Name:

Reidar

“Home Warrior”

Age: 4 years

Gender: Male

Pack: Golden Summit Pack

Reputation:

For someone of his age and ranking, Reidar receives a decent amount of respect. Despite his relative youth, he’s accumulated a fair bit of raw experience and is more than capable of looking after himself. Though he still has much to learn, his superiors note his eagerness to adapt and ability to retain new lessons. Most see him as a workhorse–and for good reason. In his down time, he’s always training, fashioning himself into a weapon or meditating to keep his head clear. Some might think him a bit nuts for his obsession with keeping himself in top shape. After all, who in their right mind would throw themselves into a river and swim against the current for… “training purposes” when they’re supposed to be on break? Still, others, notably the younger wolves, look up to him for his self-discipline and willingness to give them the time of day. He is an in-betweener, too young to command the same type of respect as the elders, too old to be new blood.

Best put, Reidar is a commoner through and through. He’ll take his orders without complaint and fulfill them to the best of his ability. Always one to pitch in, he never thinks he’s too good for the job. That is, unless he’s getting bossed around by someone below him. Six. If it’s an unranked youngster, he might laugh it off and gently chide them. He himself had been quite feisty as a pup. Only through the patient teachings of his elders did he mellow out and begin acknowledging the wisdom of his superiors. It’s only fair that he returns the favor and tries to steer the next generation in the right direction. However, if it’s someone who should know their place, he’s not afraid to remind them of where they stand. That said, he’s not entirely a stickler for rules. He’ll look the other way, let some youngsters have some adventure, yet the instant things look like they’ll get out of hand, he’ll put them back in line.

Around his peers, he carries himself not with pride but with a certain level of self-respect. He’s not one to get bullied by some pup throwing their weight around, nor one to let it bother him. Yet he is careful to avoid becoming self-indulgent. He came from outside the pack, some scrawny outcast begging for scraps. To forget those roots would bring him shame no punishment could erase. When it comes to the High Empress, Royal Consort, and the like, Reidar knows his place well. He bows low and offers only the utmost respect. With his peers, he is laidback, casual. In the presence of the High Empress, he straightens himself up, speaking when spoken to in the most proper tone he possesses, though he could never match the eloquence of the High Empress or anyone that very top for that matter. He has the sense not to grovel, not to beg. He doesn’t ask for any favors from the high-ranks, seeing it as his responsibility to meet their demands. Capable. Steadfast. He gets things done, but he himself will seldom gloat about it, preferring to prove himself by example.

Rank: Ranger

Desired Rank: Content. He would not object to obtaining a higher rank but isn't actively seeking it out either

Thoughts On The Wanderers:

Ambivalent. No one would intrude on pack territory without reason. To pick a fight with a pack of this size and standing takes more than simple foolishness. The first explanation that comes to mind is need. Reidar knows firsthand how harsh the lands beyond pack territory can be, especially after the Great Blaze devastated everything in its path. While the true extent of its effects on the outside world is beyond him, it is not too far off to assume others have experienced hardship as well. Even before the Great Blaze, he had struggled to keep himself fed, daring to trespass on pack lands for a bite to eat. He holds a sliver of pity for those facing the same desperation he did, but his own must come first. The territory is the High Empress’s by right. If they must be removed by the bite of his fangs, then so be it.

The second explanation is malice. Why fight over a patch of land when open territory exists elsewhere? Sure, it might be less prosperous, less bountiful with a narrower selection of food, but it must be better to take unclaimed land of marginally poorer quality than to lose lives for such a minor improvement. To claim pack land for themselves implies intention. Confidence, even. They must know that challenging the pack will be no easy feat. Maybe they are emboldened by the recent events, considering no one would stand a chance against the pack full strength. The presence of the Wanderers makes him uneasy. Why are they here? What are they planning? For those who have raised a challenge to the rule of the High Empress, he has no remorse, and if called upon, he will be their executioner.

Though he won’t admit it, he holds a bit of guilt over the Wanderers situation. It is the duty of the Rangers to ensure the security of their borders and for another group to not only trespass but also establish themselves is a great shame. How did the Wanderers get in? Because the Rangers have failed. He has failed.

Appearance:

Credit: khalliysgraphy @ DA

Handsome in a rugged sort of way, Reidar takes on the appearance of a seasoned laborer. Strong. Capable. A body built for hard work. Measuring 28 inches at the shoulder and 126 pounds, he doesn’t look like much at first glance. Just another face in the crowd, perhaps a bit runty. Almost. Those who are around him often notice something else about him: his presence. Despite his small stature, Reidar maintains a self-assured look about him. Not in an arrogant way, mind you. Quite the opposite. He is confident in his ability to get things done and where he stands, neither overly ambitious, acting as if he had more power than he possesses, nor cowardly slinking around the high ranks. He is conscious of his appearance, to a degree, keeping himself reasonably clean where possible. However, he prefers to be out in the fields, doing the jobs too irrelevant for the higher-ups and too delicate for the lower ranks. His strength and endurance is tried and true, challenged every day with a workload that puts most to shame. At the same time, it is a humble, subtle strength that only reveals itself when called upon.

In combat, Reidar is a difficult foe not necessarily because it’s difficult to knock him down but because it’s hard to get him to stay down. Rolling with the punches, he finds his footing fast. Seemingly possessing an uncanny level of control over his body, Reidar acts like a machine, every aspect of himself working harmoniously with each other. Typically he can avoid the strongest blows, and those he takes sacrifice their power to keep up with him. But the most formidable aspect about his fighting is within his mental not physical capabilities. Reidar is relentless, unwilling to let up regardless of the damage he’s taken. He picks himself back up so long as he has the consciousness and strength to force his legs to stand. He will never run from a fight he’s fully committed to. Barring higher orders, this can mean death.

However, the more serious aspect of his nature–his dedication and determinism–doesn’t come across easily from the outside. His small yet muscular frame is covered in a big coat of fur, giving him a soft, fluffy appearance. With a youthful spring in his step, he could be easily mistaken for one of the younger members of the pack. Along his back is a line of gray with flecks of red-orange like autumn leaves. Similarly, his face is covered by a mask of gray akin to a helmet, leaving his cheeks and tops of his ears a golden red. A gray stripe runs down from his brow down the muzzle to his nose, and his sides are a light blend of white and red, giving him a warm, good–natured look, like a gentle fire. Despite all the work he does, his coat remains soft and fluffy to the point some might mistake him for some weak-hearted well-pampered pet, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Reidar takes some pride in his appearance, keeping himself reasonably well-groomed, but in truth, he knows the value of a dirty pelt and would prefer to be a mess that did something over perfectly clean having accomplished nothing any day of the week.

Perhaps the gateway to his thoughts are his eyes. His soft brown eyes are typically friendly with a hint of amusement, especially when messing with the younger members. Amidst teasing them, his eyes, paired with a wryly grin, are encouraging, as if waiting for them to push back against whatever mocking insult he’d thrown at them and stand up for themselves. Other times, these eyes are calm and reassuring, radiating a cool confidence, leaving no doubt that he’ll get the job done. Neither foolishly arrogant nor overly critical, he walks a middle ground. When needed, his eyes are sharp and focused, swift yet calculated. Due to his lighter stature, strangers might take him lightly, but they will quickly find he is just as if not a more worthy opponent as those with raw power on their side.

Detailed Personality:

Not one for honeyed words or flattery, Reidar proves himself by example and holds others to the same standard, though he tries to spare feelings when possible and always shows proper respect where it's due. But at the end of the day, strength means nothing if it’s conditional. What good is power that disappears when it’s needed? No one is strong because they say they are; they are strong because of what they can do–what they have done. Maybe it’s an irrational need to prove himself, but Reidar judges others based on their actions. Their words are hollow until they show the bite that backs them up. That said, he won’t take anyone lightly unless he finds they’re more of a talker than a fighter. In that case, he’ll only allocate as much energy as is needed to efficiently dispatch them. But otherwise, he’ll always give it his all, pushing himself to the brink of death if he must. After all, what good is his life if he can’t even protect his pack?

Around his own, Reidar is far more amicable, spending his time amongst his peers or with the younger generation. Upon request, he’ll teach them a thing or two but they shouldn’t take it personally when he tells them that they objectively suck by all measures. However, experience is the best teacher. So long as the stakes aren’t high, he’s perfectly fine with letting others play with fire and get burned from time to time if it means they will know better in the future. As far as mistakes go, he’s somewhat forgiving, depending on the consequences and how much the blunderer should’ve known. A pup playing around and lightly injuring a sibling can be forgiven. A Ranger who has let an intruder slip through their guard has committed a serious error. Yet Reidar will not extend the same mercy to himself. He is a Ranger; it’s his job to be strong. If something goes wrong on his watch, it’s because he sucks. He should know better, and anything that happens because of it is his fault. Even more so than with his peers, he will analyze his mistake with a serious case of hindsight, often holding himself to an impossible standard of omnipotence. Though he will do everything in his power to rectify his mistakes, he sees them as serious flaws that must be corrected through brute force and iron discipline.

It goes without saying that Reidar is incredibly ambitious to the point of insanity. He aims to be the strongest, the Golden Summit’s perfect protector. Constantly hungry for improvement, he tests himself against the harshest conditions he finds, seeing each new challenge as something to overcome. Fearless to a fault, he rushes in to be the first line of defense, putting his life on the line with ease. Unparalleled in daring, he’s no pushover, upholding his honor and the honor of his friends. However, while he prefers to be in the middle of doing rather than thinking, he appreciates the value of a well-thought plan, especially one with multiple contingencies. His hard work pays off as the years of constant sought-out struggle has fashioned him into a weapon, keeping his mind as sharp as his teeth, though it’s laser-focused onto very few things: being the strongest and his pack. In that sense, Reidar is incredibly straightforward and to-the-point, dedicating all his time to improvement or his pack.

Despite his devotion, he has little to no regard for rank, particularly his own. He respects the pecking order and the role of the high ranks, but he’s driven more by personal ambition than any title. He holds the high ranks and the Imperial Majesty in the utmost esteem yet also acknowledges the necessity for all ranks to uphold the pack. That said, he worked hard to get where he is, and he’s not about to jeopardize it. If others want his spot, they have to claim it by being better than him. At the same time, Reidar knows he belongs to the commoners and is somewhat proud of that fact. He cannot see himself in the position of the Imperial Majesty, lording over others and letting low ranks do all the physical work for them. Though he respects the position and the important role the Imperial Majesty plays, it’s just not for him and seemingly goes against his entire nature. To put it simply, he knows his place.

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Likes:

+Honor/fairness

+Collaboration

+Coordination

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Dislikes:

-Manipulation

-Arrogance

-Laziness

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Strengths:

+Hardy

+Patient

+Loyal

+Adaptable

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Weaknesses:

-Critical (especially of self)

-Obsessive

-Almost blind devotion

-Extremist

.

Relationship Status: Open

Mate: N/A

Crush: N/A

Exes: N/A

Family: N/A

Offspring: N/A

Affiliations: N/A

Other:

Hates watermelon. Too much water, not enough melon.

¤ Veracious ¤

L I L I T H

This is made assuming she is Wanderer lead. Can change.

Reputation

She is not a wolf to be crossed lightly. Going based solely off her relatively young age is a fatal oversight. Her tactical skills and battle prowess make up for her slower movements, and those she has fought certainly remember her -- if they lived.

To outsiders, she is exactly what her name suggests: a haunt, a demon, a menace. Death and carnage are left in her wake, according to some, and she doesn't bother trying to quell those theories. However, to those that know her on a more personal level, she is not so wicked a creature. She can be many things: a loyal friend, a confidant, a leader, an irritant, a cold acquaintance. Not a conniving dictator -- most of the time, anyway. She still makes her position sure and expects those beneath her to follow her.

Thoughts on the Golden Summit Pack

They exist. They are in her way. They are in the way of her group's survival. If compromise is not an option, she will have no problem annihilating them; it's a shame the wildfire couldn't do it for her, though.

It would have been easier to slowly encroach on the territory, but, seeing how the pack is now driven to desperation as well, Lilith will allow harsher actions to be taken. Finders, keepers.

Appearance

This female is, frankly, massive. She stands at 34 inches and weigh in at nearly 170 pounds. She certainly has all the qualifications for brute force. Her body is well-muscled and set in such a way as to provide her with impeccable strength and endurance. Her speed and agility are hindered by her size, but she is not in a deep deficit of such things.

Lilith's thick coat has a deep black base coloration. Slate and silver hairs create a rippling appearance and lighten her in some places. Her neck, shoulders, and hind ventral are most decorated with this color mixture. Her elbows and along the inside of her shoulder blades are also significantly lighter. A few light gray patches reside on her flanks, elbows, tail, and back legs. Her face is a shiny black; how light it appears depends on the sun's strength. Her coat, overall, has an almost liquid-like appearance to it.

Her eyes are a pale yellow. They almost appear gray, though the slight hint of gold offsets that notion. Her stare is intense, unwavering, and cold. While Lilith does not make an effort to really hide her emotions, her relaxed face often appears as though she is much more mysterious than she is intending to be.

Battle scars are hardly few and far between; crisscrossed lines of flesh dance into view as her coat ripples, and two parallel slashes rake across her nose and jaw. A nice chunk of her left ear is missing off the outside. Lilith is no stranger to the art of war. She's danced with the devil and flirted with death time and time again.

Combined with her foreboding coloration and large stature, this female is quite intimidating to those who don't know her -- and even some who do. Her walk is a powerful, languid stride. There is no uncertainty to this female; she has a steady, eerily calm way about her. Lilith's low tone is composed and collected, even in the most heated of situations.

Personality

This wolf has a cold stoicism to her. As her appearance suggests, she is a very capable individual, and not just in physical strength. Lilith's mental prowess is just as great; this wolf is extremely intelligent and strategy-driven. She is a warrior through and through; her plans are always centered around the goal of maintaining the group's wellbeing and success. The means by which that occurs is completely in the air. Lilith can play fair, or she can fight dirty.

She is loyal to her group as a whole. Certain wolves hold more respect or admiration than others, but she would never cause harm to any of them from a place of malice. Unless, of course, they were traitors or otherwise unworthy of any wolf's respect. This female has no problems with bloodshed. Lilith has killed before and she will kill again, and perhaps one day she herself will be killed. It is simply the way of life.

Even during times of peace and overall relaxation, this female is calculating. She is not always thinking up plans for battle or hunts; occasionally, Lilith thinks of more normal things as well, such as trying to figure out another wolf's mind or predicting the weather. She can be a fairly easygoing creature, though she is never one to be stepped upon. This female will not hide her dislike for a wolf, no matter their rank, especially if they treat all those below them as wretches.

Lilith is patient in some ways and short in others. When dealing with pups, executing strategies, and hunting or fighting, she has all the time in the world to watch, respond, and perform perfectly. However, when it comes to fellow adults or adolescent wolves, whining, blatantly snide comments, or picking fights, this female becomes the "you started it and I will finish it" figure. And she will act on her words, usually to the hurt ego of the other parties.

She does not share her feelings or thoughts outside of working. Even those who consider themselves to be closest to her have but a small glimpse into her emotions, her desires. She has a strong set of morals and does not deviate from them; she can be described as quite chivalrous, though she is no respecter of rank alone. Lineage means nothing to her, and anyone who banks on their heritage for sway in anything disgusts her. Lilith does not tolerate obnoxiousness, whining, laziness, lying, or anything else of the sort.

She is a rule follower. Lilith can be fairly snarky when annoyed or agitated. She is mature, though, and she almost always acts as such. She will become playful around pups and perhaps share a joke or two with other members of her group, but she is mostly just a wisened wolf with leadership capabilities. This female is ferocious when need be, especially when protecting those she feels loyalty towards. When at her most angry, she enjoys watching her enemies suffer and feels absolutely no remorse after the fact. While she is a collected individual for the most part, she has a somewhat maniacal side that feeds off her malice.

Likes

Dislikes

Strengths

Weaknesses

Relationship Status: Single

Crush: None

Mate: None

Exes: None

Family

Zilan - estranged sister

Pups: None

Affiliations

Zilan -- She doesn't know whether her sister is alive or dead. They were separated quite a while ago under unfortunate circumstances. They were quite close, though, and Zilan is one of the few wolves Lilith was fiercely devoted to. Nobody would get away with hurting her.

Other

Watermalone

Name:

Gunvald

"War Ruler"

Age: 7 years

Gender: Male

Pack: Wanderers

An old gun, used to being at the top, the brute’s ties to the pack are precarious to say the least. Born out of mutual benefit over amity, it’s not exactly a secret that he couldn’t care less how well the rest of the pack fares. He’ll come to their defense when it’s beneficial. It seems a way to get food into his stomach is all he’s after, no matter who he has to throw to the fire. Other wolves appear to be a means to an end and nothing more. He does what he wants and doesn’t appreciate arrogant wolves throwing their weight around. Sure in his abilities, he refuses to slink around, carrying himself with a reserved self-confidence. Some underestimate him for his old age, mistaking him to be crippled with age. Past his prime? Maybe. But make no mistake, he’s still kicking for a reason.

Conditioned by the northern winters and raw experience, Gunvald is a seasoned fighter, one of if not the strongest of the Wanderers. It’s no question that his strength alone makes him an asset to the Wanderers, someone you’d rather have on your side than against you. Moreover, he never fights halfway. When he decides to get involved, he is all in, unsatisfied by sloppy combat or half-hearted blows, though his refusal to battle an opponent not worth his time prevents him from spending his energy on trivial fights. His tough appearance likewise contributes to his stay with the Wanderers, being a strong deterrent for hostiles, sending the signal that they can’t expect to take them on and win. Both his strength and intimidation factor have made him invaluable to the Wanderers, solidifying his place in the pack where personal relations fail.

There is a rumor circulating throughout the north, a rumor of a massive wolf lurking in every shadow, beyond every snowy bend, feasting on unlucky wanderers and those arrogant enough to think they could take it on only to disappear without a trace. The mighty hunter is said to have led a fearsome pack, reigning over the north for years until one day vanishing. Whether from natural causes or their own volition, the pack is nowhere to be found. According to rumor, the leader had left the north, traveling southerly by their lonesome, searching for… something. A rumor Gunvald won’t deny, but it’s not exactly like he’s doing regular maintenance on his reputation.

Rank: Wanderers Subordinate

Desired Rank: Wanderers Leader

Thoughts On The Golden Summit Pack:

Pretentious. Arrogant. Self-absorbed. Fat cats sitting on more food than they could ever eat, hogging great swaths of excess land for themselves. They don’t need it. No one could ever use that amount of territory and resources if they tried. Maybe it’s his semi-nomadic ways showing through, how he would roam from location to location on the meat trail. Hailing from harsh northern lands where the sun disappears for days at a time, Gunvald is no stranger to hardship, and he’s killed far more than his fair share of wolves for far less. However, he can understand why a pack would try and keep such precious and bountiful resources to themselves. Why seek out something you already have? But if they can’t protect it, they don’t deserve to have it.

Appearance:Credit: FurLined @ DA

A 38-inch tall Mackenzie Valley Wolf weighing in at 176 lbs, Gunvald is nothing less than a force of nature. A natural war machine, his bulky, muscular frame ripples with strength, radiating an aura of pure dominance. His fighting style reflects this as he utilizes his weight to directly overpower his opponents. While some might consider him too “slow” or “sluggish” next to those with lighter builds, he more than makes up for it in quality. Gunvald does not strike wildly; every blow has a purpose, whether it is to damage, unbalance, drive, or any combination of the three. Built like a tank, he can take more than a hit, his sheer size hard to throw off balance. With lightweight opponents, often he can absorb a direct blow and continue on the offensive during a post-attack opening. His thick fur adds a layer of protection, buffering him from enemy fangs. His offensive power is unparalleled in terms of raw strength, his sharp teeth and strong jaw working together to create a nasty bite. When he has the advantage, his weight alone is typically enough to get his opponent to fall down and stay down.

Adding to his stocky appearance, his thick coat is a dark gray, flecked with white, lightening up to a soft white down his underside. In a similar fashion, his fur turns reddish along his neck, increasing in intensity until reaching the backs of his ears which are almost completely red save for a few instances of the dark gray that covers the rest of his body. The hairs of his pelt are coarse, hinting at a lifetime of hardship.In his prime, this was the coat of dread, signaling to all who see it that its bearer was not to be trifled with. Now it serves the same purpose, although in a slightly different way and far more effectively.

Gunvald is a survivor and this fact is reflected across his body. Patchy where fur ripped from the pelt refused to grow again, his coat littered with scars, each one remarkable in its own right. It is difficult to pick one that stands out from the rest, all of them working together to construct his tough image. Six. Though a strong contender might be the massive gash running from his left brow, across his eye, and curving down the length of his muzzle until it just barely grazes his nose. At first glance, one would be forgiven to think he was half-blind, yet miraculously, his vision remains unchanged. If anything, it is sharper than ever, tempered with experience, able to pick out the important details of his environment. Although hidden beneath a layer of fur, the rest of his scars criss-cross over the length of his body, leaving seemingly no place unscathed. While some might parade their scars, showing off the battles they have fought, Gunvald makes a point to avoid this, although he is mildly pleased with them. Not necessarily trophies, they are proof of what he has seen–what he has lived through. If this is how the victor came out, what must have happened to the loser?

In the right lighting, at the right angle, he appears dead, like a walking corpse out for vengeance. This description might not be too far off as his sharp, brown eyes pierce through the soul, sending the weak-hearted packing. He speaks with a low rumble, like an earthquake, a subtle, constant, yet unshakable presence. Though a bitter look isn’t the only one that crosses his face; in fact, it’s not even the most common. That would be a look of neutrality, a great indifference to the world around him. Yet beneath this apparent apathy he is alert, keeping tabs on potential threats. Like a coiled snake ready to strike, he waits for someone to catch his eye. This is the look of a wolf who once established a reign of terror over an entire region and would be more than okay with taking over another. His rugged appearance displays his open challenge for the world to try, just try to kill him.

Detailed Personality:

Gunvald loves a good fight. A natural weapon now with experience to refine and enhance his combat capabilities, he lives for the thrill of battle, though he is no addict. He knows how to weigh his odds and won’t make a losing bet, though those are few and far between, usually requiring multiple enemies working in conjunction to bring him down. While he enjoys his domination to an extent, he never lets it get to his head, always on the lookout for how his reign could end. The tide of the times stops for no one and someday someone will surpass him–just who exactly is the question. It may come as a shock, but Gunvald knows when he is beaten and will accept defeat if it comes to it, though he will do so standing and refuses to bow to another. Perhaps he will not see eye to eye with his opponent, but if they prove their strength–no trickery or games, only their own capabilities–they have his respect.

Most of the time, Gunvald seems rather bored with the world, spending his days as he likes. He knows to pull his own weight but don’t expect him to pitch in for the good of the team. A bit of a loner, he keeps to himself, listening in and observing the other wolves, typically with a blatant indifference but sometimes with another look, a look of consideration, as if he’s searching for something he hasn’t quite found yet. Maybe it’s a bit old-fashioned, but he sees death as a sort of finale, a way of solidifying a legend, a way of ending a story. However, he is not looking for death, and he will not go down easy when it is time. As always, he will spend his life conquering and dominating others until he himself is conquered.

Suspicious in nature, Gunvald is cautious of his supposed allies, preferring to craft alliances out of a zero-sum game. Only a fool would attack when they have nothing to gain. It is through a careful manipulation of interests that he ensures his safety. Amicable enough, he isn’t outwardly hostile to those around him, though he’s not about to be anyone’s best friend either. He does what’s good for him and expects others to do the same. While a few might take a bit of comfort in his current alignment with the pack, make no mistake: he’s looking out for himself.

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Strengths:

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Weaknesses:

Relationship Status: N/A

Mate: N/A

Crush: N/A

Exes: N/A

Family: Deceased

Offspring: Deceased

Affiliations: N/A

Other:

In the far North, there was a legend of a wolf who roamed the frigid landscape, preying on the unwary. Of a wolf whose jaw crushed skulls like watermelon, who was known simply as death. This wolf used to be the head of a mighty pack born out of only the toughest of the toughest, the bravest of the bravest–those willing to do whatever it took to ensure their own survival, even if it meant pulling food straight out from their brother’s stomach. With an iron rule of violence, it established a reign of terror over the northern lands, dominating the frozen region. That was until one day when they just disappeared without a trace. Some say it was fate, an ill-timed blizzard paired with an attack on a growing rival faction. Maybe they bit off more than they could chew. Maybe it was just bad luck. But no one else is alive to tell the tale.