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Posted on November 21, 2013 at 00:44:23 AM by Ezzy
Boasting the stature of a neolithic Barbarian from eons past; this particular Varg was a veritable powerhouse of overlapping muscle and tendon. He was tall, but unseasonably lean for his size, though he was still a daunting adversary to any field of combat. The sheer mass of his skull alone could deal a killing blow with only the brute force of his weight riding behind him, a battering ram that could pummel the weak. And if that weren't enough, he came equipped with a full set of rapacious claws, unusually long for a normal canid, along with curved saber-like fangs that served as efficient executioners to finish the job inside his vice-like jaws. He was a Beast, but a silent, contemplative one. At least for the moment. D'Manaco had spent the years of his youth mustering the Willpower to tamp down an nuance of personal feeling. It was a matter of survival, a tactical strategem to keep the blackouts at bay. To keep the Demon inside him carefully chained and restrained. To Feel was to be Weak, was to lose Control. And for D'Manaco, to lose Control, meant the Monster inside him Gained it ... and when that happened... No One Was Safe. The surly rogue bore a hide of platinum, lashed over in a mottling of sterling and pewter brindle. the wild pelt was unkempt with dirt and debris until it lacked it's handsome luster, bearing a forever messy, tousled look. The thick rough of his mane was more akin to that of a mohawk, spiking up in random places only to make his figure all the more formidable whether he wished it or not. A pewter helm encases the turrets of his ears, wrapping back to taper down the nape of his neck, and a black snip reached up the bridge of his broad muzzle in a sharp diamond shape, that same pitch hue engulfing the whole of his bottom jaw to fade into the hollow of his throat. Ink tipped each paw, and the end of his whip, which currently lashed and twitched around his forepaws as he watched the strange female before him with obvious irritation. It wasn't any surprise she hadn't noticed him sprawled out beneath a grove of bracken along the lake shore. His hide always served as adequate camouflage, especially in the late fall and winter seasons. He was positioned downwind of her, for he always took great care in choosing a post with which to find rest. She stared at herself in the placid gloss of the water, seeming to regard the reflection that stared back at her with a measure of contempt or longing. He supposed he would feel a bit of either with a mug like hers.... not to say He wasn't without his fair share of battle wounds. When you ravage the landscape every fortnight or so, you are bound to come out with a few scratches and dings. Most of D'Manacos was hidden beneath the layer of grime and grit that dirtied his hide, but they could be seen, particularly the large ugly gash on his chest, which had permanently removed a patch of that dense fur to reveal the ugly scar tissue beneath. The goring was a repulsive sight, a hideous reminder from a black bear, where it's talons had jabbed into D'Manaco's chest cavity and had only barely missed his heart before raking down between his forelegs to his undercarriage. It was a wonder even to D'Manaco how he managed to escape such a Squirmish. But he had no recollection of the event, for it was the Demon inside him that had gone up against such a powerful foe. But D'Manaco could only assume that was where this immense wound had come from, for he'd awakened hours later, many miles from where he could last recall, lying beside the carcass of a bear cub, perhaps only 2 months old. it's entire hind end had been eaten away, gnawed at until the entrails spilled out into the ground... devoured by the ravenous appetite of the beast locked inside him. He had no idea what had become of the cub's mother, nor did he wish to... the very fact that he was still alive was miraculous in and of itself. Silly females.... they were all the same. Entirely too concerned about their outward appearances. She should take pride in that face of hers, in every wound and scar. He could imagine her thoughts right now, wishing herself prettier, lovelier, something to be fawned over. Perhaps with a pretty little pack to call her own along with it. Fool's Dreams. Nonsense. † D ' M A N A C O † 365 Heavens To Destroy Bastard † 5 years of Filth † Single Wraith † No Hellish Domain † Monster Spawn of Abraxas & Teagan |
Replies:
- Re(1): 365 Heavens To Destroy - By ZigZag November 19, 2013 at 06:13:56 PM
Merrr - By Ezzy January 6, 2014 at 06:53:04 PM
Re(1): Merrr - By ezzy January 6, 2014 at 07:48:13 PM
Re(2): Merrr - By ezzy January 6, 2014 at 07:50:42 PM
Mee-ow - By Faline January 16, 2014 at 06:41:54 PM
mew - By ezzy January 14, 2014 at 10:25:07 PM
Danny - By Ezzy January 14, 2014 at 11:01:06 PM
Practice - By D'manaco January 22, 2014 at 00:51:43 AM
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