IP: 97.89.120.8
Posted on February 28, 2012 at 11:30:56 AM by Nathaniel
 Player name: Kaziph
Found Shaman: Through a current member recommendation (Tay) Name: Nathaniel Gender: Male Appearance: Dark brown eyes and hair, white skinned, often sporting a scruffy, few-day-old beard, measures approximately 6'2", weighs in at around 189lbs Age: Approximately 29 to 31 Personality: Anger and disgust with himself are his current and worst personality traits. Waking up as a human can do that to a wolf, though, and although he is gamely trying to survive in his new form, he hates every moment of it. As a wolf he was proud, just, intelligent, loyal… all the qualities of a good leader. Now, as a human-like creature, he is bitter about the change. Somewhere deep inside of him, though, lurks the old Nathaniel. The creature within him simply cannot find its way back out, yet. It'll need some help. Having a familiar that looks achingly like his deceased father (and also miserably represents everything he left behind him) doesn't improve his attitude, and his relationship with the wolf familiar, named Jeremiah after his sire, is strained at best. History: In his previous life, Nathaniel was a wolf… and not just an average wolf, either. He was the alpha male of his pack. He was in his prime, mated to a lovely she-wolf that had long since stolen his heart - and then an ill timed blow from a caribou's hoof ended it all. He begged to live, but instead of life continued with his family his soul found its way here, to Shaman, to live out the rest of his existence as something akin to a man. Sample post: He put his head into his hands and moaned. The sound was heartfelt; it came from the deepest recesses of his soul. All that he had known… all those that he had loved. Gone. He remembered vaguely the last few moments he'd spent as a wolf, running wild with his brothers and sisters in bond and blood. They'd been hunting big game, caribou, that ran in the upper reaches of his pack's territory. His pack. Oh, what would they do without him? He was their leader, their alpha male. And his mate! Poor Nanuk. Her face had been the last he'd seen. The hind they'd chosen was weak from illness, but he'd underestimated her will to survive. They'd run her down, him and Torik and the others. Chased her for miles. Then, she'd stumbled, and Nathaniel had signaled the pack. He came in first, as was expected. He would never have led his family into danger without first stepping into it himself. The doe had turned on him, and he'd been careful… but not quick enough. The hoof struck him across the side of his head, landed a direct blow to his temple. He remembered the pain, seeing red as he hit the ground. He'd tried to rise, but his body had not responded. He was already dying. The others, his family, they came. Not yet, Maker, please, not yet, he'd begged. Nathaniel was a strong wolf; he'd just stepped into his prime. He had only sired his first litter earlier in the spring of that year, and their frightened faces swam before him in and out of focus. I cannot die yet. It isn't my time. He had never considered that such a thought would both save and damn him. His soul had clung to life, and when his body gave up his ghost, he felt himself slip away from the world that he knew and the wolves that he loved. Everything became dark - pressed in around him. Frightened and miserable, his spirit fled, and, incidentally, found an escape. He tumbled through space and time without regard to his passing. He heard echoes of other voices, and though they were strangers to him he called out. Is anyone there? A deep voice had answered, one that sounded like his father, Jeremiah. "I am here, Nathaniel. You are not alone." And so, content for a moment, he'd lost consciousness and faded into the cold emptiness of death. Or so he'd thought. The sun dawned pale in the morning sky. He'd not understood the strange difference in the colors at first. They were… muted, as though all the life had been drained out of them. Too, there was more blue, and the ocean… how he knew what the strange expanse of water before him was, he couldn't even begin to say. He rose from the sand, and realized immediately what was wrong. His body… it was not the grand, noble body of a wolf anymore. No, it was horrendous and ugly. Naked, hairless except for a thin (to a wolf, anyway) layer that covered only patches of him. He cried out a wordless bellow of fury and fell to thrashing on the cold sand. Even the feel of the course grains against him made his ire rise. "What has happened to me?" he snarled, but the worlds felt different even as they left his mouth. No growls, no guttural rumbles that portrayed his feelings to the world. They were foreign and loud, but he knew the meaning of them. Just as he was about to drag himself into the water to attempt a second death, one that would free him from this horrible form… a wolf appeared. Or rather, he caught sight of it. The timber gray creature lay in the shadows of the dunes, its amber eyes glistening as the morning rays reflected off of its pupils. It watched him with the uncanny eeriness common to the wild canine; its unfathomable expression seemed to him all too painfully familiar. The figure was his father incarnate, although Jeremiah had died many, many seasons before. "Father…" he said, but the wolf stared at him, met his eyes. It was a challenge in the world of the wild, and Nathaniel felt his hackles lifting on the back of his human neck. Regardless of who this stranger was, Nathaniel still retained the sense of authority, dominance, and pride that had brought him to the top of the hierarchy in his clan. The wolf kept their gazes locked. Then, it spoke. The sound wasn't something that he heard with his ears, though; it reverberated inside of his head in all all encompassing voice. No, the wolf said. I am you, Nathaniel. This pronouncement had nearly ended his consciousness again. He collapsed to his new-found knees. The wolf stood and approached without any of the commonplace signals that passed between greater and lesser. He came forth as an equal, and Nathaniel wanted to recoil. Years of leading his family kept him firmly rooted in place, however, and the wolf touched his hand with its muzzle. With that touch came, too, understanding. All of the mysteries that fogged his mind were cleared and explained. He had come to Shaman, indirectly. When his soul had left his first form, his wish for life had been granted, and now, like it or not, he lived again - as a man. There was no going back. His mate and children would live on without him; another would lead in his place, rule his pack. He would now live out the rest of his life as a man, or something akin to one. Man, whom he'd hated as a wolf. A sense of self loathing had rolled over him until he couldn't see anything but red again. Try as he might, his familiar, the wolf who resembled his father but cruelly was not, could not rein in the anger, and so they remained on the beach for several days as he slowly grew accustomed to his new, strange body. It moved differently - he realized that first. He was forced to walk on his hind legs, which simply felt unnatural. His paws had become stranger, too. The toes were slender, especially on his front legs. He could maneuver the off-toe which had born his dew claw; before it had always hung useless. His familiar retrieved something he'd called clothes on the second day and instructed him, briefly, in their use. The jeans fit loosely and had holes from their previous owner's wear, and the dark blue, checkered with off-white, button up shirt smelled oddly of dried grass. He rolled up his sleeves with practice, though, and the wolf brought him food found easily along the shoreline. But today, after a week on the beach, he realized how serious his situation was. He could never return. He could never become a wolf again, and the creature that he was blessed to have share his soul was the very embodiment of his father and all that had been taken away from him. So he sat among the dunes, clinging to the memory of his mate, his love, and their family. The pain in his chest grew until he wanted to howl, to sing out his misery. But the only sounds he could make were human, and they were not adequate enough to express the brokenness of his soul. So he put his head into his ugly, long human hands and moaned again. The wolf, laying at his side, merely looked upon him with pity, for there was nothing he could do to help his other half. |
Replies:
- accepted - By Merlin February 29, 2012 at 10:04:50 PM
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