Post by Ceuseri on Sept 24, 2006 8:01:46 GMT -5
Name: Rontu
Gender: Male
Age: 2 years
Mate: None, looking
Cubs: None
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]I'm going under[/glow]
Rontu, born into the litter of two of the most powerful wolves known, merely for the sheer size and magnificence of their territory.
The litter of of three, two being still born, though the parents did not care too much, for they devoted themselves to the three they ahd alive. Rontu was the weakest of the lot, and was often pushed aside.
Though he was the weakest, he was by no means /weak/, for his entire family was of strong build, strong mind and strong nature, and were famous for being so.
News of the litter soon got 'round, and before long, many wolves were whispering. They wondered which of the litter were heir to the throne of the Pack, for the mother and father were aging, and would not last for long. Long enough to see their cubs into growing strong enough to fend for themselves, barely any longer.
The cubs seemed to be aware of this, and so were quick learners, willing to put their all into speeding up the work of survival. One cub was quiet, withdrawn and observant, the other was plucky and confident, always first in a fight. The third was witty and cunning, laying his talent in hunting, for his mind was sharp.
It was this witty wolf, the one whos brains were put before their fangs, which was Rontu. Little did he know that his mind was soon to be put to the test...
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]Drowning in you[/glow]
For their was one pack of twelve wolves who did not care which cub would take the lead of the packlands. This pack knew the answer already. None of them.
For this pack had their eyes on the territory, and had been enemies with the cubs' father for years on end.
Long ago, the two packs had fought for the land. Unluckily, thunder had struck and a fire broke out, boxing the Parents of Rontu into the land they were fighting over ... and the other pack out. Thus, fate had decided that Rontu's parents would take the land for themselves.
It was not long after the cubs had been on their first hunt that this pack moved in. They prowled the boundaries of the land, and, as one, stepped over, their eyes flashing.
Though their pack was weaker, they outnumbered the Greater Pack by three, for the larger pack used it strength rather than it's number.
But that didn't matter.
All the Twelve needed to do was murder the alphas and assassinate the cubs. Then, leadership would be theirs, and they would add the other pack's number to their own.
The battle was short. Held in the dead of night, lost in shadows, the Twelve took the Greater pack by surprise, and so only one of their own nuber was killed, two of the stronger packs.
The Alphas were overwhelmed, encircled.
Their last words rang over the trees, desperate and knowing that the end was nigh.
"RUN!"
Directed at their children, before their words literally caught in their throats, which were torn open savagely, the blood drank by the assassins.
Turning their bloodstained maws to the cubs, they knew they were so close to power. The cubs' frozen fear vanished. Survival snapping at their heels, they did run, hurtling almost blindly away, as fast as they could, the other wolves hot on their tails.
The quieter withdrawn one fell behind, and was first to be slaughtered.
The tougher, lesser of mind turned to face the wolves, and was made short work of.
Rontu, the smarter, the more cunning, weaved in and out of the trees, darting over water as much as he could to drown his scent, until he came to a river, large and wide.
He had stood on the banks and looked behind him fearfully. The pack had found his scent. He was going to die...
In a last, desperate plea for life, he had slipped noiselessly into the river, leaving as few ripples as he could, and started to swim down, down into the murk until all was black and nothing could be seen.
He was deep under, knowing that he would not be seen, holding his breath valiantly.
His lungs, after 2 minutes, were fit to burst, and he knew he could stay under no longer. He kicked out for the surface ... but did not move. Looking down in horror, he realised too late that tough river weed was wound tightly around his left back paw, and no matter how hard he kicked, he could not free himself.
Crying out, foolishly, in desperation, water had rushed into his lungs, so that he gasped for air, swallowing yet more water. He felt pain shooting through his body. So this was it. He /was/ going to die...
A sudden peace overcame him, as his heart began to slow. This wasn't so bad ... his pain was fading, all his worries disappearing...maybe death wasn't to be feared after all?
At least he'd see his family again...
The pain returned. In a last effort, he dipped himself round and sank his teeth weakly into the weed. He was dead before his jaws had closed.
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]I'm falling forever[/glow]
Rontu's eyes felt heavy. He did not want to open them. He feared what he would ever see. But he was curious, as any young wolf would be, and his eye opened just a crack, before both eyes flew open, wide and alert.
He sprang to his feet, not feeling weak in anyway. He shook his soaking wet body in confusion, and looked behind him to the river, still flowing strongly. He was on the other side, washed up onto the bank. And yet...he was alive?
Somehow, he knew he had died, knew it as much as he knew pain was bad and ending it was good, like a hidden instinct. That confused him most. He was so sure of it, and yet it was impossible.
It was daylight by now, and the sun was shining heavily on him, very soon drying his dripping wet fur. Rontu had automatically checked himself over and nearly passed out at what he saw.
All was ... different, but normal looking, all seemed intact...until he came to his tail. It had ... well, it had turned into water! He bat it against the ground. No doubt about it, drops flew from where it had touched the stone of the floor, and it's shape had distorted, before flicking back into the shape of his tail.
He leapt forward automatically, and the moment his paws left their refuge in the river, his tail became ... er ... solid, once more. In total confusion, Rontu experimented, only to find, to his shock, that he could choose how much of his to liquify as long as part of his solid body was wet.
Testing out a bit more of this extraordinary power, he also discovered that he could breathe easily under water ((finding this out by slipping and falling in)) and that he could see quite clearly also.
Sending a brief howl to the heavens, out of mere surprise and excitement that he was alive, he received a howl back, one of such fury and hatred he turned tail and he ran. For the assassins had heard his call, and were unpleasantly amazed and angry that one of the pups lived on.
Rontu, rightful heir to the packlands, had not a thought of trying to claim it back. He ran for a day without pausing for a breath, before luanching himself into a lake and hiding in its depths for as long as he felt uncomfortable. Deciding it was safe, he emerged a few days later and began to travel.
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]I've got to break through[/glow]
Where he was going, he knew not. All he wanted was to put as much distance between him and the assassins as he could. His journey took him of thrilling adventures, one involving a fire, which he was able to put out by spitting on his paws and allowing his body to become liquid, the enemy of the flames, dousing them slowly.
He was not well known nor famous, for he travelled by the cover of night, always fearing the wolves who could well be on his tail, for he knew the assassins would fear his return.
And return the young male planned to do, when he was older and stronger. He practiced his fighting with unlucky foxes, though he was but a cub, and he found extreme disappointment when the foxes drove him off every time, irritated that the child had disturbed them.
He doubts he will ever come out of hiding and has developed an inevitable nervousness around other wolves, fear from his past bringing fear for his future.
But as he grows into his adolescence years, he is getting stronger, and is a fine hunter, though he is not very quick on his feet. His intelligence serves him well in most situations, and he is careful to keep his wit alive.
Though ... when his siblings had died, it seemed some of their talent and personality passed into himself. For, through his fear, I aforementioned his shyness; his withdrawn sister, who had been first to die.
And he has become strong, as he worked himself to the limit in order to ready himself for the promised battle over what was rightfully his; his reckless brother who had died facing the on coming assassins.
He holds this proud, and every night he sings a quiet lament to his lost family, speaking to the stars as if he saw them hiding behind the sparkling lights.
His grief does not hider him, for he is growing to be a strong brute of a wolf who does not care for love or emotion, digging a hole and burying them forever.
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]So go on and scream[/glow]
As for appearance, young Rontu did not notice a difference in himself for he bears the heavy curse of colour blindness, and lives in shades of grey and black, with white dotted here and there.
But, if a wolf able to see colour were to lay eyes on him, they would see a dramatic difference. Where his fur had been grey, it was now a deep, rich shade of blue, dark and majestic, with slivers of green running down his sides. Sky blue cirlces dot his thighs, and markings of the same colour form two slash type markings over each eye.
His eyes themselves are a bluey-green, quite dark and handsome, for he is a very good looking wolf. His snout is short, though he has a sharp alert look about him, as his ears are always thrown forward, eyes rather wide.
His tail is flecked with both sky blue and sea green, with a black tip. But the most curious of all markings is on his back left leg. A green spiral curling up his leg, like a scar ... resembling for all the world weed grasping his paw...
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]Scream at me, I'm so far away[/glow]
Now, Rontu is a year old, and he feels that he had better start getting himself used to the prescence of other wolves, or he would not stand a chance against the assassins.
He is inching reluctantly towards packlands, prowling their borders uncertainly before slinking away again.
For Rontu's personality was deeply affected by his past. He has become quiet, and when he does speak, he is known to give a sarcastic or scornful comment, always seeming irritated or angry, merely because he has avoided wolves for so long he fears them, and snappy anger is his way of quelling fear.
If he was faced with cubs, he would be very unsure what to do or say, and it would be pretty awkward for he is not used to them and has no idea how to treat them.
He behaves around females and males no different than the other, not even considering to flirt or to pick a fight, not with those particular males anyway. Though Rontu is annoyingly hard to befriend, he would be loyal and protective if a friend was brought out in him.
He's a softie really. If a wolf was injured, he would calm them in his own gruff manner. If a wolf was upset, he would usually find the right words to say. He's ann affectionate wolf deep inside, and would simply hate to see a wolf in discomfort.
When posed with a threat or a fight, he would be very nervous and would be extremely reluctant to retaliate, though he would, half heartedly, until he really gets into it and starts unleashing his all, though that would take a little while.
If he were fighting for someone instead of just a random fight, his every effort would be thrown apon his opposer at once, mark my words, he doesn't stand any nonsense.
He is short-tempered, though it can be in a good way, and he has a good sense of humour. In my opinion, Rontu would eventually be a very nice male to be around.
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]I won't be broken again![/glow]
As for the Assassins, the Eleven that are left took hold of the other pack, bringing their number to a mighty Eighteen. Though the Seven that were the original pack hated being there, the others held them from escaping and worked them to the limit, making them fight eachother for pleasure.
The pack sank into misery, and yet they were powerful and their packlands were growing steadily, and they grew ever stronger for their range of prey was extending. The cruel alpha, Gurth, was enfuriated to discover that one pup has escaped, least of all Rontu, who had been never been caught in the first place.
Gurth sent three of his number, all from the evil side of the pack, after Rontu. They wander the lands, hunting him, tracking him down, their mission simply to rip the guts out of the last heir to the Elan Pack.
For their fears were great that he would recruit other wolves to do his bidding and aid him into fighting the Elan Pack, though they knew they were likely to out-do most packs. Only the thought of packs uniting actually struck a terror in their hearts, and they did not put it past bright, brave Rontu to do just that.
And so, they hunted, for all the months Rontu was at large, they were tracking him, slowly, oh so slowly, closing closer to him, though it would take months before they were truly 'pon him.
The trail was heating up...
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]I've got to breathe[/glow]
Though Rontu had no desire what so ever to do that, for he was still daring himself to wander into company, he starts to grow confidence and finally come to an area riddled with more packs than he could count, and probably more wolves than he knew existed.
Standing at the borders, he takes a deep, calming breath, eyes flashing with defiance against his own phobia, and starts to walk forward, his blue fur shining healthily, his ears ever forward, ever listening.
Both blissfully unaware and worryingly aware of the threat snapping at his firm heels...
[glow=dodgerblue,2,300]I can't keep going under...[/glow]
