|
Post by november on Jun 1, 2009 15:20:19 GMT -5
d u b b e ddeath november
c a l l i n g november or nov
r a n k rogue
a g e four years
f a c a d e November is a delicate, unearthly creature. His fur, for the most part, is a deep, rich indigo that sparkles with fuchsia in the correct light. The top of the male’s back is pitch black, lightening gradually into the indigo. His face is the same shade of black. Death November’s paws are small and delicate, and rather than the average tail of a wolf, a black puff that greatly resembles the tail of a deer resides upon his rear end. Sprouting from the base of the strange wolf’s skull are two great horns which rise and fall to curl about to the front of his shoulder blades. If viewed from the front, this structure appears similar to a heart shape. November’s skull is an oddity; rather than the sharp brow between forehead and muzzle, it slopes gentle to the rounded tip of his muzzle. Upon this black muzzle, there is no nose, and no lips, although he does indeed have a mouth. As his fur is darker than shadows on his face, if he is not speaking or showing his teeth, it would appear that he lacks a mouth as well as a nose. November’s eyes are sealed shut, making him physically blind as well as incapable of scenting. He also lacks ears, rendering him physically deaf. However, the male has adaptations to deal with these issues. In the center of his forehead is a great red, glowing circle. Through this, the small creature can see the souls of other creatures; for example, a wolf whose nature is lighter would be a lighter color, such as lavender, or pink, whereas one of a neutral nature would be blue or green or perhaps purple. Those of a darker persuasion would show as a bloody red, or perhaps a deep gray that would resemble black. The spirits of nature appear mostly in yellows and whites, for they are the purest of any creature. This is how he navigates. The male’s eyes will only open upon his moment of death, and according to the legend told by the fortuneteller to him long ago, some great evil shall be unleashed upon the earth. Upon his horns are four more of these ‘eyes’, all red and glowing, two on each horn. These represent sound. While he cannot truly hear spoken words, these ‘ears’ pick up the gist of words and his highly intelligent mind registers it with ease. Upon his chest is yet another eye; however, this eye is different in shape and size than those upon his forehead and horns, and it appears to be a vestigial structure. Within November’s hidden mouth is a fearsome set of iron gray fangs, hard as steel and sharp as razors. These appear to be his only true weapon.
e l e m e n t darkness
w i t h i n November is a complex creature. As he cannot physically see, and cannot physically hear and cannot smell at all, he spends all of his time trapped within his mind. When one cannot truly know another, one receives the opportunity to think upon the world and contemplate its meaning. After hearing the fortuneteller’s legend, Death November has tried time and time again to rid himself of the devils that possess him. He doesn’t want to be the evil beast of the legend. His attempts, however, are always futile; an attempt to rescue the damsel in the distress once turned him to the side of the big bad wolf. It is in his nature to contradict himself. Where he attempts to help, he often hurts, and where he endeavors to be polite, he is often rude. In the past year or so, Death November has learned that to speak less grants him more of the light portion of life than to try and help, and end up harming. He now appears dark, and mysterious. It is certainly alluring, for his handsome, delicate façade appeals heavily to naïve females. November, despite his royal heritage and high, horrible expectations for life, is rash and hasty in his decisions in words. He is not the kind to speak flattering words to gain a wolf’s trust; if such a thing were necessary, he would do it by showing them his true character rather than to play another. However, he is loyal. Beyond all of the evils within his dark heart, and the longing to be good, he shall always remain loyal to those whom he pledges himself, no matter the reason or purpose. Place a new wolf before him, and his behavior would be mysterious to the other - he is a creature of few words, calm-headed despite his rough tongue, and quite frankly mysterious. It may set another on edge that he can "see" into their souls in a form of emotion-reading, or that his body is decorated with such a magnificent pair of horns and several glowing red eyes, or possibly that vicious set of fangs hidden within his delicate muzzle.
e y e s they are sealed shut. but upon the moment of his death, whomever looks into his eyes will see something similar to a movie of his life moving at intense speed, and a dark demon stirring beyond.
w i n g s none
t h e p a s t t h e f i r s t s h a d o w The black forest was silent. It was always silent. Cruel October stood before his den, handsome indigo fur ruffled gently by the mysterious wind that had never affected the trees. His mate had given birth, many long days ago; and today was the day that his children would emerge. Here, in the darkness of the forest, it was scarcely lighter than the pitch black of the den. But October’s swarthy yellow eyes had grown used to the blackness, and he could see here. He had not yet seen his babies, for they had never been permitted outside of the den. His entire body was taut with excitement as his wife’s padding paws became evident in his ears. Her fur was black; and thus, she was quite impossible to see. But he could make out one pure, white figure at her side, a dark gray in the black, and his heart pounded gladly. It was his daughter, to be called Birth December. At her side was a strange creature. Strange things protruded from his skull, and they caused October to step back in horror as the pups and their mother neared. Horns..? On hisson?? And now that he looked closer.. The male was far larger than he should be, for a child as young as himself. He should be miniscule, as his sister, perhaps a bit larger. But not the size of a full-grown coyote.
Something burned red upon the male’s forehead suddenly.
It was.. an.. eye.
t h e l e g e n d The world was black. For the most part, anyway. There was a gray smudge on the horizon, between the faint blurs of yellow that belonged to the trees, and it was to that gray smudge that November ran towards now. The creature knew something; he could see it, in her strange soul. She was odd. In his two years - one and three-quarters of which had been spent alone, for Cruel October had disowned him for his strange appearance - he had never witnessed such an irregular heart in a creature. He longed to speak to its source.
And at long last, his gentle paws drew him level with the creature. He gazed at her soul, the sealed eyes upon his face unfeeling, the red eye upon his forehead sharp and hot with curious longing.
“Who are you?”
The gray soul stirred, and November knew that she looked at him.
“Your spitting image. Would you know if I was not?”
November opened his mouth, steely rows of razor fangs revealed threateningly. “Shut up. Tell me who you are. Tell me why you’re different.”
The creature was silent for a moment, and then it spoke again.
“I am a fortuneteller. I know your life. In your case.. I know your legend.”
He could see that her words were not lies. His interest was piqued.
“Legend, wolf?”
“It is this.
The devil’s own vulgar servant shall take body of wolf, His horns shall curl to be of little use, And his eyes shall seal themselves till death. He shall see with the devil’s red flames, And this body of the Evil One shall attempt to reverse fate itself, And these attempts will be in vain. He will grow old, someday, with mate at hand; And he shall then perform the most horrendous act of evil.”
t h e d a m s e l i n d i s t r e s s He could see her, in his mind’s eye, as he watched her. Yes. It was a blissful feeling, to see the magnificent white wolf before him, with her vivid, blood-red eyes, and her handsomely sloped back. The tuft of tail upon her haunches, so identical to his own.
“December,” he said softly, his voice echoing upon the chilled winter air.
“November.” Her voice was clear as a brilliant, ringing bell in his mind. He could hear her. Was it dormant love for his lost sister that had prevailed his four years? Why could he see her so clearly?
“It has been a long time, sister.”
“Yes.”
It was strange. Cruel October had forced his son away at a young age, for November had grown with immense speed to the figure of an adult. Or, nearly to that figure. He still was small, for a male, and yet the dignity and mystery with which he held himself was beyond even his current years. He and December had never truly known each other. They were but strange childhood acquaintances.
And then came that black soul, a soul so different from the white one that resided within December’s handsome chest. November’s body stiffened at his arrival, and he moved instinctively closer to his newfound sister. He must protect her.
“November, do not worry. It is my - my mate. Nekoz.” November eyed her suspiciously, then turned his attentions to the black shadow before him. Cruel intentions circled about the male’s soul, whether he was aware or not; intentions that suggested an attempt to murder darling December. A snarl ripped from November’s throat.
“Get the hell away from her, Nekoz.”
Panic filled the other creature’s entity. He knew. This odd little male, this horned demon who lacked nose, eyes and ears, he knew of Nekoz’s intentions. He crossed to December in a single stride, and knocked the small white damsel to the earth with unnecessary force.
“Nekoz!” cried December, fearfully.
November’s heart seized with fury. He leapt at Nekoz, jaws opening to reveal rows upon rows of iron fangs. They sank into the monster’s leg, rendering him lame; and then - Nekoz knocked him sideways. November stood still for a moment, tottering, and focused upon Nekoz. The black soul was watching him.
November suddenly felt Nekoz’s desires in his own soul. The evils within longed to permit crime; for so long, he had avoided others, in order to avoid killing and fulfilling the fortuneteller’s prophecy. But something had come unhinged within.
“Let me help you, Nekoz.”
The males ripped December’s body, limb to limb.
And then, riddled with guilt, November departed.
o t h e r none
m a t e none
p u p s none
z o d i a c sagittarius, born in late november
|
|
|
Post by - [s][w][a][y] - on Jun 2, 2009 0:15:40 GMT -5
This all sounds like a VERY interesting character! So long as the eyes that are upon his body don't do anything else other than allow him to "See" and "Hear", I see nothing wrong with this character. Approved!
|
|
|
Post by Celestic on Jun 2, 2009 0:28:23 GMT -5
This sounds like a really awesome character! I really look forward to seeing him!
|
|