicted. Fachon supplies anyone with a constant supply of sarcasm, wit and an actual intelligent mind. She can put two and two together, and is skilled in planning out war and hunting tactics. And like anyone several years or so, she can claim the trait of wise, she has learned all the lessons and understood all the fables, and now there is nothing else but to pass down the knowledge to the younger. Yes, she actually has a slight liking of the very, very young, when they are still innocent and very impressionable. Too bad the parents of the generation don't approve of her diseased self.
Their loss, right?
History Her past starts with her parents and their past, the story behind their on-coming rather important in this tale. Her mother, Gypsy, came from a small pack, made up of only her family, very close relatives. Her mother and father were the alpha, her, her sisters and her brother making up the pack. They had hopes of enlarging the pack, but no one came near the mountain range, no one with much sense anyways. Gypsy was a gorgeous black wolf, fur thick and body stance tall and willowy. The only one that could match her beauty was her sister Renka, but the beauty was not the same. While Gypsy had calm silver eyes, Renka's golden eyes were like flames, she was dominant, bossy and controlling. She had a much more primitive and fierce beauty that her sister. The brother, as well, was black in colour, eyes just as dark. The last sister, Shenka, was a pure white wolf astonishingly enough, but she was neither fierce or a leader. She was rather distant and spacey. They were quite the foursome, peaceful and gorgeous all at the same time. Lovely.
But instincts over took the father and brother when spring came around. Renka, Shenka and Gypsy were forced to flee, too kind hearted to kill their dear father. Their brother was a different matter, but could they ever forgive themselves if his death was caused by them? Well, Renka easily could but Gypsy was a different matter. They fled from the mountains, landing themselves a lowly place in a pack of gigantic proportions. The bitches didn't appreciate their arrival, exotic looks suddenly becoming beautiful compared to the plain pelts of the others. Gypsy caught the attention of the alpha himself, his name being Reubin. What a fairy tale ending it was, Gypsy, the poor but beautiful slave girl, coming upon the king of the pack and eventually being queen.
But the endings never mention the revengeful sister save for that they were burnt in wax or hanged. Wolves don't have such materials, and so the jealous sister remained, watching her fairy tale ending come true. Renka earned her way to the top the long way and difficult way, violence one of her often used tactics.. She was self-declared beta, and the others didn't reject. The pack went on peacefully, Gypsy soon enough had a litter of pups to take care of, and the kindly sister Renka was stated she would watch after them. Shenka, all during this time, and become the omega, and was often carrying pups of the horndogs in the pack. Ah well, some endings are never good. With Shenka and Gypsy busy with their own problems, Renka watched over the litter of eight pups, including Fachon. They were nameless for the time being, and that was good because it was so much easier to not mourn for something that didn't have a name.
Yes, most of the pups died. The long winter, the pack members said sympathetically, but no one noticed that the five pups that died actually lost their lives at Renka's claws. Three pups left, a white wolf with black eyes named Seria, a brown wolf with golden eyes named Hawk and at last our little Fachon, a mixture of all colours in her once thick and lovely pelt and flashing silver eyes. All were pretty and dashing enough to satisfy the pack, and so they grew under the watch of Renka. Seria was following in Shenka's footsteps, Hawk becoming as fierce and deadly as Renka and Fachon...she was a peculiar pup. She seemed distant and far away, but there was a command in every word she said that made any doubts the wolves had vanish.
A year passed, Hawk very brave and handsome, Seria forgotten along with Shenka and Fachon, who had a very strong relationship with Renka, was experiencing such pain she was muted for most of her second year, spending long hours with her head against the cold rocks of the dens or in the water, watching her once pretty look deteriorate, pain showing in her dulling eyes. Slowly, all her muscle build faded, her fur became shabby and looks terrifying. She was tired of this, no more she would suffer, she decided one lonely night, the wind whistling in her ears. Ugly self left the pack lands, there was the faint scent of blood and sounds of screaming, snarling and nasty gushing sounds. A hole in her tongue and an eye missing, she couldn't return to her pack, not yet. Surely she thought she would die, and waited for her death to come to her.
But she was lucky, or perhaps she was cursed. The empty socket had healed over messily, and with a strict talking-to-herself she marched back to her pack, her home. Or what was her home. The wolves looked all ready to welcome her back with open paws and happy faces, her scent a bit odd they admitted, but they were pleased she returned. The fact that they chased off Seria and Shenka, blaming them for Fachon's disappearance, was not mentioned to Fachon. Actually, nothing was mentioned to her when she burst through the clearing, an eye missing, blood marking her face and pus running down one of her cheeks.
"The devil!" they cried, fearful of her, terrified. She could not be mortal! No normal being could be so hideous, so cursed. She was named a God, and though no one worshiped her, they made sure not to anger her, they brought her anything she wished but they did not speak to her, they did not talk. Fachon, five years of age now, grew tired of this and left the pack. No one stopped her, and off she went to the world. Some packs she slipped into had the same reactions, a God she was. Some thought her the Graveyard Hag and offered their very children to her to keep them alive. Some pitied her, some chased her off, some committed suicide before 'the yellow teeth of Death could grip them'. She was awakened to alot of the stupid things wolves did, how foolish and selfish they were.
She now is a cynical and sarcastic old lady, with the idea that she can get anything she wants. She enjoys staying on the outside of packs and looking into the chaos and disorder they stir up, but she finds age setting in her bones and is searching for a place to settle down, and where better to watch packs than within one? She's wary of the idea of joining a pack, after three or so years of being a wanderer and also doubting that anyone would come near a wolf that wasn't some pretty, perky three year old directly at their prime, but has convinced herself she will enjoy the experience of seeing wolves' faces as she nears them and tells them that they want to join their pack. If they don't appreciate her looks or age, perhaps her stories will interest them. How wolves could get wrapped up in a good lie.
[[ warning: this is from my long ago past. I haven't wolf roleplayed in a very long time XD BTW, lasagna is best. Also hoping this isn't...'too out there' ]]
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Fachon
Oct 3, 2007 20:47:41 GMT -5
Post by Lilith on Oct 3, 2007 20:47:41 GMT -5
OMG, Shelby! *tackles* HI!!! ;D Erm... *regains composure* Yeah...looks great! I love it! Something new. It's good to have you here! Accepted!
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