Banshee -

Name: Banshee

Gender: Female

Age: 4.6 years.

Pack: Helidos

Rank Requested: I believe that Banshee will serve best as a Warrior.

Appearance:
A ghost. The purity of Banshee's fur colouration is phantasmal, a winter's day sufficing as an example of the clear, dove-white hue that spills across the entirety of her lithely built frame. Each individual limb is laced with practiced elegance: a meticulous art that resembles the stalking of a mesmerizing panther, the majestic dance of a graceful caribou, or perhaps even the haunting illusion of an eerily flawless ghost. Allow yourself to be lured into the toxic trap that is Banshee's copper gaze; sharp as thorns. They radiate the composure and confidence of a skilled carnivore, yet are able to pierce with a paralytic sting that puts the fangs of a cobra to shame. Together, Banshee's appearance is one to be considered alluring; beautiful. She's prideful of the white-as-snow fur she sports: like an artist's thorough, timeless masterpiece. Alongside the light, copper hue placed amongst her facial features with an utmost delicacy: a representation of autumn's most glorious, colourful scenario. However, Banshee's legacy stretches far beyond merely a pretty face. Tangled amongst her bone structure – the lean body-type has not only gifted her elegance, but a swiftness that pairs nicely. Able to dance a carnivore's tango of death; Banshee possesses a battle prowess that cannot be overlooked when the rippling of her muscles and the thunderous snarl of her jaws is provoked. Should you fall for her trap; tempting as a spider's web? Do not be displeased when left to face the horrid, deadly accompaniment.

Photo:

History:
Often, the security of a canine is determined by their experiences – harsh or pleasant – during their time spent as adolescents. Banshee is no exception to this commonality, but instead one that cherishes the very memory. The past is forsaken by those that possess grief in the retention; unwilling to glimpse passed the tortuous reminiscence and uncover a quality that could be appreciated within themselves. Banshee had always been different - exceptional. The hardships of her past were never taken under a sorrowful perception. For Deucalion, Banshee's father, had never intentionally wished to hammer emotional damage into the brain of his offspring. Thankfully, Banshee was able to control her emotions with an unusual ease. The sharpness in the glare of Deucalion was not viewed as a threat, but instead an obstacle she would be able to excel upon being granted the proper time for physical growth.

Deucalion had raised Banshee without the assistance of a motherly figure. Banshee's mother had went into the birthing with unhealthy conditions, in the end, not able to grasp onto her life if she desired for Banshee to live. Deucalion had been devastated with the loss. The only reason he didn't abandon the young pup was because of the attachment his mate had to her. She had given her life so Banshee could live, and to hold on to the last piece he had of his mate, he believed he owed her the chance to gaze down upon her daughter from the afterlife and witness her growth.

Banshee wasn't normal, this being recognized shortly after a few months of her life. Perhaps, it was due to the guilt of living with a deceased mother and ever heartbroken father? Regardless, Banshee never inquired about it. It could be assumed she simply wasn't willing to hear the words she already knew in secrecy. However, this assumption would be false. Banshee wasn't normal because of her own choosing. Her mother's death had never been more than a simplistic thought in her head. Death was recognized as being a necessity in one's lifespan, therefore, she didn't relentlessly haunt herself with the image of “being blamed for the death of Deucalion's mate”. Her death had merely been due to her health. It would have arrived in time, hadn't she passed on that afternoon. Her death could have easily been predicted, much like Deucalion's.

It was disgusting to witness the hatred in her father's eyes. It was bluntly obvious that he blamed Banshee; constantly sulking due to the death of his mate. Deucalion did not possess the ability to move on. Banshee recognized his pain, and she knew something had to be done about it to prevent him from a life of suffering. Killing one's father could easily be claimed an act of treachery; a loss of sanity. However, Banshee was entirely sane. She was able to view the situation from a technical perspective. His death was required if she wished for her father to rest in peace and locate happiness. He would have never been able to do so had she allowed herself to be selfish and spare his life.

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

How did you find Age? Current member, is I.

Example Post:
[Post with Cheshire ~]

The clearing was welcomed by a new, dazzling addition that smelt strongly of the field he depicted through holding a Healer’s name. The varying fragrances of herbs clung to each tuft of bluish-gray and/or black fur throughout his muscled body; pieces of his oddly hued fur fluffed out in unkempt disarray, his appearance alone likely enough to ease confused stares that he was, in fact, a newbie in the flesh that had come from his travels. Mild curiousity sparked from the most peculiar places in his eyes, allowing his sights to roam at their leisure. Every individual was worth a few short seconds of his time, for he was nothing more than intrigued as to whom shared these grounds that he dare tread upon. He passed easily from one to the next as they failed to return his eye contact, the moments fleeting and his attention diverted rapidly, occasionally lingering upon those that bothered themselves with the task of meeting his eyes, but not long enough to make it presumable that he was interested in getting them to arise from their seats of comfort and greet him. He did not need any greeting surpassed what he had received at the borders in the form of the Great one himself, because he was already welcomed, and thus he felt substantially at home.

He slithered across the open expanse with the grace of an elk, an ominous smile dripping from each uncanny corner of his jaw as he did so. The way he moved, alone, was out of place amongst this dreary kingdom of the darkest souls. It was insane how easily he could slip a pleasant grin on to his face, but perhaps that was precisely the fact - he was not necessarily of the normal variety. A chilling atmosphere draped itself throughout the small space upon this earth that he inhabited. He was far from the gracious and divine Healer that one expected from those that handled soft remedies. He possessed an edge, and it was dark and scary, but thrilling nonetheless- charming too if he was in the mood to brag, which he always was. The male with a Warrior’s build and something remotely close to a Healer’s heart settled comfortably towards the sidelines of the clearing, looking around as though he was in search of some company, although he did not bother with the task of actually meeting somebody’s eyes and gesturing for their presence. After all, he was not without the assumption that his work would not be admired as profoundly as was the noble and heroic duties of those that fought. Most would probably look over his head without second thoughts unless they needed him to tend to their wounds, which he didn’t mind. All it would take was an afternoon in his den - once it came around - for someone to find themselves pleasantly curious of this strange, out-of-the-blue remedial artist. He didn’t like to boast about his having a way with words - but he had an excellent way with words. It helped that his smile bordered creepy, but still somehow leaned towards the side of the spectrum that invited one in return.

Simply, he was nothing more than a refreshing character. He planned to put some spice into the recipe that was Erenyx; they could probably use a few more mysterious, troublesome servants that possessed that sideline tinge of danger that the ladies seemed to adore. After all, what could possibly be better than spending one’s time with a handsome, silver-tongued Healer? There was something so alluring about being able to take charge of a situation when it became too dangerous for the fighters to fathom, until, that is, the Healer became the source of danger. Oh.

What a twist.

» Luring The Demon [Banshee]

Banshee -

Banshee -

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