Post by Unalaq on Jul 27, 2009 22:23:28 GMT -5
Character's Name: Unalaq (means “West Wind” in Inuit)
Age: 5 ½
Gender: Male
Species: An Arctic / Gray wolf cross
Physical Description: Unalaq is a light dusty color for the most part, though it fades through out his muzzle, underbelly and legs. His front two paws are a striking white contrast to the rest of his body and the underside of his tail has taken on a gentle creamy color. His nose is a soft combination of browns and reds, which adds to charming, outward appearance. In contrast with the rest of his pelt, a light charcoal lines his ears and etches up his head and down his neck into a thick mane. His dusty coat is also topped with charcoal, from his flanks to his ribs and his tail tip as well. Green eyes set off his bright nature, and within them appear an intelligent sort of wolf that seems to draw you in. He is short in stature, though has large paws compared to his thin body. His pelt is rather scraggly and thick; one of his most tell tale traits of his artic heritage. Though he bears no scars, he walks with a gimp every now and then, and it is easy to see, especially in the cold, that his joints are stiff and sore. If one were to look close enough, you could see embedded marks of a harness against his fur.
Personality: He is totally reserved and very much an introvert. His social skills are very low, though he tends not to show much hostility unless some is directed at him first. If one is to judge on first impressions, they may not see who Unalaq really is. He is polite, at first, and will remain so judging on his mood. For the most part he keeps others as acquaintances and has a hard time getting close. Once you hit “acquaintance status” however, you can see a more sarcastic side of Unalaq that may offend. He is harsher and his outlook on life is bleak and when its too cold for him, he does tend to be a bit snappish. There is a lot to say about those that he considers actual friends however – and if you break his friendship you are asking for a trouble. His is fiercely loyal to his friends, though he considers “pack” and “friends” two very different things. Never having been one to respond well to authority, Unalaq has a tendency to avoid pack life, though he could make a decent leader if he put his past behind him . . .
Pack: Amber Moor
Rank: Alpha
Other: Unalaq’s personal quote is “Man is cruel. Love is brief. Faith is hard. This is life.” To say the least, Unalaq has had the rare encounter with humans that many wolves could never dream of – and it has hardened him. He hates humans and fears them. He feels he could never love again, after losing his mate of three years. And he does not fear death, as he may tell you. But what he doesn’t tell you is that he’s afraid of dying in a cage, forced to death with no way out. He fears anything inevitable for the most part, and will go out of his way to look for other options when he can.
History: I was born in captivity. How many of you can say that for yourself? My parents were forced to breed under human intentions and conditions. I was born in a cage with my arctic mother and three other siblings. My sire, she said, was a brawny Gray wolf that had gone through generations of breeding to get the right muscle build. Selective breeding she called it – it was something they did in the dog world. But we were wolves, she would sigh, we were wolves that even the devil took no pity on.
Sadly, I did not get the brawn of my father and litter mates.
But when you are born in a cage, when you are fed very little because you do not match standards, you learn to survive on intellect.
I watched my mother die a later (her last litter was too much for her) and was then thrust into a chaotic world of two legged beasts and harnesses and collars and commands. I passed from owner to owner several weeks before landing in the hands of a man named Vick. I left the breeding compounds behind me; I left the wire mesh for another, different life. I left behind the smallest pup, and entered this bright, white world as a yearling named Tank. I was small, my new master said, but I would do.
Do for what?
I was brought into another sort of compound, but this time they used the word “kennel.” The creatures here were similar to me, but most were stockier and small. I was separated from all of them by wire cages, but the bottoms were no longer mesh, but earth. Snowy, icy, earth. Well, as I soon found out, these creatures were dogs, most some sort of husky crosses to be exact. The male next to me (his name had been Bear, if I recall correctly) told me that the Master was a musher. The dogs hated me and would bare their fangs. Bear tolerated me, but would often leap against his chain and snap at me when the other dogs got him excited.
I was first harnessed a week later in something called a cross-back harness. It was very constricted at first and it gave more of my strength to the Master. The other dogs were in a frenzy when I was first brought out of my kennel but the Master kept me well out of reach of them. Wolf scum! some called to me. Wild rogue! I didn’t mind the names, they didn’t hurt. I ignored the dogs. I couldn’t ignore the Master however and every time I did something he didn’t agree with, he yanked back and forced me to a stand still. Twice I had been muzzled for trying to bite – the wolf in me would never be tamed. It was hard at first, to understand why it was he had me in the harness, why he ran me in the wheel, or why he hitched me to heavy loads of dog crates until I learned what mushers really did. He wanted me to run with the dogs.
For the next half of the year I learned how to earn my keep, as the dogs say. I guarded my food fiercely (by now he had me out of the kennel and tied out on the lines with the other dogs) and at night, I curled into a tight ball, out of reach of their teeth and fangs. I worked hard during my training and learned that instead of simply hauling straight, one could leap back and forth to get momentum going and in the end, could pull more weight. To say the least, I became the Master’s favorite, a pet of his, a pleasure. I won several weight pulling competitions. It just made the dogs hate me more.
But my life with the human was brief. The only other worthwhile memory really was the big brute named Cross. Cross was a large, black wolf hybrid who had taken a great interest in me after I started to win big. I was only a year and a half, he said, and I had everything I needed to survive. But he was wise – he knew I was a wolf and that my heart did not belong in my work, nor did it belong to my master. When I could, I would sneak over to him, my first and only real friend. I told him of my confession; that I didn’t feel like I belonged.
He surprised me when he said I didn’t.
He was a hybrid, but well respected among the dogs because he demanded it. They feared him. They feared me too, he said, but I didn’t intimidate them like he did. I was a wolf. They had to hate me.
So why was I here? I asked him.
To breed, he told me. Mushers wanted good working dogs, but the dogs weren’t enough. A good worker need some sort of wolf bloodline, and the price was high. With the wolf mixed in, you could get the ultimate runner, the ultimate hauler, with high endurance and stamina and intelligence. The problem was, most wolves resisted. When he asked why I hadn’t, I told him I was delivered by human hands. He hung his head, closed his eyes, and said with a quiet sigh, “I see.”
Several nights later I was woken by a howl. Something instantly told me it wasn’t the huskies; their howls were not as delicate and as careful as this. I was startled when Cross responded in such a clear cut, similar tone.
“It’s the pack,” he said and when the dogs snapped at him, he raised his hackles and quieted them with a snap. “They come to raid the kennels.”
He turned to me, looking me squarely in the eye. “For years I have led them to this spot to free the young ones just like you. You were right when you said you don’t belong here. Are you ready to find out where you do belong?”
His smile was the devil’s grin in the moonlight that night and I felt a chill rise inside me.
“Sing, pup.” He whispered.
For the first time, I leapt up against my harness, standing on my hind legs and lifted my nose to the stars. The voice that erupted from my throat was far from own, and yet, upon fearful discovery, it was. I couldn’t stop for a while, until a felt a tug at my leg. It was Bear, telling me to be silent before he tore my bowls out. The wild beast inside me brought me down upon him all fang and snarls. He went down easily under my weight and I tore his neck open, making him fall back. The taste of blood in my mouth was oddly satisfying.
Then they came. Quick shadows escaping the darkness, flying on beams of moonlight. My tail quickly whipped back and forth as the dogs screamed and yelped and barked. Cross stood still next to me, silent as a rock. Then one of the wild beasts was before me, smiling wickedly. It was a female, I soon deduced, and she had the slant of a fox to her eyes.
“Is this the handsome fellow, Cross?”
“Take him and run, Sakari, the Master will be out with his gun.”
Another wicked glance at me and she snapped the leather binding from my neck with her teeth. I glanced at my savior one last time before he turned his head away and howled again. The pack fell back and began to run. Sakari nipped my flank and told me to follow.
I did not look back
I can’t say I was sad to leave the kennel, but I was sad to leave Cross. But in the months that followed my departure, I became a whole new wolf. Sakari, who I soon found out was the alpha’s daughter, stuck with me and taught me the ways of her pack and the life they lived. She said everything would soon be taken over by instinct.
She spoke the truth.
I grew to love Sakari. She opened up a whole new world for me; this beautiful red female who had the wit and skill of a fox. She gave me a new name, the one I bare now, instead of the human one thrust upon me from before. But I could help but grow more detached from pack life. The alpha, though kind, was strict. I was omega from the start and had to wait for my food. I was picked on and had to learn to defend myself. Sakari promised I would go up in rank soon; that it always started this way. So I stayed. Mostly, I stayed for her.
It was when I turned three that she finally chose me, now a subordinate and one of the pack’s better hunters, as her mate. It was a thrilling acceptance that opened my heart to a million possibilities. But when I mentioned that we might leave the pack and start one of our own, she would not hear of it. Here was her family, and she could would not, could not, leave them. I respected her wishes and in the end it paid off. We became a beta male and female pair. That coming spring was the first time we were allowed to breed and before I knew it, she was expecting pups – pups! Oh how I had wished Cross could have seen me!
I doted on her, protected her, hunted for her, and when she felt she was close to giving birth, we left the pack and went into the outer lands to make a birthing den.
She was shot on her first day out. She died under my watch.
I remember attacking the hunter and the scent of gun powder in my nose and the taste of blood in my mouth but he got away alive – at least, he did not have my Sakari as a trophy. I stayed with her until her dying breath and knew that there was no hope for the pups as there was no hope for her. That night I sang a song of deep sorrow and the alpha found me lying there, with his daughter dead and cold. He bade me to stand. It took me hours but finally I complied. We paid our respects in silence and sang to the stars in hopes her passing was quick. The pack buried her then, next to the river, where she had been born, and just like that, life was supposed to go on.
I stayed with them, for a while. But I gave up my beta position. A month later, while visiting Sakari’s grave, I heard a noise behind me and the familiar scent of gun powder made me raise my hackles. I turned slowly, and then I heard a familiar voice, saying a familiar name.
“Tank,”
But I was no longer Tank. I was Unalaq. I approached him like a dog. He held out his hand.
And I killed him like a wolf.
I left the pack after that. I think the alpha knew I would, and called to Cross one last time. To my surprise he answered me and so did the dogs. I didn’t hate them, I pitied them, and I told them so. Cross knew he was free now; I knew he could break the chain himself and the dogs . . . the dogs would be left to starve.
My story is about survival, and is newly begun.
Age: 5 ½
Gender: Male
Species: An Arctic / Gray wolf cross
Physical Description: Unalaq is a light dusty color for the most part, though it fades through out his muzzle, underbelly and legs. His front two paws are a striking white contrast to the rest of his body and the underside of his tail has taken on a gentle creamy color. His nose is a soft combination of browns and reds, which adds to charming, outward appearance. In contrast with the rest of his pelt, a light charcoal lines his ears and etches up his head and down his neck into a thick mane. His dusty coat is also topped with charcoal, from his flanks to his ribs and his tail tip as well. Green eyes set off his bright nature, and within them appear an intelligent sort of wolf that seems to draw you in. He is short in stature, though has large paws compared to his thin body. His pelt is rather scraggly and thick; one of his most tell tale traits of his artic heritage. Though he bears no scars, he walks with a gimp every now and then, and it is easy to see, especially in the cold, that his joints are stiff and sore. If one were to look close enough, you could see embedded marks of a harness against his fur.
Personality: He is totally reserved and very much an introvert. His social skills are very low, though he tends not to show much hostility unless some is directed at him first. If one is to judge on first impressions, they may not see who Unalaq really is. He is polite, at first, and will remain so judging on his mood. For the most part he keeps others as acquaintances and has a hard time getting close. Once you hit “acquaintance status” however, you can see a more sarcastic side of Unalaq that may offend. He is harsher and his outlook on life is bleak and when its too cold for him, he does tend to be a bit snappish. There is a lot to say about those that he considers actual friends however – and if you break his friendship you are asking for a trouble. His is fiercely loyal to his friends, though he considers “pack” and “friends” two very different things. Never having been one to respond well to authority, Unalaq has a tendency to avoid pack life, though he could make a decent leader if he put his past behind him . . .
Pack: Amber Moor
Rank: Alpha
Other: Unalaq’s personal quote is “Man is cruel. Love is brief. Faith is hard. This is life.” To say the least, Unalaq has had the rare encounter with humans that many wolves could never dream of – and it has hardened him. He hates humans and fears them. He feels he could never love again, after losing his mate of three years. And he does not fear death, as he may tell you. But what he doesn’t tell you is that he’s afraid of dying in a cage, forced to death with no way out. He fears anything inevitable for the most part, and will go out of his way to look for other options when he can.
History: I was born in captivity. How many of you can say that for yourself? My parents were forced to breed under human intentions and conditions. I was born in a cage with my arctic mother and three other siblings. My sire, she said, was a brawny Gray wolf that had gone through generations of breeding to get the right muscle build. Selective breeding she called it – it was something they did in the dog world. But we were wolves, she would sigh, we were wolves that even the devil took no pity on.
Sadly, I did not get the brawn of my father and litter mates.
But when you are born in a cage, when you are fed very little because you do not match standards, you learn to survive on intellect.
I watched my mother die a later (her last litter was too much for her) and was then thrust into a chaotic world of two legged beasts and harnesses and collars and commands. I passed from owner to owner several weeks before landing in the hands of a man named Vick. I left the breeding compounds behind me; I left the wire mesh for another, different life. I left behind the smallest pup, and entered this bright, white world as a yearling named Tank. I was small, my new master said, but I would do.
Do for what?
I was brought into another sort of compound, but this time they used the word “kennel.” The creatures here were similar to me, but most were stockier and small. I was separated from all of them by wire cages, but the bottoms were no longer mesh, but earth. Snowy, icy, earth. Well, as I soon found out, these creatures were dogs, most some sort of husky crosses to be exact. The male next to me (his name had been Bear, if I recall correctly) told me that the Master was a musher. The dogs hated me and would bare their fangs. Bear tolerated me, but would often leap against his chain and snap at me when the other dogs got him excited.
I was first harnessed a week later in something called a cross-back harness. It was very constricted at first and it gave more of my strength to the Master. The other dogs were in a frenzy when I was first brought out of my kennel but the Master kept me well out of reach of them. Wolf scum! some called to me. Wild rogue! I didn’t mind the names, they didn’t hurt. I ignored the dogs. I couldn’t ignore the Master however and every time I did something he didn’t agree with, he yanked back and forced me to a stand still. Twice I had been muzzled for trying to bite – the wolf in me would never be tamed. It was hard at first, to understand why it was he had me in the harness, why he ran me in the wheel, or why he hitched me to heavy loads of dog crates until I learned what mushers really did. He wanted me to run with the dogs.
For the next half of the year I learned how to earn my keep, as the dogs say. I guarded my food fiercely (by now he had me out of the kennel and tied out on the lines with the other dogs) and at night, I curled into a tight ball, out of reach of their teeth and fangs. I worked hard during my training and learned that instead of simply hauling straight, one could leap back and forth to get momentum going and in the end, could pull more weight. To say the least, I became the Master’s favorite, a pet of his, a pleasure. I won several weight pulling competitions. It just made the dogs hate me more.
But my life with the human was brief. The only other worthwhile memory really was the big brute named Cross. Cross was a large, black wolf hybrid who had taken a great interest in me after I started to win big. I was only a year and a half, he said, and I had everything I needed to survive. But he was wise – he knew I was a wolf and that my heart did not belong in my work, nor did it belong to my master. When I could, I would sneak over to him, my first and only real friend. I told him of my confession; that I didn’t feel like I belonged.
He surprised me when he said I didn’t.
He was a hybrid, but well respected among the dogs because he demanded it. They feared him. They feared me too, he said, but I didn’t intimidate them like he did. I was a wolf. They had to hate me.
So why was I here? I asked him.
To breed, he told me. Mushers wanted good working dogs, but the dogs weren’t enough. A good worker need some sort of wolf bloodline, and the price was high. With the wolf mixed in, you could get the ultimate runner, the ultimate hauler, with high endurance and stamina and intelligence. The problem was, most wolves resisted. When he asked why I hadn’t, I told him I was delivered by human hands. He hung his head, closed his eyes, and said with a quiet sigh, “I see.”
Several nights later I was woken by a howl. Something instantly told me it wasn’t the huskies; their howls were not as delicate and as careful as this. I was startled when Cross responded in such a clear cut, similar tone.
“It’s the pack,” he said and when the dogs snapped at him, he raised his hackles and quieted them with a snap. “They come to raid the kennels.”
He turned to me, looking me squarely in the eye. “For years I have led them to this spot to free the young ones just like you. You were right when you said you don’t belong here. Are you ready to find out where you do belong?”
His smile was the devil’s grin in the moonlight that night and I felt a chill rise inside me.
“Sing, pup.” He whispered.
For the first time, I leapt up against my harness, standing on my hind legs and lifted my nose to the stars. The voice that erupted from my throat was far from own, and yet, upon fearful discovery, it was. I couldn’t stop for a while, until a felt a tug at my leg. It was Bear, telling me to be silent before he tore my bowls out. The wild beast inside me brought me down upon him all fang and snarls. He went down easily under my weight and I tore his neck open, making him fall back. The taste of blood in my mouth was oddly satisfying.
Then they came. Quick shadows escaping the darkness, flying on beams of moonlight. My tail quickly whipped back and forth as the dogs screamed and yelped and barked. Cross stood still next to me, silent as a rock. Then one of the wild beasts was before me, smiling wickedly. It was a female, I soon deduced, and she had the slant of a fox to her eyes.
“Is this the handsome fellow, Cross?”
“Take him and run, Sakari, the Master will be out with his gun.”
Another wicked glance at me and she snapped the leather binding from my neck with her teeth. I glanced at my savior one last time before he turned his head away and howled again. The pack fell back and began to run. Sakari nipped my flank and told me to follow.
I did not look back
I can’t say I was sad to leave the kennel, but I was sad to leave Cross. But in the months that followed my departure, I became a whole new wolf. Sakari, who I soon found out was the alpha’s daughter, stuck with me and taught me the ways of her pack and the life they lived. She said everything would soon be taken over by instinct.
She spoke the truth.
I grew to love Sakari. She opened up a whole new world for me; this beautiful red female who had the wit and skill of a fox. She gave me a new name, the one I bare now, instead of the human one thrust upon me from before. But I could help but grow more detached from pack life. The alpha, though kind, was strict. I was omega from the start and had to wait for my food. I was picked on and had to learn to defend myself. Sakari promised I would go up in rank soon; that it always started this way. So I stayed. Mostly, I stayed for her.
It was when I turned three that she finally chose me, now a subordinate and one of the pack’s better hunters, as her mate. It was a thrilling acceptance that opened my heart to a million possibilities. But when I mentioned that we might leave the pack and start one of our own, she would not hear of it. Here was her family, and she could would not, could not, leave them. I respected her wishes and in the end it paid off. We became a beta male and female pair. That coming spring was the first time we were allowed to breed and before I knew it, she was expecting pups – pups! Oh how I had wished Cross could have seen me!
I doted on her, protected her, hunted for her, and when she felt she was close to giving birth, we left the pack and went into the outer lands to make a birthing den.
She was shot on her first day out. She died under my watch.
I remember attacking the hunter and the scent of gun powder in my nose and the taste of blood in my mouth but he got away alive – at least, he did not have my Sakari as a trophy. I stayed with her until her dying breath and knew that there was no hope for the pups as there was no hope for her. That night I sang a song of deep sorrow and the alpha found me lying there, with his daughter dead and cold. He bade me to stand. It took me hours but finally I complied. We paid our respects in silence and sang to the stars in hopes her passing was quick. The pack buried her then, next to the river, where she had been born, and just like that, life was supposed to go on.
I stayed with them, for a while. But I gave up my beta position. A month later, while visiting Sakari’s grave, I heard a noise behind me and the familiar scent of gun powder made me raise my hackles. I turned slowly, and then I heard a familiar voice, saying a familiar name.
“Tank,”
But I was no longer Tank. I was Unalaq. I approached him like a dog. He held out his hand.
And I killed him like a wolf.
I left the pack after that. I think the alpha knew I would, and called to Cross one last time. To my surprise he answered me and so did the dogs. I didn’t hate them, I pitied them, and I told them so. Cross knew he was free now; I knew he could break the chain himself and the dogs . . . the dogs would be left to starve.
My story is about survival, and is newly begun.