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Post by november on Jun 1, 2009 18:59:40 GMT -5
d u b b e d chogan of hassun's
c a l l i n g chogan or cho
r a n k i n g rogue
f a c a d e Chogan’s curse has turned him from a once handsome man to a desiccated monster. His dry, ashen skin is pulled taut across tortured bones. His complexion is the ashen gray of death; little fur remains upon his body. His eyes are pressed backwards into their sockets, the glowing indigo optics the only color given upon his body. The eyeballs bulge outward, as though being pushed from his body by some inner force, and where the whites of his eyes should be, there is nothing but black. Rather, his pupils are white instead. Chogan’s lips are tattered and bloody from chewing upon the flesh and sharp bones of other wolves. From the top of his jaw extend two long, yellowed sabers that would be menacing to even the most skilled of fighters. His tail is long and thin, like a whip. Across his body, there are always suppurations from when food in the shape of other wolves was scarce, and Chogan had no choice but to eat himself. The wounds ooze yellow pus, for unlike mortal wolves, Chogan’s blood is a rancid yellow. His blood is venomous - it is another defensive mechanism against attacking wolves. One bite to Chogan’s body, and the offending wolf will find himself incapacitated, and will begin the most painful of changes to become a creature nearly identical to Chogan. His scent is strange and pungent, more namely, the scent of death, decay, and rot.
e l e m e n t poison
w i t h i n Chogan is a bitter creature. He resents all in life, and particular the constant pain that plagues his body so horribly. He hates the fact that he must kill and eat the bodies of wolves to survive, despite the fact that he never was a true wolf. He is disgusted that he shall most likely never be capable of discovering a mate, for no female would dare to draw near the reeking scent of Chogan’s body, nor take the chance that he may turn on them in search of a meal. Of course, if ever a female (or really, any wolf) were to be capable of ignoring his scent, he would never dare to eat them. They would become his cherished friend, and he would love them unconditionally. He would do anything for them.
If only other wolves would ignore his putrid scent, and get over his gaunt, intimidating façade! Chogan has the ability to be a great, loyal friend and mate hidden within his heart of ice. And, though he knows it not, when a human turned Wendigo manages to find true love, he may turn to something not so disgusting, something caught between man and monster. To be clear, he would become a wolf. At the present moment, however, the traits that define the general creatures of his species define him: cold, violent, and cannibalistic. Of course, Chogan has retained some of his former self: sympathetic, loyal, and warm.
e y e s indigo, darker blue around the edge of the iris, and lighter purple around the pupils; pupils are white rather than black.
w i n g s none
t h e p a s t The dark male sat beside the small pup whom he had met only a few days ago; but little Carmike did look up to him so. The pup's green eyes were begging him for a story, and he had not the heart to turn her down. After all, she was the first creature in so very long that had failed to cringe at his scent, at the sight of the yellow suppurations crossing his body. The pleading in her eyes as she pawed at his leg was too much to turn away from, even though he had never thought himself much of a storyteller. Very well then.. I'll tell her.. of my past..
"This is a story of Man. And naivity," he began in a dark breath, supposing that he may as well play the part of a storyteller well. "But it is not of men that are evil, like many are. It is not one of the light-skinned humans that hunt mercilessly and throw rugs of wolven fur onto their floors that have been ripped from the bark of the innocent trees. It is of a small group of Man, a group called the Algonquians, whose skin was the color of red clay, and whose hair was blacker than the sky on a moonless night.
"The Algonquians were lovers of nature. They hunted only as it was neccesary, and what they hunted, they shed tears and prayed for. They hunted only to keep themselves alive, and never, ever, did they have any surplus of meat. They relied primarily on vegetation to survive, in fact. However, meat was sometimes neccesary to continue on in their lands, the lands of a deep river's valley. They needed to skin their prey, to make coats for the winters, for Man does not have a pelt to protect him from the harsh cold of the snowy season.
"These people were separated into several different tribes, and long ago, twenty years, to be exact, a man called Hassun led one of them. Hassun was a great leader, even through the troubled times in which he led. He had a beautiful wife, a woman with deep hazel eyes who knew much of the earth, called Alawa. Alawa bore him several children, all of whom grew and became great hunters; and then, she bore him the last of his six children.
"The boy that Alawa birthed was called a curse by the people of their tribe. He was born with a raven perched upon the tree outside their hut, a sign of the worst fortune, and many feared the boy as he grew taller with each passing day. The boy had no name, as of yet; he was merely the Raven Child, for though their great leaders had created him, he had disappointed the village. His brothers and sister had all gone on to do wonderful, heroic things in other places, and his expectations were not as high.
"At the age of thirteen came the naming festival, the festival that was called Waawiindaasowin. The boy stood quietly before the name-giver. He had never been much of a talker, you see, for many disliked his strange ways. Upon his shoulder, as always, was the strange bird, whom the boy called the Allied Brother. Mi’kmaq." Beyond Carmike's excited eyes, a raven cawed loudly and took flight in a burst of leaves. "The name-giver studied the boy. His black hair fell to his shoulders, and his cat-like eyes, narrow and slanted, gazed up at him, black as the bird upon his shoulder.
"'Chogan,' the name-giver announced at long last. 'He shall be called Chogan of Hassun's.' The celebration followed, for the Raven Child had been the last to be named. While his parents and the other children celebrated, the boy - Chogan of Hassun's - snuck away from them, and went into the forest - "
"Chogan?" interrupted Carmike. The spindly beast looked down at her, almost having forgotten that she was still present.
"Yes?"
"Chogan of Hassun's? That's you, though." Her young brow was drawn together in confusion. "You're not a two legger."
He smiled a worn, tired smile at his little friend, sighed softly. "Yes, love, I know. You'll understand in a moment. Let me finish my story." He waited a moment, to assure that she would not interrupt again; he pressed on.
"Now, where was I? Ah! The Raven Child snuck away from the tribe when their attention was diverted, and went into the forest all alone. There, he hunted mercilessly. He hated his name, and he hated the bird, and he hated all of the villagers of his tribe. He hated life itself, and he would have continued his wild killing spree had he not stumbled upon a snarling white wolf.
"The wolf had eyes of a brilliant amber, and though she is long-dead now, she was a brilliant Alphess in her time. Though Chogan did not understand her words in the language of the Wolf, he knew that wolves were the ultimate predator (Carmike's fur puffed out with pride at this), greater even than man with their perfect instincts and terrible teeth and claws. He fled her prescence; she had spoken of a curse to him, though he did not understand, and had flagged him as a vicious beast.
"Then came winter. She spread across the valley, her white fingertips killing all that she touched. It was the worst winter, the most horrible famine, that the tribe of Hassun's had faced for many a year. Many children died, and only two survived the awful famine. One of them was the Raven Child. Chogan and his bird, Mi'kmaq. But Chogan was very near death, for the crop that year had been small, and the meat in the forests was scarce, for nearly all the animals had died as well. And so, the naive boy completed the curse that the white she-wolf had laid upon him, and he ventured to the tent where the dead of Hassun's tribe were sheltered until they could be buried.
"He found the body of a young girl, one that had died only a few days before. Though her skin was hard with frostbite, he knew that meat warm and fresh lay beneath it. From his pocket the boy drew a knife, and he set to work sawing her limb from her body. At last.. at long last.. he had found a meal."
Chogan paused in his story, nearly trembling at the faint memory of the sour taste of human flesh and muscle. Carmike seemed grossly fascinated by his tale, a look of mingled disgust and amazement upon her young face.
"A few years passed from his desperate and naive meal of the little girl's arm. Chogan became a young man, and now it was time for him to prove his worth. He would hunt, now, his first true hunt that would be with the pride of a warrior and the intelligence of a man, and not the blind, senseless anger of a child. It was his Oshki-nitaagewin. Now, though he was a very odd child, his kind-hearted mother loved him deeply. She knew of his fascination with wolves, and she begged of him not to attempt to hunt one, for they would surely kill him. Angered by this, the boy snarled mean words to his mother's face and seized a spear and a knife; he was off, and he nor his parents knew that he should never return as a man.
"Ooh!" gasped Carmike; the temptation seemed almost too much for her. Chogan shushed her, a kind smile played about his tattered lips, and continued his story.
"Chogan began to track the prints of a wolf. By the size, he figured that it was the white wolf whom had cursed him. Anger swelled in his heart; the black raven flapped silently above him, and Chogan felt half a mind to throw his spear into the bird of misery, for he could not understand the feelings of animals then. But as he walked, a most curious thing happened; he suddenly seemed to be moving upon four legs, rather than two, and he seemed to be far smaller than he had been at one point. Confused and fearful, Chogan turned back, ignorant of what he had become.
"Now, I must backtrack for a moment. The Algonquians had a myth, you see, a myth of horrible cannibalism. If ever a man ate the flesh of another human, no matter when or why, when their first hunt came to be, they would become a vicious creature, a beast known as a Wendigo. The Wendigo were horrible creatures, despised and disgusted, and they were the very omen of death and evil. You can certainly see why Hassun's tribe would want little to do with such a monster.
"To Chogan then, once more. The Wendigo pup stumbled back to the village, blind, black fur shedding to reveal ashen skin as he tripped along. As he emerged from the shelter of the trees, villagers screamed, and his family - his own mother - kicked at him; blessings were cast upon the village to protect it from his horror, and he was shunned. The monster fled, growing even as he did so. The raven - Mi’kmaq - seemed to have vanished. Forevermore, the monster fled, farther and farther from his people, moving south, eating the flesh of those whom he crossed, and moss and his own flesh when wolves were scarce.
"But there is a happy ending, Carmike," Chogan murmured to the pup, whose eyes were bright with exhilaration at the fantastic, yet pitiful story, and seemed expectant to hear the happy ending, even though in the real story, there wasn't truly one. "At last, at long last, the Wendigo has found the one who does not shun him for being a monster. And though she is small, she means the world to him." He touched Carmike's nose gently with his own rough, jagged one, and her small, dark body wriggled with happiness at the realization that she was the one who had been able to bring him the happy ending that he had longed for.
A yell interrupted their moment of happiness. Chogan turned, indigo eyes wild with fear and fury, to see a powerful brown male crashing towards the pup and the wendigo, his fangs ripping towards them.
"Get away from her! GET AWAY!" bellowed the male, who nearly matched Chogan in size, but perhaps not in strength nor fatality. The wendigo knew how horrible her father was - that brown male, he had raped little Carmike before, had abused her, killed her brother. The bony beast reared his ugly head, protecting the four month old with his narrow, emaciated and yet rock-solid body of pure, diamond-hard bone, sabers unsheathed.
"I don't want to fight you, Xeroi," Chogan offered slightly, head lowering as he said so, white pupils fixed unmovingly upon the male's figure. But Xeroi was beyond reason, hackles raised and still plummeting towards Chogan. "Turn your head, Carmike!" cried Chogan, leaping into a stick figure's gallop to meet the male head on. "Turn away!"
His yellowed sabers clattered against Xeroi's regular sized fangs, and as the brown male fell away, Chogan's abnormal fangs slashed across his haunches. He'd thought that would be it - usually, the venom of the wendigo is so poisonous that the initial contact immobilizes the foe - but the brown male carried on his jump and staggered a few feet forward, leaving Chogan in confusion.
The screams of Carmike made him realize what was happening, and he leapt forward, roaring her name again and again - CARMIKE! CARMIKE!!! CARMIKE!!!!!
Her blood stained the earth in purple blotches, Xeroi's massive brown body twitching beside her. Anger ripped up from Chogan's throat in a rasping snarl, his sabers prepared to slash through Xeroi's jugular, when the brown male spoke in a trembling voice. Laughing? Was that laughing? And then -
"If I c - c -can't h-h-h-haavvve.. her.. ne-eether.. can you."
Chogan ate his fill and buried her body, and vanished into the cruel evening.
o t h e r none
m a t e none
p u p s none
z o d i a c cancer
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