Post by downfall347 on Sept 12, 2008 15:22:03 GMT -5
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NAME: Ratchoka
NICKNAMES: Ratch
DESIRED RANK: He doesn't go after positions of power. But open the way for him, he'll take charge, then god help you.
AGE: 23 in wolf years
LOOKS: THe picture above shows him before he left his home. Although now his fur is much grimier with his hind leg covered in what look like scares from a rather sever burn. He is slightly smaller than most wolves, always looking a bit malnourished.
ELEMENT: Flora. He communes with the plants and manipulates them for his own purposes.
PERSONALITY: Ratch is a rather hapless individual. Always seeming to show up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and always manages to get all the wrong people angry with him. Yet through this he is a survivor, and a cunning one at that. Under the smiles, the rather clumsy gimp in his leg, and the small moments of mad mumbling he is always thinking, always plotting, always looking at everything from every angle trying to figure out how he will survive the next day. Ratchoka is a creature of opportunity. If you give him an inch, he will use it gladly. But at the same time his ambition is rather lacking. He needs to be pushed to his potential if he would ever take a position of power. He generally does not hate others, but if threatened, he will sneak, he will spy, and he will plot a retaliation that is often worse than any bite or scratch.
EYES: Orange, the color of the true harvest moon
WINGS: He has none
HISTORY: Ratch grew up in a very small community, a pack of less than ten wolves who lived on a volcanic island off the coast of the main land. For many generations the pack had thrived, hidden from view from the rest of the world. After all the island's volcano was very prone to eruptions, and few thought any kind of intelligent creatures would choose to live in such a place.
From an early age Ratch was trained how to connect to the world around him, to the plants that grew in abundance all around him. He was happy, he was whole. Everything changed when he had finally left his pup years behind. As ritual stated he was taken up, to the mouth of the volcano, where he was to sit until the spirit of the sleeping fire giant would come to him, come and grant him a purpose in life, and to be given an eternal flame to burn within him.
He waited on the mountain top for days, not eating, or sleeping, or drinking, his body wasting away. This was his test, the true rite of passage. Then, as he came to deaths door, the spirit of the volcano came to him. It spoke to him in his delirium, told him a great many things, things that could never be unheard. As the spirit spoke, the flare of life began to burn in the young wolf's heart, and a fuse began to burn away in his head.
He returned to his village a success, no longer a pup but a true member of the pack. He was happy, for a week or so. Then they started, a twinge in the back of his waking mind, a scream in his dreams. He thought of fire, it was all he could think of, all he could know. It started small, a dead leaf, a dead tree, an abandoned den. He burned them, bringing fire from the mountain to fuel his urge. He could not stop, it consumed him, burning away any moment of peace he had. Only when the flames danced before him, when he licked up the ash of the destroyed, only then did he find peace.
His pack mates began to notice, began to question the blackened patches of earth they found where the mountains fire had not flowed in generations. He smiled, telling them he was fine. That night, he burned them in their dens. He was blinded in that night, blinded by the brilliance of fire, how it danced, how it licked and caressed their roasting flesh. When the sun rose, and all was done, the voice, the urge, the fuse in his head, all of it was gone.
He mourned his pack, buried what was left of them, and plotted his own demise. He was thinking clearly for the first time since the spirit of the volcano had come to him, and he knew he no longer deserved life in any form. He moved to the top of the volcano, prepared to cast himself into its depths. To burn as his pack had. But fate had other things ordained for him, and as he began his climb, the earth began to shake. The volcano was about to speak.
The tremors, the mudslide that rushed him out to sea, the broken tree he clung to, all was a blur to him. What he did remember, was those two days that he clung to the log, his leg bleeding in the water from a sever burn, salt clinging to his fur. Finally, he found himself washing up on a foreign shore. He had arrived in the land of waterfalls. He looked up from his spot in the sand, letting out a long sound of pain to the wind, a pain deeper than any wound. For as he saw the new land, the life that surrounded him, the fuse in his head began to burn anew. He collapsed, and there he sleeps on the shores of a whole world of things to burn.
OTHER INFO: His control over the fire spirits urge is better controlled now, but still ever present. On another note, he has always had trouble hunting, he doesn't like to kill anything, the irony of his situation isn't lost on him either.
MATE: None
PUPS: None
ZODIAC SIGN: Capricorn