Cheshire Of Erenyx
Member
Posts : 58
Join date : 2014-02-23
Age : 26
Wolf Information
Gender: Male
Age: 4 Years Old.
Purchases:
 |  Subject: Cheshire.  February 23rd 2014, 17:58 | |
| Name: Cheshire.Gender: Male.Age: 3.5 years of age.Pack: Erenyx.Rank Requested: Healer.Appearance: A plethora of bluish-gray and black harmonize splendidly throughout this male’s muscular body. Stereotypically, his appearance alone - his size enough to be intimidating to the majority - is enough to have him fitted into the ways of warriorhood. His exterior speaks freely of brutality; the power held within his jaw enough to shatter the strongest bone. Despite the masculinity of his form - he tends to himself in a methodical way that is nearly feline. The picturesque of his swirling colouration is awfully striking. Those before him, or even those that are similar to him, have been known for white’s tendency to clash vividly with the darker grays and blacks. However, in his case, there is not a trace of white to be found. His appearance alone is of exceptional rarity, and though he is no stranger to the lustful appeal of his looks, he has never been overcome by the desire to flaunt it.
Centered on his facial structure are a pair of brilliantly pigmented turquoise eyes. They shine like emeralds that have been softly dusted with the finest waters of the ocean. When observed as a whole, this feature of his is often admired for the way that it compliments his otherwise darkly toned hues. Cheshire would be considerably apt at slipping away under the influence of moonlight, his bluish-gray and black form difficult to pry apart from the midnight induced foliage. Although he still manages suitably to blend in when such is his longing, it can sometimes be easier said than done to disguise the ethereal glint to his greenish-blue stare. Photo: History: [Italicized “. . .” throughout his history are some of Cheshire’s thoughts. It gives insight into the mind of Cheshire and how he views certain situations that occurred in his life.]
Marlicia was the most prized Healer throughout the kingdom. Her skills were acknowledged vastly, and she was credited deeply for her limitless wisdom and profound intelligence. It seemed unfair that someone of exceptional aptness in her field could be graced, too, by such flawlessness. She was a female of beauty; a quiet creature that wished to shed some light onto the world amidst all of its faults. Naturally, it was the way of the Alpha to be overcome by his greed and want her all to himself. Theytus was an arrogant fool, but none questioned his prowess. He was a true monster on the battlefield, and thus it was supposedly of the greatest honour to be gifted with his seed so that his skills could be carried on into the next generation. But Marlicia did not love him, no. She only agreed to his terms because it was her bidding as his subordinate.
“It goes to show that this thing called ‘love” is not all that it’s cracked up to be. The world is a place of lies and manipulation, as much as it is a place of affection and sentimentality. Love is nobody’s cure. It will deceive you.”
Theytus was the proud father of one son, and although Marlicia had never wished to have her offspring with him, she still cherished him deeply. Of course, the Alpha was disappointed that Marlicia had been unable to give him anything more than a single pup. He had been hopeful for numerous offspring, all of which would be equally capable of continuing his legacy. But since there was only one, Theytus was determined to ensure that he did not fail in making a name for himself, and that he could prove himself as being even remotely worthy of calling Theytus his father. Everan (as was originally named - in the future his name will be altered to Cheshire) was forced to partake in a series of critical combat lessons with the pack’s greatest fighters. He learned quickly, and in a matter of weeks he was suitable enough to earn the occasional smile from his father. But it was only to be expected that he would at least be mildly skilled at holding his own weight in a spar - it helped that his training began at an incredibly early age, though the majority of the pack assumed he had simply inherited Theytus’s lethality on the battlefield.
Marlicia was far more engaged in the happenings of her son. She knew by simple observation that Everan had never enjoyed his combat lessons like Theytus had. She did not expect him to live and breathe the essence of spar because it was what Theytus had deemed a necessity. She was willing to listen to him, hear his side of the story, and appeal to his longing to learn about a field that required an entirely different expertise. Everan and Marlicia both understood that Theytus, alongside the rest of his faithful pack, would not appreciate the heir to Theytus’s throne choosing the life of a Healer over that of a Warrior. But Everan was stubborn, and he did not care about the wishes of his father or the wishes of his pack. Regardless, Marlicia had to teach him subtly and away from where the pack could witness it. She, unlike her son, cared about her image and her credibility. It was where the line had been drawn - the line that determined how much Everan was able to relate to his mother. He had always thought that she was different from the rest of their pack. But, of course, it was wrong for a male, for an Alpha’s son, to want to heal as opposed to kill - it was Theytus’s law. Marlicia was unable to teach him beyond the bare minimum, and so Everan was forced to take matters into his own paws.
“You can never expect anything from anyone. Expectations lead to disappointment when others are unable to do what you once believed them capable of. You’re better off doing things for yourself. At least you know your own limits. You don’t have to rely on anybody that way or find out when they stop being what you once thought they were.”
It could be claimed that Marlicia’s choice to refuse teaching Everan the full extent of her herbal knowledge was what led him to unleash his inner madness. It had always lurked on the outskirts of his mind; he had shooed it away like it was a pesky fly. But with his desire to become a Healer came a longing to understand the body and how it functioned. One could not be expected to heal, after all, if they did not fully understand their canvas. Everan started to slip away into the darkness of the night, not returning until the sun began to peek over the horizon. Rarely was he caught in the act - the few times that a stray female happened to grow suspicious, he could ease their curious minds by simply carressing their bodies with his feathery tail (the pack had far more females than males since Theytus deemed that females had to take up the majority of the lesser important duties like healing, caring for the young, etc. . .) - but on the occasion when he was caught by a male, Everan settled for claims that he was doing some late night hunting, which of course nobody would dare doubt about the Heir to their kingdom’s throne. It was not a complete lie. Everan was attempting to locate various specimens that could be considered meals for his pack, but it was not for somebody to eat. Whenever he caught stray animals loose in the forest at night, he killed them not for their meat, but so that he could use their bodies as a means of dissection. He tore them apart to examine what lay disguised on the inside, and what it was that he found fascinated him.
“Perhaps I was going mad. It was insane, after all, wasn’t it? I enjoyed killing innocent things so that I could look inside of their bodies. Rest assured, I have some self control. I was once curious enough of the wolf’s body that I contemplated murdering a member of my pack. But I haven’t done that yet, now, have I?”
Things were going too smoothly for the to-be Warrior. That’s right. Everan had yet to tell a soul - except for Marlicia - of his wishes to become a Healer, and so Theytus still believed that he was right on schedule to become a Warrior. Who knew that his life could so suddenly take a turn for the worse? He was simply lucky that things did not go so far as to completely blow the covers off of his secret operations. One beautiful morning, the mothers had decided to let their offspring play along the outskirts of their camp. A couple of devious pups were more brave than the others, and they decided to venture a little ways deeper into the forest, but such led them to a horrifying discovery. The pups stumbled upon one of Everan’s first. . . well. . . masterpieces. As soon as they got a good look at the mauled carcass of the deer, understanding that its insides weren’t supposed to be on the outside, they scurried back to their mothers with frightful whimpers and their tails tucked. Thankfully, the deer was old enough that Everan’s scent no longer lingered on it. They never found another creature quite like it again, and so they allowed themselves to believe that it was a one-time event. How fortunate.
Regardless, the pups still strove to create a terrifying legend about the monster that had done such horrible things to that deer: Cheshire, a randomized name that one of the younger, more creative minds decided upon, was a toothy beast that liked to tear apart his prey for the mere fun of it before vanishing into the night, never to be seen or heard from again until it decided to strike once more. It was enough to keep the pups cozy and warm inside the safety of their dens; he liked to think that he did a favour to the restless mothers that always worried about their offspring’s whereabouts. News of the legend spread like wildfire throughout the pack. Most of the older, more mature wolves laughed it off with ease. But Everan knew that the stories were real, if not simply blown out of proportion, and he had taken a liking to the name that they had chosen to identify their little monster. The wolves of his pack still referred to him as Everan, of course, but in his own mind he was Cheshire, and that was precisely how it was meant to be.
“Everan was a name that Theytus had chosen. Marlicia did not have any say in what I was to be called. Not only was Cheshire a clever way of referring to the madness that none knew me to possess. . . it was a means of separating myself from my father.”
Through various sessions in the forest, and a few minor lessons from Marlicia, Cheshire considered himself as being a rather thorough and masterful Healer. At long last, he took his wishes to his father in the hopes that he would understand. But he did not. Theytus was outraged, and he made it painfully clear that if Cheshire wished to have a home in his pack, or if he even wanted to call himself Theytus’s son, that he would be a Warrior as was planned. Pity. Cheshire had no true desire to be his son; that had been made clear when he decided to change his name, and overall create a new identity for himself from scratch. In the middle of the afternoon, Cheshire had set out on a real hunt, returning to the camp with a fawn that he had skillfully stole from its mother. He tore into the creature’s stomach, consuming a few small mouthfuls of its flesh before burying poisonous berries inside. He sought out the Alpha’s den, offering to share the fawn with his father in a semblance of what he hoped to be a fresh start to their relationship and his warriorhood. Theytus was pleased in Cheshire’s change of heart, and he readily took him up on his proposition and began to eat the remains of the fawn. Cheshire departed from the den, a devilish smirk stretching his muzzle from corner-to-corner, leaving Theytus to a slow and agonizing death as soundless gasps for air rewarded him with no further oxygen.
“Everan?” The peaceful, melodic sound of his mother’s voice reached his ears moments before he was able to duck into the forest and disappear forever. He spun on his heels, facing his mother, meeting her loving eyes, before he stepped towards her and nudged her gently in the neck. “I have rid you of your tyrant at long last, mother. May this be the start to a new, and undoubtedly more appealing future for your pack.” Pulling away, he observed as his mother, speechless and worried, looked to him in wait of an explanation. She did not seem to understand what he had meant, but she would soon enough. Turning away, he allowed his tail to brush across her side as a final goodbye, tossing his last words over his shoulders nonchalantly. “And please, do call me Cheshire.” Joining Keys: Member posted the keys... You know the rest... - Alpha SteeleHow did you find Age? I'm already a member.Example Post: [Borrowed a recent post of mine for Irrationality!]
“Important?” Just because he had finished her sentence did not mean that he agreed with what it was that she was saying. Even as the she-wolf lie with her head resting on his paws, glancing at who knows what, he was unable to make his gaze flicker anywhere else. They pierced down to the warrior’s very soul, wanting to crack her apart into a bajillion of readable and decipherable pieces. He wanted to understand her, completely and doubtlessly. He wanted to know what made her smile, and what - even when all was right in the world - knocked her down and made her want to give up. He wanted to know what frightened her so that he could make such living, breathing terrors never bother her again. And he wanted to know about her dreams, her goals and her ambitions, so that he could help her reach them and stand at her side as they were individually accomplished. They were rather unusual details, some of them perhaps useless, but he did not care. Never before had his mind sought, so fiercely and with such initiative, to understand someone. He had never been given a reason to care beyond that of near nihility. Up until this point, he had never expected that to change.
He was consciously aware of Silacea sliding her body closer to his, diminishing with the distance that remained sprawled between them so horribly slow. Unnerved by the anticipation, he mimicked the motioning of her body and closed off the space between them completely. His actions were not to be mistaken for affection. He would not allow himself to think like that. Surely, he did care for her deeply, but it was all so new to him that the very idea of it made his breath hitch. She deserved better than him; she deserved more than what he would ever be able to give to her. She deserved someone that would happily display their affections for her to the world. She deserved someone that would not care who was in sight, or what it was that they could possibly think about it, because their world revolved solely around her. Maybe there was hope for him. Maybe one day he would have it within himself to break down his barriers and find the part of himself that had always been so shy and unneeded to surface. She didn’t deserve the wait. Someone out there would be able to provide for her just like he ever could, but the only difference is that they would be able to do it right now.
“I am not more important than you are, Silacea. Do not degrade yourself.” His voice was hollow, pitchless, yet she would be able to know with certainty that he meant all of it. However, there remained something inside of her eyes that piqued his interest. It seemed like, to an extent, she herself was also hollow. She was battling with her own mentality, undoubtedly driving herself to the point of insanity, and he wished to know why. But that was the problem with him, wasn’t it? Analysis always came first. He could sneak behind every mask, into the corners and the crannies that nobody wanted to reveal to the world, and he was unable to hold himself back from prodding. Understanding was something that was so important to him. He would never be able to explain it. Maybe he would never be able to quit being so cold and so terribly isolated. His exterior was unsettling, wholesomely alone, and yet he did not seem to mind. Did she take comfort in pressing herself into the fur of a machine? Did she care that he may never be able to react to her touches and her signs of adoration like that of the mate that she might have one day pictured herself with? He would not be able to stop her from leaving, or from making these decisions. He wanted her to be happy. What if he could not make her happy?
“What are you thinking about?” The question was so direct, so open. His ears slightly shifted towards her, lowering his head, the fur underneath of his jaw pressing against the top of her head for a moment before he lifted it once again. He watched her from his minor elevation, eyes of dark gold colouration unmoving. He did not want her to have to face the hardship that existed in the places that he could not heal. He wanted her to talk about all of it; to be forward with him above anything else. She could trust him, but it was needless to say that she wanted to. But he would always be there for her. Maybe not in the forms that she would like. But there nonetheless.
Last edited by Healer Cheshire on September 21st 2014, 16:14; edited 3 times in total |
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