| |
Neutral
|
1x1 for Peregrine and myself. Do not post unless mentioned. - No set plot, unhinged characters, lonerxloner wolf RP. - Ideas: |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Full Name Nezera Nicknames Zer, Ghost -- Species Canine Gender Female Age 5 years Moral Alignment Neutral evil - preservation -- Appearance Nezera is a walking weapon, her build a testament to primal elegance and strategic power. Compact and muscular, she moves with a deliberate grace that sets her apart from ordinary wolves. Her body is lithe but powerful, built low to the ground on slightly shorter legs that belie her incredible agility and strength. Her coat is a complex canvas of brown hues - deep umber blending seamlessly with softer grey undertones, creating a natural camouflage that allows her to disappear and reappear like a phantom in the wilderness. Scattered across her shoulders and flanks, a network of scars tells silent stories of survival, each mark a testament to battles fought and endured. But it is her eyes that truly captivate and unsettle. Golden and intense, they seem to possess an almost luminescent quality, glowing with an unnatural brilliance in the darkness. These eyes speak of an intelligence far beyond typical animal awareness - sharp, calculating, holding a depth of consciousness that suggests something more than mere instinct. Temperment Nezera is ruthless, driven by self-preservation. Her temperament a razor-sharp instrument of survival that recognizes only one priority: herself. Where others might seek connection or community, she exists as a solitary force, viewing the world through a lens of pure, unapologetic self-interest. Her cunning is not merely a skill, but a fundamental survival mechanism. Manipulative to her core, she navigates social landscapes with a calculated precision that borders on the pathological. Every interaction is a potential opportunity for exploitation, every relationship a tool to be used and discarded without hesitation or remorse. There's a subtle derangement that simmers beneath her controlled exterior - a volatility that keeps others perpetually off-balance. Her emotional landscape is not one of depth or complexity, but of a cold, almost clinical detachment. She cares for nothing and no one beyond her immediate survival and advantage. Deceit comes as naturally to her as breathing. She moves through territories with a predatory intelligence that sees connections not as bonds, but as potential weaknesses to be manipulated. Her isolation is not a defense mechanism, but a strategic choice - a way to maintain absolute control over her environment and those unfortunate enough to cross her path. Nezera's world is binary: those who are useful, and those who are disposable. She operates with a chilling efficiency that suggests a mind only loosely tethered to typical social constraints. Her actions are driven by an instinct far more primal than emotion - a pure, unfiltered drive for self-preservation that recognizes no moral boundaries. Vulnerability is a concept foreign to her. Where others might seek understanding or connection, Nezera sees only opportunity and threat. She is a predator in the truest sense - not just physically, but psychologically, moving through the world with a calculated indifference that is both mesmerizing and terrifying. Voice & Accent Nezera speaks in a light, docile tone. Her voice is unwavering, full of crisp denotion and clipped, clinical responses. She lacks any true emotion unless she is angry - while similar, her voice will drop and pitch slightly lower, taking on a manic, unhinged edge that leaves the other unsure of whether she will simply walk away or attack. Strengths - Cunning - - Exploitation - - Perception - - Manipulation - Weaknesses - Unstable - - Unpredictability - - Volatile temper - - Inability to perceive emotion - Fears - Vulnerability - - Loss of control - - Being outwitted - |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
'Don’t waste your breath asking for forgiveness. There’s no deliverance, no second chances. That would be too kind..' Hart ◊ Alias/Nickname(s): The Stag of Sin, Rogue Age: 5 y/o[Adult] Sex: Sire [He/Him] Orientation: Aromantic Species: Canine Pack Affiliation: N/A Role/Occupation: Rogue ◊ Height: 40 inches
Weight: 69 lbs
Build: Hart is a lean, long-limbed brute. He isn't particularly built well, but he's toned and has enough meat on his skeletal to not be considered underweight. Sheathed in a deep charcoal-gray pelt with softer strokes of silvery gray brushing his abdomen, limbs and the underside of his wirey, shaggy tail. His pelt surface is coarse and rugged, forged to withstand the biting cold and to steer the treacherous terrains. His face is chiselled, with deep-set eyes and pointy lobes, dominated by penetrating golden eyes.
Scent: Of rain-drenched moss and iron; presumably blood.
Voice: He mutters like his throat has been dried for centuries.
◊ Main Persona: Hart is a veteran of deception and manipulation, using charm or feigned defenselessness to gain trust and exploit it for his gain. He views others as mere tools, discarding them once they no longer serve his interests, and he has no qualms about using others' kindness or desperation against them. Hart also does not pardon easily and delights in seeing his enemies suffer, often plotting slow, deliberate revenge. He lacks any empathy, finding amusement or irritation in others' pleas for clemency, and feels no remorse for his actions, whether causing pain or destruction. Though not overtly violent, he enjoys the discomfort of others, setting traps that prolong their suffering for his entertainment. However, Hart avoids confrontation, opting for underhanded tactics like ambushes or poisoning to eliminate threats, and will even turn allies against one another to escape unscathed. Weaknesses: Dependence on others to cooperate with his plans, overconfidence leads to underestimating, arrogance makes him careless Strengths: Strategic mind, patience, deception, charisma Likes: Control, secrets, chaos (under his control), psychological games Dislikes: Direct confrontation, weakness, betrayal (unless he's the one doing it) Habits: Speaking in riddles or half-truths, unnecessary praise, mimic's mannerisms ◊ Allies: N/A Enemies/Rivals: N/A Love Interest(s): N/A Brood: Forgotten Heir(s): N/A ◊ Preferred Domain: Snow mountain ledges, abandoned caves, tundras Quotes: ''Trust me... It’ll hurt more when you find out the truth." ; "The greatest trick I ever pulled? Making you think I was on your side." |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Nezera hated the rain. As she lifted her nose to the sky, her eyes narrowed at whatever gods were watching. They must have known she despised the cold, wet torrents, and yet - on the horizon, approaching rather briskly, was a gnarly system that stank of a wet pelt. She growled, uncaring that she must have looked utterly insane. Inanimate forces may not have been able to hear her, or even respond, but she only cared that she at least attempted to frighten it off before she turned, padding back into the forest. She was decently high up the mountain today, having been chased by a rather unsavory mother bear for trying to nip at her cub. Even with the trees, the wind shear was intense, and it cut through her fur to the bone. She shivered, shaking herself off as she continued to climb, looking for some sort of cover. Initially, she had hoped that the trees would provide shelter, but the direction of the wind had changed rather abruptly and she found herself victim to the elements. As the first drops of rain splattered onto her head, she cursed the daft mother bear for the third time in as many minutes. At last, she picked up the faintest whistle of the wind to her right. Hidden by rocks, the entrance to a cave beckoned her with its enticingly stagnant air. Nezera let out a victorious yip before slinking to its maw, ducking inside just as her tail was pelted with rain. She shook it off, splattering the walls with water, before slowly prowling futher inward. The cave was relatively deep, and as she scented the air, the only sign of life was the rapidly fading smell of rabbit - probably fled underground as soon as she entered. Padding further, she was pleased to find that not only was the cave deep, but it seemed to have a small pond within. Water dripped from the stalagtites above, and her eye twitched with each monotonous splash, but she had shelter and contained water, much preferred to the deluge about to strike. With a contented sigh, she crept to the back wall and curled herself into a ball, willing her body to warm faster. She pondered the recent events of her life as she waited - of course, the bear that had invaded her territory was an incovenience, but after the storm, she was sure she could find a way to get rid of it. Perhaps she would attempt to drown the cub. Bears were brutes, but surely they had their limits? A week prior, she had picked up the scent of a male wolf along her border. It hadn't been enough to warrant concern at the time, far off and dissipating. He had been alone, so she didn't feel the need to fret about a transient pack. In fact, thoughts of the male had completely left her mind until a similar scent curled towards her from the cave entrance. It seemed she had an unwelcome visitor. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
The vacant grassland was scant, dreary and an endless sea. The breeze that whistled through brittle blades of green brought a trace of moisture that meant a downpour. Hart, woefully, was in the barren clearing meaning that despite any lingering dangers, he was an open, vulnerable target for the tempest to rage upon. Even if he was built woolly -- apt to resist the harshest of weathers. He was forced to cower when those weathers intensified in power. Just like this one -- as it steamed upon the terrain, wailing with the whirling current and drowning those in their burrows, Hart was potent enough to plow past its wafts and distance from the grassland -- plummeting past the viscous coppices and into the outskirts of the howling woodland that leisurely began submitting to the rainfall above. Despite the apparent discomfort plastering on his face, Hart thoughtlessly tailed after a trodden footpath that ushered him toward a far-fetched slantwise grotto. It was overgrown, presumably deserted from the looks of it. Well, given that any scent he was able to seize, dwindled like some supernatural anomaly -- concealed by the pungent wafts of rain. Hart gambled -- headfirst into the entrance of the cool and rugged cavern, his head was lowered to the ground, nares flaring as the odour of a canine was savoured from the soil. So this lair was taken? Hart pondered for just a second before continuing onward, might as well research and see if the den-dweller was keen to lend its residence. And in the moment of approaching this -- unfamiliar presence, Hart ceased -- looming before them whilst his scratchy voice cut through the faraway sound of rain. '...wasn't expecting company. But then again, the storm did have a way of gathering the lonesome, didn’t it? Don't fret, I’m not here to aggravate your solitude. I’m merely seeking refuge... like you....' |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Before she had time to process his words, Nezera was in the middle of the cave, hackles raised as she faced the stranger, a warning growl echoing though the empty space. "Seek refuge elsewhere," she bit out, studying the male before her. His scent, now familiar, washed over her in waves as he approached. She took in his towering presence, legs longer than her own. His coat was thick, water droplets clinging to the outer fur, but she could see the definition of his muscle beneath it. A strong male then, perhaps not as strong as her, but he had height on his side - she deduced that they would be rather evenly matched, and she didn't much feel like fighting to the death today. Creeping forward, she lowered her head slightly, staring into his eyes - set so deep in his skull they seemed to draw her in, trapping her in his gaze. She flattened her ears, licking her lips in the smallest show of submission. Have him think her weak, meager; the less he thought of her, the greater her element of surprise should she need to take the offensive. Just then, the wind howled outside, bringing a gust of chilled air into her shelter. She shivered, shaking herself off, before straightening. "This cave has been claimed," she reasserted. "I've no desire to share with a lone male." |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
The storm outside had swelled into a cacophony of wrath -- wind whistling, rain pummeling like rigorous fists against the mother earth. It was no longer a storm to endure but a force to survive. Inside the grotto, where the ambiance wilted heavy with moisture and the vague traces of canine musk, Hart remained still, his bulk a shadow against the dim stone walls. His head tilted, ever so slightly, as the vixen's snarl reverberated through the cavern, jagged and primal. Her words were astute and commanding, but Hart didn’t withdraw. Instead, the corners of his mouth jolted -- a countenance that was neither smile nor snarl, but something indistinct, something considering. ' Elsewhere? ' he murmured, the word drawn out like it amused him. His voice was rough, gravel scraping against gravel. ' If you have a map to 'elsewhere' that doesn’t usher me straight into that hellish tempest, I’ll happily take it. ' The current cackled again, forcing a spattering of rain through the cave’s narrow mouth. A fine mist clung to his fur, the droplets trailing along the dense, knotted strands. He exhaled, a long breath that seemed to bear the weariness of miles travelled. For a heartbeat, their eyes locked. Her leer was intense and purposeful, that of a headstrong wolf, yet beneath it, Hart saw the flickers -- the calculation, the gauging of his strength. His eyes, black as rain-soaked soil, bore into hers with subtle weight. ' I have no desire to abide out there, becoming one with the mud, ' he added, his tone a fractured shard of levity that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shifted then, lowering himself with deliberate slowness into a seated sprawl, thick limbs folding beneath him. ' I don’t doubt you’ve betted your claim here, ' he continued, voice soft but stable, as though words cost him nothing while the hail outside raged on. ' Nor do I doubt your willingness to defend it. But if you mean to hurl me back to the storm, you’ll find it a fight against more than just the rain. ' His head turned slightly, ears twitching as another gust rattled through the stone hollow, dragging an icy chill against his flank. His hackles bristled faintly but quickly settled. ' A hell of a night to be quarrelling over rocks, don’t you think? ' He flexed his claws against the gritty floor. And yet, beneath the sheer weight of his presence, there was no threat -- no baring of teeth or forward lunge. Instead, Hart simply was, a mountain seated in the cavern’s heart, unmovable and unbothered by the wind’s outrage. ' You keep your corner. I’ll keep mine. ' His gaze flickered toward her again, unblinking. ' That’s fair enough for now, isn’t it? ' It wasn’t a question -- more a statement tossed into the air, meant to linger between them like the smoke of a moribund fire. Hart’s body remained loose, deliberate in its lack of aggression, though his posture made one thing clear: he was not leaving this cove. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
The first thing Nezera noticed about the male was his... odd form of speech. Second to that, she took in the gravelly quality of his voice, the sound of a creature parched. Hear head tilted ever so slightly to the side as he spoke, riddled sentences that didn't quite make sense echoing in her mind. Slowly, her hackles lowers, bristling skin quelling as she pondered the curious male before her. She hadn't been wrong about her initial assessment of him - saw it in the delicate way he lowered himself to the ground, fluid and confident in his movements. To battle him would surely result in injury to her body, perhaps debilitate her for a few days if he didn't decide to kill her. Though the more primal aspect of her screamed to fight, logic overrode and desire for bloodshed. She had no desire to become carrion. She closed her eyes against another burst of wind, misting water coating her face. With a resigned sigh, she slowly returned to her corner, keeping a wary eye on the male. She had discarded her meek pretense, instead moving with the determined step she normally took. Something in the male's gaze told her he had seen through her charade. She lowered herself to the ground carefully, legs tensed to strike at the first untoward movement from the canine before her. For a moment, she pondered her approach to her newfound companion. Aggression had not deterred him, and she had little desire to provoke him further. Finally, she settled on a neutral, if not kind disposition. "I suppose you make a rather strong argument," she began, golden eyes inspecting the stranger for any sign of offense. "Perhaps it shouldn't be such a bad thing to have a friend. After all, the bear that resides down the way might decide she's hungry, and I would hope she has the sense to go for the closest threat first. You'll make for an excellent distraction." She was sure to keep her voice light, words lilting in a rather chipper manner. She couldn't deny a pressing curiosity about the stranger - given her appearance and demeanor, most creatures would retreat without considering the torrent outside. His lack of concern was intruiging, and she couldn't deny a certain appeal to the confidence he seemed to have in his ability. Deciding to test her luck, she stretched her back legs, assuming a more comfortably position. "Tell me, stranger, what's your name? It seems we'll be here for a rather long while, so we might as well acquaint ourselves." |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
The damsel's motions lulled, her razor-edged demeanour mellowing, though only a tad. Hart tracked the shift in her posture, noting the deliberate lowering of her hackles, the measured grace of her retreat to her corner. Her eyes, serrated as golden blades, never left him -- wary, calculating, and unrelenting in their vigilance. His countenance, however, indicated no such keenness. Instead, Hart’s head tilted, lobes jolting faintly, as though her words were some melody he hadn’t quite deciphered. Her voice was light and framed with wry humour when she emitted, the faintest quirk tugged at the corner of his lips. ' Friend, ' he quoted, the word rolling from his tongue as though tasting its novelty. ' Now that’s a title I’ve not heard in some time. And one I wasn’t expecting to earn from you, no less. ' His in-depth and unsettling gaze lingered on her as the faintest spark of something -- amusement? -- flickered in the darkness of his eyes. Her quip about the bear drew a low rumble from his chest, not quite laughter but a sound akin to it, rough and ambiguous. ' An excellent distraction, am I? ' he mused, the words stretching as though savouring their weight, ' Well, it’s good to know where I stand. I’ll be sure to dazzle it with my… ineffable charm. Perhaps it’ll decide I’m too delectable to eat. ' The faint sarcasm in his tone glimmered like steel sheathed in velvet, a subtle edge beneath the oddness of his phrasing. He shifted slightly, his movements languid. Her inquiry wilted in the air, and for a moment, he said nothing. Instead, he tilted his head further, studying her as though her words had unearthed some buried thought. Finally, he broke the silence. ' Names, ' he began, the word solemn with a weight that seemed unnecessary, ' Names are peculiar, don’t you think? A word, no more than a sound, yet it carries so much… expectation. ' His gaze drifted for a moment, as though speaking more to himself than to her. Then, his eyes snapped back to hers, alert and observant. ' You may call me Hart, ' he said at last, the simplicity of it contrasting with the labyrinthine manner in which he’d arrived there. He allowed the name to hang between them for a moment before continuing. ' And you? What shall I call the wolf who sees fit to use me as bait yet asks for my name as though we’re kindred spirits? ' His voice carried an unnatural mix of sincerity and mockery, balanced on a knife’s edge, though his expression aired nothing more than idle curiosity. He stretched out his forelegs, claws scraping faintly against the stone, before settling again, his posture a careful balance of relaxation and readiness. Outside, the storm howled with unrelenting wrath, the wind’s keening cries weaving through the cave like some malevolent spirit. Yet Hart seemed utterly indifferent to its outrage, his gaze fixed on the canine before him, as though the storm itself had faded into irrelevance. ' I must say, ' he added after a moment, his tone shifting to something almost conversational, ' It’s not often I find myself in such… fascinating company. Tell me, do you make a habit of challenging strangers for caverns, or is tonight an exception? ' His voice, though smooth, carried the faintest trace of devilishness, a subtle prod to see how far he could push her without rousing her ire. |
|
|
Spring 
Day 
Fog
