.Shyam., Darkness Has A New Prince

[Shyam]

ooc:

Name: Cammie
Age: 13, nearly 14
Email: camielancia_72@hotmail.com
How long have you wolf role played: 3-4 years.


Your Character

Name: Shyam Lestrange
Age: Three Years And Counting
Species: Gray Wolf
Gender: Bloke
Family (1 paragraphs):
Shyam never had much of a family. Sure, he knew his birth mother, but hardly nothing of his birth father. But he can piece together things. His mother, was a ebony enchantress. Cunning, and seductive, she brought a brutal rape upon herself, by the guessed to be ivorian coloured bloke believed to be little Shyam's father. His mother refuses to even mention the name, nor looks of her assailant, but it can be guessed that he has a ice white pelt, due to the colourations of the offspring that was produced. All of his siblings, are either white, or black, white outweighing the number of black. His smallest sister, Deborah, is the only other black one in the litter, aside from himself. Airstole, Dara and Terrien are all painted in full, lustrous white coats. His mother, Dariare, the ebony beauty, adopted her self, a timber coloured mate, that was like a father to the pups of hers. All the pups took to him, never being told he wasn't their true father.

Personality (2 paragraphs): Now, you could say, with a mostly full family, Shyam had no to reason to turn upon violence for a hobby, to look for fun in slaughtering, to ease his mind in the devouring of the flesh of his own kind, but he did. Perhaps, it was the nature of his father, borne into him, perhaps, his radical change, into a merciless creature, from a pup who had everything he could want, was inevitable. Who knows if he' always saw the darker, morbid side of things. All that is known, about this sick-minded bloke, of odd colourations, is that he likes what he does. He has no plans for love, he only has hatred in his bulky form. The hatred, well it could only have been borne from one thing, and I shall get further into that later. He can be thought to be closed to everything, but pain, and suffering. And trust me, he is not the one in pain, nor suffering. He get surges of the closest thing to joy he can experience, watching other squirm, under torture, and hearing shrieks of pain, knowing that he caused them.

His cabalism, is something that just well, happened. He loved the surge of power he felt, as his enemies, or just opponents, blood tricked into his mouth, so warm, so coppery.. it was the taste of sweet victory, and the lust of power over took him before long. The surge of power, the rush the taste of blood brought, grew old, as if searching for a new high, he searched for the way to get that feeling of invincibility again. It came to him, in the form of devouring his opponents, sometime, alive. He'd done it before, and the whines, and yelps, well they were of a new magnitude. It was a total change. They weren't just hurting, they were dying, and they could feel it. He was killing them, piece by piece, and it was in one of the worse ways possible. Not to mention, the rush of blood that followed the ripping away of the others flesh. It was too good to be true. He is a cannibal through and through.

Detailed Description (1 paragraph)(include hobbies, fears and dislikes): Right now, here we go. As I had mentioned, all of his siblings were either white or black. None shared the two colours. Except him. He was dashed, and drizzled with both colours, all over his body. A tawny brown-black covering most of his body, but a pure ice white making it self, very seen at random places all over his long, bulky frame. Will start up high. His large crania, of the chocolate brown-black colour, is dipped white at the muzzle. A beautify different marking that is, coming out to the joining of his velvety lips, and his leathery nares, to the base of his muzzle, right below his eyes. Along the largest section of his frame, his stomach, shoulder blades, haunches etc, is random frosts of white. His hind flanks are dappled with splashes and flecks here and there, mostly about the base of his long, thick plume. All down his strong front legs, is more sprinklings of white, but not as much as on his back side. His shoulder blades remain mostly free of white, but down on sides, is a curl of thick groupings of white, that lead to a fully white underbelly. His eyes, are possibly more unique than his colouring. The lack all colour what so ever. A bleak gray they are, almost white, if you will go as far as that. He can see perfectly fine, though one can guess that in his much later days, he by chance, will be prone to losing his vision, part-way if not all the way. His fur is thick, and smooth looking, though is is mostly corse, unlike the commonly soft textures. He has a thick build over all, rather muscular, with a bit of fat upon him, but not too much. His legs are thick at the joints, and are still a bit abnormally wide at his paws, which, are as you are sure to have guessed, rather large. Okay, well, hobbies and what not. As I have basically mentioned, they are nothing more than killing, sparing, and well, devouring his opponents alive. Perhaps there are fears living deep in the black heart of this monstrosity, but he is sure to never let such things be public knowledge. His dislikes, are, well, anyone and everyone.
Explain his/her History (3 paragraphs): Well now, perhaps, we should start with the conception of this beast. His father, a lone, ice coloured bloke, took a fancy, to a "royal" black beauty. She was a bit of a runner. Being she led about the males, for a game, and always left them hanging. This time, though, she had not even begun her game with the male. He just had his way with her and left. His hide had become very much wanted for contaminating the daughter of the high lord alpha of the pack he had come to, as an accepted visitor. The months that the lone beast's abominations grew in her stomach, were ones she spent, never allowed to leave the den of her father's choice. She'd become a burden, and a shame to him. It was not her fault, but the wandering male's. Tired of such unfair treatment by her father, and the wolves under her father, she fled the pack, near to the date of her children's birth.

On the eve of the birth date of her offspring, a wandering timber male, happened upon a crudely made den. He stared with interest, at the beauty of a female, in the depths of the cavern, and found her state. He pledged his help to her, promising to bring her food whilst she could not get it her self, and taking a oath of promised protection of her children, who were soon to be coming. One could not call it love at first sight, but later on, after Shyam and his siblings were of an older age, the love was there.

Shyam, had always been the smart one. Or well, the cynical one at least. He knew, even though both 'parents' denied it, that Malchor was indeed, not his father. He was too cunning, to take that the white about him, and the majority of his siblings, was from the timber bloke. He knew it was someone else out there, and it stuck in his little mind, to find out just who it was. Perhaps that’s the very beginning of where this sweet looking little pup, started to turn sour.

He broke away from the comfort of a family very early. The second he had slightly begun to comprehend how to hunt, he had hauled tail out of there. He had nothing to go on, nothing, but he was determined he was going to find the real bloke that created him. All he had, was a hunch, of what his father would look like, and as far as he knew, he could be far off.

Things get fuzzy here, being Shyam refuses ever to ever speak of the happinings of his first, and most of his second years of life. It can be belived that he found his father, and things did not go so well.

He emerged from his travels, a bloodlusting killer. Wanting only to strike out his newly found hate and rage on aynone who would stay around him long enough. Not muc more to emblish upon, exepct the fact that his rage and hate never seem at a loss, and he's developed hismelf into a merciless canabial...
Give an example of your role play (2 paragraphs): The male was not far away. His body grew stiffer, the second the husky had let a chorus of growls slide from his throat. As he his neck muscles contracted, and then stretched again, as he sifted his body position slightly, he gazed into the deepest shadows. It took a moment, but just that, a moment for his orbs to adjust. The second the shadows seemed to clear, well, lighten, his gaze befell the husky. Perhaps equal in size, length wise, but much bulkier. The Adid was a breed of more slender, and furry dogs. He watched as Caspian stalked closer. The fight with the former Alpha, Furgamor, had left the large Siberian Husky with just a mere slash across the maw. Shyam had managed well again Furgamor, but the Sloughi had gotten in a better shot on him than he managed on the husky. Perhaps, the former, former Alpha, would remain so. A soft growl wished to make it self heard as the husky pushed himself up off the cold ground, and stalked causally towards him. He noticed the confidence about the alpha, and instead of thinking he was underestimating his ability to fight, he saw himself. When he had approached Furgamor. But perhaps he was over-evaluating the dominance shown by his opponent, and yet, perhaps he was not. He had no thoughts of this challenge being easier than with Furgamor; If anything, he looked at it as harder. He was now the one coming to take away what the other had eared. He was the one facing all the will, all the determination of keeping the pack the Husky had built up. But, Furgamor had managed to dethrone Shyam.. And Caspian to dethrone Furgamor.. It was Shyam’s turn to take control of the fight, and seize his leadership over Hell’s Hounds once more.

The Husky had started to circle him, like a beast sizing him his prey. Shyam had taken it into his head, that the challenger was to strike first, and being he thought this.. He was taken off guard by his aggressive, and assertive motions. He had halted the moment the husky began to circle him, and braced himself, for any sort of charge. His head was kept lower, keeping his most vulnerable area, aside from his spinal chord, and stomach, safely guarded. His spine was protected partly, by his extremely thick fur. This time, the advantage of thick fur, was shared between the two fighters. Shyam had gained the upper hand with Furgamor’s nearly hairless body. He hadn’t needed to rip thorough mouth-fulls of fur to rip away at his flesh. His legs were shorter than most, and thus, his stomach would be hard for the larger husky to rip at, unless his talons were set to do so. He half-straddled his strong legs again, to brace a charge.

Just as the Adid had adjusted his standing, the husky charged. He leaned his shoulder forward, to meet the blow, and found himself falling for exactly what the Siberian Husky had set him to fall for. The charge never came, but strong fangs did come to tear at his flesh. An all over attack was set up by the husky, and he made note, while he could, of the ferocity of the blows. The male had used every part of his large body to attack just about every section of Shyam he could. Talons raked down his side, but he barely flinched. His fur had absorbed a good deal of the blow from the other male’s claws, and only a bit of blood would seep from the scratches. He was jarred roughly the next second, the hindquarters of the husky slamming him hard. He could not hold in a loud grunt. His stance falters, and he found himself nearly tipping from his paws and onto the ground. Had he not be wise enough to still hold himself braced for a charge, he would have toppled quickly. Before he could recover from the temporary stun he had suffered from the strike, he felt fangs closing smartly in the area Furgamor had aimed to repeatedly tear. Again, his long fur aided him a little, but against the force of fangs, not all of the blow could be weakened. The husky had gained a grip on the fur about his back, and was mere moments away from grabbing smartly onto his one ‘exposed’ weak spot, when Shyam sacrificed a bit of blood for his escape from a lethal attack. He felt a bit of his flesh rip away, but not a vital amount, as he twisted his slightly smaller body away from his jaws. Blood warmed his back, but not an insane amount. His back would be sore, and perhaps, the movement of his tassle, and hindquarters partially restricted from radical moves. His torn flesh would now be an open target, and he took in his mind to keep alert for attacks aimed in the same direction.

He was still only a moment, as he confirmed his own attack mentally. He would use his more slender form as a small advantage. He charged the Siberian Husky male from the side, paws pressing hard off the pavement ground of the office building, pressing harder and harder with each of his few footfalls. He was gaining as much momentum he could in the short distance between him and the husky this way. He had acted fully as if he was charging, aiming his fangs to tear at the shoulder blade of the husky and now, his last footfall faltered and he dropped a step. A move that seemed accidental as if he had stumbled. But he was just falling short, so he could lock on to his true destination for his attack. Just below the shoulder blade, more to the side, and closer to the shared weak spot of every dog; The Stomach. Of course a full attack on the Siberian Husky’s stomach would be impossible without getting him thrown to the ground, but Shyam would settle with a long and deep laceration to the male’s lower chest, right near the shoulder blade. Such a laceration that he planned for would cause a sever pain to the limb near the gash. If he succeeded with this attack, it would, hopefully set the husky with a handicap to his right front leg. Shyam was no fool in fights. He knew better to set for one attack, and prey you landed that attack, and didn’t get yourself caught in close quarters with the enemy. You needed a strategy for a way to wound the other in some way if you failed with your first move. He needed to keep his paws on the ground, to brace himself incase whilst he was setting to slash away behind and a bit below the Husky’s shoulder blade, the husky slammed his bulk upon Shyam, in order to topple him. Though, in order to secure an injury to the Alpha, he’d have to risk his right front limb off the ground for a short time. He slashed quickly and with force, right at the shoulder blade of the husky with his talons. He was intent on getting damage to the shoulder rejoin of the Siberian Husky. He knew the Husky would have the thickness of his fur to aide him as well as he himself did, and he pulled all the force he could into both blows. He pressed his claws as hard as he could manage toward the flesh of his shoulder, and clamped as hard as his jaw muscles would allow him towards the loose flesh below and behind the shoulder blade. He was prepared to part his jaws, and lower his paw back to the in the need of a quick distance put back between himself and the husky.

He’d fought many battles yes, but none had he felt so humble in his mind. He’d always found himself thinking of an easy victory, of how much weaker his opponent was compared to his own fight skills, but now.. Now he found himself thinking of the Husky’s strength to his weakness, and how hard he would push himself to match the husky’s strength. He wanted his pack land back. He wanted his pride. Yes this was a fight for control over the Hell Hound’s pack land. Yet.. Shyam found his true push.. His true motive came from the shame he had acquired by losing his pack in the first place, then having Dragon seemingly no longer respect him, was leading him for the need of redemption. The need of proving he was still the dog he had thought himself to be. Still the strong fighter he had been. Still one worthy of other’s respect, and fear. He was fighting for Hell Hound’s, and much more.
Other: Hai! xP

[Avernus]

Accepted! Go post in a pack border. Not Shadowed Forests Though.