Marsh
Mar 7, 2019 0:40:42 GMT -5
Post by Karmatose on Mar 7, 2019 0:40:42 GMT -5
Name: Marsh
Age: 5 years - Adult
Gender: Male
Side: Neutral
Eye Color: Pale Teal / Abyss Green
Coat Colour: Most of his coat is a faded grey, with his two front paws shaded like that of a copper patina. His muzzle is a similar color, yet it is densely dappled with grey, a mix of both age and natural coloration. The inside of his ears and the pads of his paws are a rich, dark shade of peony, as is his nose. His nose, however, is also spotted with liver, matching his nails. The tip of his tail is a rich turquoise, and there is the occasional spot across his body where the grey will be subtly tainted with blue. Across the arch of his back exists two stripes running perpendicular to his spine in a jagged flash of teal.
Physical Build: Years of sparse food and poor nutrition have left Marsh looking permanently scrawny, in a tired but dangerous sort of way. One can tell with a brief glance that he hasn't survived his time as a lone wolf by running away with his tail between his legs; he doesn't have any particularly obvious scars, but he carries himself in a way that leaves no doubt that his bedraggled appearance is hardly a sign of weakness. One wouldn't see it from a distance, but his right eye appears slightly clouded in the right lighting, an indicator of his partial blindness. He looks skinny even when he's not, his ribs constantly poking out slightly from his sides. Unlike that of most pack wolves, his fur has lost the luster and shine of his youth and appears dry and brittle, often sticking up in the oddest of places. He is slightly larger than the average wolf, not because he's muscular but rather because his bone structure is simply larger than that of most. He walks low to the ground, almost as if he's constantly stalking prey, with a swiftness to his steps that suggests he knows where he's going even when he doesn't.
Picture:
Personality: In a nicer time when Marsh was younger, he could have said he was an adventurous spirit with enough courage for four wolves. In some ways, that is still true — but he has learned that the world can be much harsher than his younger self had ever imagined. He's become worn and weary, jaded by the world and his circumstances. Constant hunger, paranoia, and fighting can take its toll on a wolf, and Marsh was no exception. He's much timider than he used to be, even if it is nearly impossible to tell from the outside. His former charismatic self has morphed into something quiet and watchful, no longer as eager to jump into the conversation. He doesn't speak often, but when he does, it's straight and to the point — he doesn't like to dilly-dally on polite conversation or small talk. In his eyes, opening up to strangers is a dangerous and vulnerable act; a risk he can't afford to take. And to him...everyone is a stranger.
History: Marsh was born and raised in a pack within White Wolf Mountain's valley; he learned to hunt in the tall grasses of the Hunting Plains and while the good memories of his puphood have been corroded by his brutal life and the passage of time, he still recalls the Hunting Plains clearly. He was 5 months old when he had snuck away in the wee hours of the morning to get in some more hunting practice — he was falling behind his peers and felt pressured to catch up — and he stumbled upon a trail from an animal he didn't recognize. Ever the curious wolf, he threw caution to the wind and followed it, and before he realized it his curiosity had brought him to the farthest Northern reaches of White Wolf Mountain, far from the familiar territory of the Hidden Glade. Realizing he was lost, he abandoned the trail and, panicking, wandered away from it in a desperate search for home. He realized much later that he should have followed the strange trail in the opposite direction, back towards his original location...but by then it was too late. He had no idea where he was. He wandered into the mountains and eventually crossed them, finding himself far from the White Wolf Mountain, hungry, lost, and alone. He would spend the next several years wandering as a lone wolf, and while he rarely talks of his experiences outside the mountain, there is no doubt that something terribly traumatic occurred. It was only recently that his wanderings found him back in the place he used to call home — 4 and a half years late for hunting practice. Back on White Wolf Mountain, he begins searching for his original pack, only to find they'd disbanded long ago. Now, he is beginning to consider settling down again in a new pack for a new life. As hesitant as he is to allow himself to trust another wolf again, he recognizes that he currently lacks the stability in his life he desperately needs — the stability a pack could give him. So, he is now traveling between the several territories in White Wolf Mountain in order to familiarize himself with his options before he makes a choice.
Lineage: N/A
Extra Comments:
-He is partially blind in his right eye. He wasn't born that way; he just realized after a while that he was slowly losing his vision in that eye. He is particularly cautious about anything that approaches from that side, and it's not unheard of for him to attack without warning if someone approaches in his blind spot.
Sample Post:
A chill seeped into his bones of the likes he hadn't felt since last winter, and he knew autumn was drawing nearer with every passing day. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned; prey had already been scarce this summer, and if this was how he was eating in the plentiful months, he wouldn't doubt it if he starved this winter. It certainly didn't help that the nearby packs already seemed to be stockpiling prey, likely predicting the same outcome he was. The packs were beginning to hunt outside their territories, encroaching dangerously on the generous space he'd carefully maintained between himself and the pack borders. He knew he wasn't in the best condition for an encounter with a pack wolf, and as he nursed his injured paw he was painfully reminded of this. He was in dire straights, and while he'd gotten out of worse before, he didn't trust his luck not to run out.
He peered out of the small burrow he'd dug himself to shelter him from the freezing rain; barely poking out his dappled muzzle and sniffing lightly, a disheartening feeling settling in his stomach that told him something was off. The rain could easily mask the scent of another wolf until they were too close for comfort, and he wasn't in any condition to flee. He'd have to fight if it came to that. Uncertain, he decided it best to put some more distance between himself and the pack borders — sooner rather than later. He hauled himself up onto trepid paws, stepping out of the temporary den and into the cold, the rain near instantly drenching his fur until he felt heavy with water. Wistfully, he tried to recall a time when he'd ever felt heavy with food in his stomach. He couldn't.
Shaking away the thought, he began to limp away as swiftly as an injured wolf could, determined to survive in a world that was set against it.
Age: 5 years - Adult
Gender: Male
Side: Neutral
Eye Color: Pale Teal / Abyss Green
Coat Colour: Most of his coat is a faded grey, with his two front paws shaded like that of a copper patina. His muzzle is a similar color, yet it is densely dappled with grey, a mix of both age and natural coloration. The inside of his ears and the pads of his paws are a rich, dark shade of peony, as is his nose. His nose, however, is also spotted with liver, matching his nails. The tip of his tail is a rich turquoise, and there is the occasional spot across his body where the grey will be subtly tainted with blue. Across the arch of his back exists two stripes running perpendicular to his spine in a jagged flash of teal.
Physical Build: Years of sparse food and poor nutrition have left Marsh looking permanently scrawny, in a tired but dangerous sort of way. One can tell with a brief glance that he hasn't survived his time as a lone wolf by running away with his tail between his legs; he doesn't have any particularly obvious scars, but he carries himself in a way that leaves no doubt that his bedraggled appearance is hardly a sign of weakness. One wouldn't see it from a distance, but his right eye appears slightly clouded in the right lighting, an indicator of his partial blindness. He looks skinny even when he's not, his ribs constantly poking out slightly from his sides. Unlike that of most pack wolves, his fur has lost the luster and shine of his youth and appears dry and brittle, often sticking up in the oddest of places. He is slightly larger than the average wolf, not because he's muscular but rather because his bone structure is simply larger than that of most. He walks low to the ground, almost as if he's constantly stalking prey, with a swiftness to his steps that suggests he knows where he's going even when he doesn't.
Picture:
Personality: In a nicer time when Marsh was younger, he could have said he was an adventurous spirit with enough courage for four wolves. In some ways, that is still true — but he has learned that the world can be much harsher than his younger self had ever imagined. He's become worn and weary, jaded by the world and his circumstances. Constant hunger, paranoia, and fighting can take its toll on a wolf, and Marsh was no exception. He's much timider than he used to be, even if it is nearly impossible to tell from the outside. His former charismatic self has morphed into something quiet and watchful, no longer as eager to jump into the conversation. He doesn't speak often, but when he does, it's straight and to the point — he doesn't like to dilly-dally on polite conversation or small talk. In his eyes, opening up to strangers is a dangerous and vulnerable act; a risk he can't afford to take. And to him...everyone is a stranger.
History: Marsh was born and raised in a pack within White Wolf Mountain's valley; he learned to hunt in the tall grasses of the Hunting Plains and while the good memories of his puphood have been corroded by his brutal life and the passage of time, he still recalls the Hunting Plains clearly. He was 5 months old when he had snuck away in the wee hours of the morning to get in some more hunting practice — he was falling behind his peers and felt pressured to catch up — and he stumbled upon a trail from an animal he didn't recognize. Ever the curious wolf, he threw caution to the wind and followed it, and before he realized it his curiosity had brought him to the farthest Northern reaches of White Wolf Mountain, far from the familiar territory of the Hidden Glade. Realizing he was lost, he abandoned the trail and, panicking, wandered away from it in a desperate search for home. He realized much later that he should have followed the strange trail in the opposite direction, back towards his original location...but by then it was too late. He had no idea where he was. He wandered into the mountains and eventually crossed them, finding himself far from the White Wolf Mountain, hungry, lost, and alone. He would spend the next several years wandering as a lone wolf, and while he rarely talks of his experiences outside the mountain, there is no doubt that something terribly traumatic occurred. It was only recently that his wanderings found him back in the place he used to call home — 4 and a half years late for hunting practice. Back on White Wolf Mountain, he begins searching for his original pack, only to find they'd disbanded long ago. Now, he is beginning to consider settling down again in a new pack for a new life. As hesitant as he is to allow himself to trust another wolf again, he recognizes that he currently lacks the stability in his life he desperately needs — the stability a pack could give him. So, he is now traveling between the several territories in White Wolf Mountain in order to familiarize himself with his options before he makes a choice.
Lineage: N/A
Extra Comments:
-He is partially blind in his right eye. He wasn't born that way; he just realized after a while that he was slowly losing his vision in that eye. He is particularly cautious about anything that approaches from that side, and it's not unheard of for him to attack without warning if someone approaches in his blind spot.
Sample Post:
A chill seeped into his bones of the likes he hadn't felt since last winter, and he knew autumn was drawing nearer with every passing day. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned; prey had already been scarce this summer, and if this was how he was eating in the plentiful months, he wouldn't doubt it if he starved this winter. It certainly didn't help that the nearby packs already seemed to be stockpiling prey, likely predicting the same outcome he was. The packs were beginning to hunt outside their territories, encroaching dangerously on the generous space he'd carefully maintained between himself and the pack borders. He knew he wasn't in the best condition for an encounter with a pack wolf, and as he nursed his injured paw he was painfully reminded of this. He was in dire straights, and while he'd gotten out of worse before, he didn't trust his luck not to run out.
He peered out of the small burrow he'd dug himself to shelter him from the freezing rain; barely poking out his dappled muzzle and sniffing lightly, a disheartening feeling settling in his stomach that told him something was off. The rain could easily mask the scent of another wolf until they were too close for comfort, and he wasn't in any condition to flee. He'd have to fight if it came to that. Uncertain, he decided it best to put some more distance between himself and the pack borders — sooner rather than later. He hauled himself up onto trepid paws, stepping out of the temporary den and into the cold, the rain near instantly drenching his fur until he felt heavy with water. Wistfully, he tried to recall a time when he'd ever felt heavy with food in his stomach. He couldn't.
Shaking away the thought, he began to limp away as swiftly as an injured wolf could, determined to survive in a world that was set against it.