Kage Sioux [done]

[Kage Sioux†]

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[atrb=background,http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z418/Cinematicproductions/Kagemid-2.gif] Name: Kage Sioux Sex: Male Birth-Date: December 2306 Age: 4 Species:Full-Moon Wolf Pack:Loner Rank: N/A Duty:N/A Appearance: Forged of blood and dark chocolate, the brute’s appearance lies without certainty somewhere between horrific and handsome. The black pelt is compiled of rough hairs, all different lengths to gift a shaggy, roguish look. Some patches are lighter, softer shades of the color, while most are a deeper, darker tone, like around most of his face. While many areas of his coat can be mistaken for black, along his scruff and on his elbows, you can be quite certain that they have been painted the darkest of charcoal. Despite having such disheveled looking fur, one can still notice that much effort has been put in to keep it –while not straight- clean. Not that dirt or mud would be evident on night dyed locks, the male makes certain that none catches a ride. What lady likes a man who smells like scats? Aside the daily tongue bath, when near water, fur is given a wash there, where it gleams like never expected and darkens. Alas, within minutes of sitting out of the liquid, the coat loses its momentary gloss and almost appears dry, though it truthfully is not. In a few more minutes, it will have gone back to its usual, bushy black state. In body structure, the savage is no more than average, having nothing particularly astonishing about him. He stands at a rather ordinary height for your common male, though how head is held low may cause him to appear shorter. The hunter is especially bulky around his shoulders, chest, thighs, and torso, muscle built under his pelt that shows with pride. His supports though, are a bit oddly lanky, not quite matching his large torso. Bases are wide, the claws upon them narrow and curved in a way akin to the talons of a predatory bird. Within a crowd, the being finds it quite useful to be able to blend in well, aside the few eye-catching marks upon his flesh. His eyes are a bright golden, shining as if sunlight were being reflected in those optics. It were as if someone had chipped off pieces of the stars and put it in his eyes, which help captivate his female friends in so easily. In the dead of night, one would only be able to see the color of his eyes and teeth because of the dark shade of his pelt. His stare might be one closely resembled to an intimidating one, even in the brightest of lights. Skills: Because of his long history in fighting and close combat, Kage is well built for hunting down an animal and tracking it's movements. His eyesight and hearing are exceptional when he is in his hunting mode and could tell you the exact details of an animal only after tracking it for an hour or two. His father also gave him a moto that helped him build his negotiating skills. "My way or the highway". Yet in this case...the highway would be heaven or hell. Scars design parts of his body and so his stamina and quick movements may not be up to par but dont underestimate him. Personality: Sometimes, it can be noticed that somewhere within the thousands of cogs and screws that build up Kage's mind, some are a bit loose, or just missing altogether. He hides it well, not even on purpose, but it is just too conspicuous on occasion. One may catch him talking to a distant, and invisible companion, though to him, it is far from invisible. The being which seems to appear only to his eyes is a mirror of him, though missing many important details. The creature is the same size, has the same scar and arcana mark on his shoulder, though they are flipped like how they would be in a true mirror, the scar being on his right side. The figment is akin to a shadow from the deepest of nightmares, lacking eyes, a mouth, and simple details aside the scar and arcana mark. Truly, the only thing defining its structure is the outline of its black body, sketchy looking and moving as though it lives apart from the creature. The monster’s voice is almost like that of a malfunctioning robot, constantly changing pitches as it speaks. It has been with Kage as long as he can remember (that being just after the death of his mother), and over time he’s learned not to fear it. The creature, which he has dubbed Alclahyr, often speaks to him giving advice, and has saved his life many a time. It is not unusual while engaged in a conversation with Kage to see his gaze drifting from you own and to the side. He will openly speak to Alclahayr, disregarding the fact that another is present. To further deepen the fright that the male may offer one, Kage has his own god which he worships entirely. The god, Creon, is one no one seems to have ever heard of, leading many to believe –despite anything he says– that he made it up. The dark male will often take time out of his day to pray, extreme irritation arising should one interrupt, followed by curses in an odd (and probably made up as well) language along with words of how Creon will smite the unfortunate interrupter. At any location which Kage has settled into for a little while, a crude alter has always been found or made somewhere near. When at “home” it is the main place where he prays, and at least thrice a week he will bring a dying and immobilized animal to rest upon the alter for Kage to feed upon its remaining life, often leaving the stone or stump bloodstained. It takes barely any effort to enrage the male, and once set into a state of anger, it takes hours before anyone can even get through the wall to possibly calm him. Of course, one must find the right buttons to push to get him started. That should not deter any who seek the dangerous and sadistic pleasure of infuriating another being though, for the code is as simple as one, two, three. No consideration for who his rage is taken out on is given, be it a pack mate or the alpha; any remaining sense is completely lost for the duration of the fit. If all living creatures have evacuated the area for the frenzy, the brute will turn to the scenery and destroy to his heart’s content. Surprisingly, there was once a time when such rage attacks did not occur for the male. Despite seeming completely overwhelmed with insanity from previous description, the brute tends to do quite normal things as well. For example, he cannot deny, he likes his women. Amazingly, most of the time, Kage can maintain a semblance of sanity, and while that illusion has placed the rug over his dirt pile of a mind, a female is something he often finds himself after. Smooth words that contradict his state of being slip quickly from jaws, and flirty smirks and winks are not foreign to his scarred facials. Even though the brute will put a slight effort into getting a lady to sleep with him, he will not become desperate; there are always plenty of others. If a female is lured in though, they are simply used for pleasures and often abandoned no too much later. No care seems capable of living within his soul for another, and no amount of crying will spark a new consideration. On many occasions, the poor woman has even been killed. The brute is extremely straightforward and insensitive to others’ feelings. Should his option be asked upon a subject, the answer will be given without a second thought to how other wolves will react. Even if another is pushed into crying by his response, no more than a snort of disgust will come from Captor, and if the other has not pulled themselves together by then, he will leave. He is no hypocrite either, for should one feel the need to “give him a taste of his own medicine” the same snort may be given back, or a simple, uncaring, bored look. He can take just what he gives. Honestly, the lunatic is far from any sort of evil. Instead, he is a true neutral, doing what will benefit his life the most. If it means helping an old lady cross the street, he will gladly put on the good boy act and do so, as long as there’s some profit for him. If he can improve his life by murdering someone, than that is what he will do. In no way is he to be mistaken for a sadistic, blood lusting killer, but rather a man with few morals who is simply trying his best to survive, and achieve a single goal. History: They say that your history is the most important thing. They say that to truly understand who you are, why you are who you are, and what your actions really mean, one needs to push through the story of your present life to see the truth of your history. Your present course can be changed and alter your future, but the past is the past and is written in stone. It cannot be changed no matter much you want it to or how much you are ashamed. Some say that sad stories are over-rated and don't deserve the attention. Some say sad histories give us canines the excuse to act out and walk around as if we have every right in the world to be called 'insane' or 'depressed..just for attention. Or maybe just because it's what is considered 'cool' these days. But let me tell you something, we don't choose our histories. We don't choose the life we are born into or those we are cursed to be with. Only the deprived have happy and simple beginnings. Only the strong can have hard histories. Our lives are meant to be challenge after challenge. A life with no challenges is no life at all. And here is the story of my real life. Just as one last warning, it may not be as pleasant as you wish it to be. I was born to a mother and father and had three littermates. My mother was kind enough, but my father was a cruel, cruel wolf. We didn't live alone though. What we were among you might think of as a "gang." It was a group of a bunch of hard-looking felines, always on the outlook for trouble and fights. My mother often felt out of the mix, but there were a couple other softies in the group as well. My brothers and I loved her, but I loved her the most. And I hated my father from the start. He was always mean to my mother, yelling and screaming at her for the smallest things. He tried to act nicer towards his kits and although my brothers fell for his calmness, I didn't believe him. I was suspicious of him, but more than anything, I was afraid of him. Even back then, my cowardice shined brightly. My father hated me for it. My brothers weren't scared of a thing. One was as muscular as me in appearance, the other was slim. They made a good pair in fighting, but my father was convinced even when we were still young pups that a trio was better than a duo. I disappointed him even back then. I was a momma's boy and I am not afraid to admit it. I hung out every moment I could with her, avoiding my father every chance I got. As soon as I got too old to keep hanging around my mother though, he became a huge shadow in my life. Starting around my 7 month marking, he started to become even more unbearable. He pulled me away from my mother. I would yowl and beg him to leave me alone, but he was determined to have me grow up like all the other members of the gang - heartless and without mercy. He started training me to fight, he taught me the importance of fighting. He had me fight against my brothers, himself, and others many of him were three times me skill and age. The worst part about all of this, we fought with teeth ripping flesh and with full force of our being. Every wound we caused was real. Every piece of pain we inflicted, we were taught to love and to accept. We were taught that fighting was a part of life and the scars that came along with it, merely reminders of what not to do. There. Now you know why I have the minor scars. The ones speckled across my body in places seen and unseen? But that only explains them, not the two that matter. Well, we'll tackle those soon enough. But getting back to the story, I had no choice. If I tried to stay with my mother, he would drag me away like all the other times. Eventually, I gave in and gave him what he wanted, though he wasn't pleased. I didn't like fighting and I didn't like hurting those I was meant to live with - especially my brothers. My father could see that every night after training I would go to my mother. I would lay down beside her and talk to her. I would say that I didn't like what he was trying to get me to do. I would tell her that I didn't want to be there anymore. But more importantly, I told her I wanted to leave with her. My father overheard that one night and was not pleased about it. Not one bit. He let it slide for a couple months, keeping a strict eye on my mother and I. But when I reached eleven months of age, he had had enough. He was always worried that he would awake to find the two of us gone and there was no way he was ever going to let that happen. So he cornered my mother and I away from the rest of the group where no-one else would ever see us. He attacked my mother in front of me, and killed her. He slit her throat and the whole time I was screaming for him to stop, for him to leave her alone and to let her live. He told me right before her struggles stopped. He said that I would have no choice to do as he said when she was gone because she was all that I had. She was the only threat my father had against my loyalty to him and the rest of the group. But I still begged, I pleaded. He told me that I needed to learn a lesson, that I needed to learn that he was ready to do anything in order to keep me under his power. He left her body there and walked over to me and placed his paw on my tail. "If you give me any reason to do you," he said, "I'll kill you. Until that day...maybe pain every now and again wouldn't be that bad. You know, as reminders?" A vicious grin crossed his face then and I shivered uncontrollably with my eyes wide. I couldn't stand up to him and I surrendered. Doing what he wanted was better than dying. I wasn't ready to die. So what else was I to do but to follow his word? I was still young, and he still had power over me. Months passed and I did everything my father told me to do. I fought who he told me to fight. I hurt other wolves that I had nothing against merely because either he didn't like them or because he wanted me to get stronger. These days I wonder whether he wanted me to get stronger in the sense of muscles or in the sense of becoming emotionally distant. Like him. Either way, they both happened. Muscled started to line my body even more than they had naturally. Soon I was stronger than one of my brothers, while never knowing what was really happening. I was distant, they days seemed to pass in a mindless blur. It felt...it felt like I was no longer in my body. It felt like I was outside it, watching as it did things that I never told it to do. I knew I lost control of my future that day my father killed my mother and I knew I gave up on becoming who I wanted to become. I started to mingle with the others of the gang, looking for anyone that I might befriend, but they were all fiends and no matter what I could do, I could never be one of them. I never could and I would rather be distant and alone than distant and cold-hearted. But that’s who I found myself starting to become. With no one around me now my mind started to slip out of reality. I was fighting a battle within myself of who my father wanted me to be, and who I didn’t want to become. I had to please my father but I didn’t want to let myself go to the point where I didn’t remember who I once was. Who I knew I was still deep inside. But I was helpless to the fight and the truth became more and more prominent. With no one physically around to talk to, I started talking to someone new. Someone who started to consume my mind and every thought I had. Alclahyr wasn’t a tangible wolf like everyone else, but it was sometimes hard for me to tell the difference. He acted like a parasite or a demon hell bent to possess me and you know what? I let him. This was only the beginning. Besides my own personal slow slip into insanity, my father had one last test for me to prove that I had become the son that he had always wanted me to be. I still have no idea why he was so hard on me. Maybe it was because I had always been mama's boy and he wanted to break me. If he could break me to be his, then it would be a big accomplishment for him. Or perhaps he was just a devil. But anyway, one night he came up to me and told me that I could leave the gang if I wanted on one condition, that I would kill my brother. Not the strong one, not the one that held as much muscle as I, but the leaner one. The weaker one. I screamed at him and told him no. I would never hurt my brother. I couldn't! I might have fought them in the way the gang made us, but killing was a whole different situation and I wouldn't stand for it. He wasn't making it a choice. He leaped at me when he was certain that I didn't plan to follow the order and pinned me to the ground. "You will do it, whether you like it or not." He took one of his claws at that moment and dragged it along my spine. Just then it hit me what this being was in my mind…it was a representation of my father. Something that was etched into my mind that wouldn’t go away. The more I tried fighting it, the more it wanted me. The more it wanted to make me like him. You have no idea how badly it hurt. I remember laying there, feeling his weight on my back. I remember feeling his claw digging into the base of my neck. I remember feeling it as it seemed to touch the bones of my spine. I remember as he started to slowly drag it down, bit by bit. I remember yowling in pain and I remember no-one coming to help me. If there was anyone nearby, they didn't care. Even today, if I close my eyes, I flash back to this moment. I...I just can't forget it! By the time he reached half-way down my back, I had had enough. I begged him top stop. I told him I would do it. I told him I'd kill my brother if he let me go and stopped with the pain. Just like I had when he killed my mother, I gave in. I have no idea why I resisted in the first place. Maybe it was because he offered me freedom that I thought that he had been giving me a choice, not an order. I was about two years and three months old and I was acting like a stupid little pup. I had forgotten everything I knew about my father - he never ever gave anyone any choices. Things had to go exactly as planned and I knew I was nothing but a piece of his larger plan. He let me go and I immediately found my brother. Please…please understand, I'm not proud of any of this. I don't like being a coward, but was one. I never had any reason to stand up and face death in the face. No reason to think that my life was lived well. My brother and I fought and he fought well. I said I was stronger than him, but it wasn't by much of a degree and when you're life depended on winning, you could pull off some pretty big stuff. In the end, I was also fighting for my life and I defeated him. Scars and blood traced my body, especially coming from my spine. It hadn't healed and I was surprised I had defeated my brother at all, but I felt dead anyway. I turned my back on my brother's body and ran away. I didn't want to see him anymore and I never would. My dad promised me freedom. He promised me a life away from the gang and I took it. I ran as far and as fast as my drained body would take me until I collapsed on the ground. Wet, cold, bloody, and as tired as hell, I had no idea what I was suppose to do with my life. If I had a life of my own left at all. The voice in my head soothed me somehow and told me everything was going to be alright. That I would be re-made in his vision soon and things like this would become the norm. He told me that I would be happy, and at this point…that’s all I wanted. I managed to wake-up the next day and looked for plants and herbs to heal myself with - the one good thing that ever came out of fighting in a gang like that is that I knew what to use. Months passed and I managed to get back to normal as well as I ever would be allowed to. My health isn't perfect, but with a history like that, you can't expect my body to be in fit condition. I get sick easily and the pains in my body come out easily enough. But, I still owe you one more explanation about my appearance, don't I? The scar over my heart like someone tried to rip it out from my body? I'll keep it short and simple because I think you've heard enough of my voice already. Let's just say my other brother wasn't happy when he found our brother's body when my scent all over it. He showed our father and came after me. Five months later he found me and attacked me. He was always stronger than I. He knocked me down to the ground and told me that I had ripped his heart out by killing our brother and how was going to do the same to me. His claws dug into my chest and I passed out. All I remember is waking up a few days later. I had no idea what happened. But I was with someone. I remember looking up and the voice in my head wasn’t a voice anymore. It was a being right in front of me. Deep down I knew it wasn’t real but I pretended like it was. His gaze wasn’t as harsh as my fathers was yet he looked very similar to him. I tried moving expecting to feel immense pain but to my surprise, I didn’t feel a thing. He had healed me and my body was clear of most of the scars. He told me to get up and that’s what I did. My body felt great. More so than it has in a long time. I was about to thank him but his paw rose and his eyes glowed brighter. He asked me to follow him and to keep him with me. That if I was with him at all times, I would never have to hold a bad memory in my mind ever again. This was only if I did was what he said, exactly how he said it. This reminded me so much of my father but what else did I have to lose? And this leaves off to where I am today. There’s my story and now you realize why I may act the way I do sometimes. It’s all apart of his plan. His work. Im nothing but a puppet on his strings…you can leave now. Other: RPer: I N K-Heart.

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[Vel]

accepted!
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Your application looks stunning as always. I love how much detail you go into with appearance and personality. Your character histories are always very well written and thought out. They always explain a lot about who your character is and why he or she is who they are today. And I know I always say this but gorgeous table! ;] Have fun roleplaying with Kage.