Styx

Member Posts : 6 Join date : 2016-06-19

Name: Styx: A river forming the boundary between Earth and the Underworld

Gender: Female

Age: Two years old

Breed: Timber x Arctic Mix

Height: 65 cm

Pack: Erenyx

Rank Requested: Warrior

Appearance:
Styx has inherited the tiny stature, the small paws, and the long, thick fur of her arctic descendants, but it's because of her timber descendants that her fur is black instead of white. Her body is built to navigate harsh climates effortlessly; some would think her size has too many drawbacks to rival a larger, stronger wolf, but she would argue that she has a unique strength a larger, stronger wolf could alternatively never have. She's small without a doubt, and willing to prove her might whenever it's questioned, but she believes that she'll have nothing to prove once her elegance, combined with her sharpness of mind, is credited to the extent it deserves to be.

Her eyes are a beautifully pale yellow. There's no denying their hue, but at one point in her adolescence, she gleefully argued that there was no colour to them at all. They truly are pale, but certainly not colourless. In certain lighting, perhaps, they could glisten with the fascinating white of snow, but someone would only need to look closely in order to see them for what they are. However, a wolf would need to do so at their own discretion: Should Styx be seen for what she is in the process, the end result isn't guaranteed to be a good one.

Personality:
It was a twist of fate that she was so fittingly named; the river, much like her brain, is decidedly neither good nor bad, but a boundary with passage to both sides. On the surface, she is innocent if not only because of her eyes. She speaks with the calm, soothing naivety of someone whose only hope is to see all of the good in the world, and in some ways, that is all she sees. Her words, although soft, are wise beyond her years; she has made a habit of knowing what she wants, and more importantly, how to get it. It can oftentimes be had with nothing more significant than a click of her tongue, because words, she realized far too young, are a weapon that make up for her lack of height. Her stature can sometimes make it difficult for her to be perceived as a threat, and since she’s far from weak or incapable, she has discovered her own methods through which to ensure she’s treated fairly. Her social skills, while wildly enigmatic and dangerously alluring, aren’t always as successful as she deems them worthy of being, but every intelligent, self-assured female has a fallback.

Hers happens to be her fearlessness. Some would accuse her of harboring foolishness if she could look into the eyes of a madman and not immediately question which breath would be her last, but quite frankly, the only question on her mind would be which breath would be their last, because she’s as quick with her teeth as she is with her wit. Styx has killed in the past, and it’s likely that she will kill again. She knows what it feels like to have a body run cold beneath her touch, and while she wouldn’t label the numbing venom in her veins as sadism, there isn’t another word for it she can think of. It’s not pleasure she derives from killing, but satisfaction, and that, perhaps, is scarier, because she can be indifferent to death without seeking to be the cause of it—yet she inevitably is the cause of it, and the reason for that isn’t something she knows how to explain.

There’s something inside of her body, and inside of her mind, that feels parasitic. The sun warms her pelt, yet she feels cold. An illness, she has reasoned on countless occasions, would’ve claimed her life by now, and she doesn’t aimlessly live her life in a haze. Her brain doesn’t feel inhibited—rather, it feels enhanced—like her thoughts are complete and sound before she even thinks them. She prides herself on her honesty, on her kindness, but she’s prone to explosive episodes of hostility that are nonsensible and without reason. She won’t apologize for who she hurts (physically or verbally) because while she is many things, sensitive isn’t one of them, and it’s not in her nature to excuse what feels out of her control. Anyone else would seek the guidance of a healer or, at the very least, a trusted friend, but Styx is darkly fond of the thrill of uncertainty. She likes to be kept on her toes, and there’s nobody quite like herself who can soothe her craving for haphazardness or command her pull towards chaos. She keeps herself balanced to the best of her abilities, but there’s only so much she can do about a problem she doesn’t see.

Photo:

Spoiler:

Xelha of DT - Doppelganger was purchased

History:
She never knew her father. More importantly, she didn’t need to know him. Her mother’s word had always been law, and if she said there was nothing he could pass on to her—nothing but his dark heart—then she didn’t want anything to do with him. Of course, the situation went a lot deeper than Styx could possibly understand. Her mother left out most of the gory details for her daughter’s sake, but as much as she wanted to believe it was so that she could keep her safe, and shelter her from the awful truth of how she was conceived, fear of him and what he could do played a hand in all of the secrecy. She wanted Styx to think he had left because he couldn’t handle the responsibilities of being a father, and while that wasn’t exactly a lie, it certainly wasn’t his motive for being uninvolved in her life. He never wanted a daughter. He never wanted love. He was starved of power, and there was no better way to make a point of just how powerful he could be than through force. That was what he had thought. Or at least, that was what Styx’s mother had thought made the most sense after she could think about the traumatic incident without panicking. What the two of them shared was miserably far from real, so once he was done with her, he was done; she would never know what he had been thinking, but none of that mattered when it couldn’t be farther from what she wanted.

Styx’s mother never wanted to tell her anything more personal about her father, but frankly she didn’t need to. As she got older, and started to develop her identity, it was clear that something inside of her was… unsettled. She wasn’t normal. She wasn’t cruel or malicious, either, like her father had been, but she was undeniably startling. Despite her mother’s concerns, she never inquired, but Styx was fully aware that she had inherited something that was cause for her mother’s distress. It had nothing to do with her appearance, and for all intents and purposes she was kind and benevolent, but it had something to do with her blood.

Her mother found the courage to divulge some information about her father. She still said nothing about their relationship, and never would, but decided it was in her daughter’s best interest that she knew he was a rogue. The insight didn’t scare Styx, nor did it discomfort her, because it made sense. She no longer had to puzzle over what was wrong with her because, just as she had thought, nothing was wrong with her: She wasn’t sick, but her blood, in a sense, was. Realistically, that was far from a sensible conclusion, but it made all of the pieces in her head start to fall together. She was nothing like her father. She would never be anything like him. She had simply inherited a touch of his abnormality, the thing that made him dangerous, and as long as she knew that there would be no foreseeable problem.

Little did she know there was an unforeseeable problem, and that she was blissfully unaware of it, even when it snuck up on her, made it all the more chilling. It was late in the evening, the date lost to her memory in present day, and she was supposed to be asleep but found she wasn’t nearly tired enough. Something outside of hers and her mother’s den stirred, and fearing for their safety, she lifted her head and prepped to search for the source. Before she had so much as rose to her paws, she was looking into a pair of eyes she didn’t recognize beyond the mouth of their den, and the similarities between them had her glued to the spot. Who could this wolf be other than her father? In a moment of hot, uncontrollable rage—for he had abandoned her before she was even born and hurt her mother in the process—she attacked, and the fight that ensued was far too bloody for her to dare venture into detail. She was young, and far too inexperienced to have won fairly, but she refused to question her victory. He hadn’t seemed to put up much of a fight, and if it was because he couldn’t bear to live with himself if he injured his daughter, she didn’t want to hear it; and she wouldn’t have to, she reasoned with satisfaction, now that he was gone.

Styx couldn’t wait to tell her mother what she had done. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be proud of herself for taking someone’s life, but her mother had never spoken about her father with anything more than sorrow, so surely she would be ecstatic to know he no longer posed a threat to either of them. Styx searched for her. She searched for her for an uncanny amount of time before she realized something wasn’t right. It didn’t occur to her that something could’ve happened to her mother—and at the paws of her father—before she got to him. When she found her corpse a small distance from the den, Styx collapsed out of grief; she thought she had been protecting her mother when she fought and killed her father, but she had been nothing but his next target. Despite her wishes, there was nothing that could be done for her mother, so she picked herself up and fled their home without looking back once at the mess she was leaving behind.

On the way out she didn’t even notice there wasn’t a second body.

Note: Styx is a bit of an unreliable narrator. For the ease of the reader, I thought I'd include a summary: She was the product of rape, her father was a rogue she never met, and she killed her mother because she was eluded that her father had found them and wanted to hurt them both; she is unaware that he was never there, and that her mother's death was a result of her mental instability.

Joining Keys: Member posted the joining keys and have been removed for the fair joining of future members. - Elder Azul

How did you find Age? Beta Irrationality

Example Post:
Note: This post was made with an existing character of mine: Beta Irrationality.

The Alpha felt alone.

Out of everything that was said - and he hung from every word, failing to breathe - that stood out to him, because even though it was spoken as a word he heard it as a scream. It resonated inside of him, poked a hole in his mechanical heart, and opened his eyes to the weight of his own failure. As Teren's Beta, as his servant, he had devoted every piece of himself to ensuring the safety and the prosperity of his superior because he had believed it was what he wanted most. He hadn't thought it possible for Teren to feel anything more deeply than his reign, let alone lonely, and that he hadn't seen that, that he hadn't caught that, made each intake of air unworthy of fuelling his life.

He had failed in the most painful way, because his Alpha had needed a companion more than another mere subordinate, and he hadn't given that to him. Perhaps he didn't deserve a chance to right his wrong, and perhaps his Alpha hadn't even taken into consideration that his Beta desired forgiveness; when he turned to face him and took a seat, Irrationality stepped forward. He wasn't invited closer, but he didn't need an invitation. If his Alpha felt plagued by his own loneliness, then it was Irrationality's job, as his Beta, to fix it, and he would do everything - he would do anything - to fix it because through fixing it, he would fix himself and again become worthy of his place.

"This is where I became your Beta." It required no thought. He would never forget the place, nor the moment, that he was brought into power and entrusted to carry out Teren's rule. Ever since that day, the wolf in front of him had become the center of his universe. He was at his bidding, and he would be at his bidding until one of them was dead. It was a powerful loyalty, a dangerous loyalty, but it created a bond of unspoken trust because it quite simply couldn't be put into words. "I was brought here by you. I noticed that you approached my den, and I couldn't forgive myself if you needed me and I wasn't there." Had his eyes softened? It was impossible to tell, because his eyes remained blank, almost void, but unquestionably serious.

There was nothing that couldn't be asked of him, and he hoped that was common knowledge between them. There had been a time when Irrationality had attacked a packmate - Chiara, a former Guardian - because it was asked of him. It was commanded of him. Teren's word was the law, and when he had been told to fight her, to remind her of her place, everything else faded away and he was left with nothing but his job to rely on. His didn't have an instinct that was his own. It was a manifestation of his superior's, and it would never be anything else.

"You can ask anything of me, and I will do it." Another step. "If you're unhappy, my Alpha, it would be my privilege to be of any service I can be. That's what I'm here for." There was no trace of dishonesty in his words, and especially not in his face. While he didn't get any closer, he didn't need to in order to make his point. Nothing was too much. Everything was too little. Irrationality was bound to serve, and he would have it no other way, and to no other Alpha. He existed in Teren's advantage, and it would be wasteful not to make the most of the obedience inside of him that knew no limit.

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