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Mjölnir

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Rogue Mjölnir
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Rogue Mjölnir

Posts : 103
Join date : 2015-05-23
Age : 20
Location : Wall Maria

Wolf Information
Gender: Male
Age: 5 Years Old
Purchases: Rogue Wolf; 4th Character Slot

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PostSubject: Mjölnir Mjölnir Icon_minitimeMay 23rd 2015, 15:28

Name: Mjölnir [Myohl-neer]
Meaning: God of lightning's hammer


Gender: Male

Age: 5 Yrs

Pack: Rogue

Rank Requested: N/A

Appearance:
The physic look of a pure wanderer is always that to be intimidated by, stereotypically something of evil or perhaps demonic expression. As one should naturally observe and discover quickly upon presence, he is at an average weight, including most which is clearly toned muscle, and a granted height of 76 cms. Frankly, when aggravated, his appearance may alter to that of an intimidating, growing height, which merely consists of his shoulders arching forwards in the illusion of making him larger than what he normally looks. He does not take company too fondly, despite his sarcastic charm and soothing voice that speaks softly in order to lure prey closer to hear. His optics are the shade of a golden whiskey, usually defining his mood according to the twinkle found within them, but can sometimes be hard to register at first sight. Upon the canvas of a deranged wolf, there lies a story behind each scar and marking that which has embedded itself into the contours of his tasteful pelt of autumn dirt and earthly shades.

Fused as one, the colors accent a lot of the darkness which compels him to commit some of the disgraceful, yet appetizing acts of nature. A deep, rich chocolate brown fills as a saddle over his back and an easily identifying pattern curls at his face much like a sinisterly shaved beard just slight beneath his eyes. Across his sides blend into a lighter brown, much like that of autumn's soil or a young oak tree, which then covers a precise amount upon his body asides the tweaks of white and red found blended beneath the display. Black coats his ear, and tail, as well as towards the end of his snout and the very tips of his ears. His underbelly is a creamy light color, not quite blonde, but an golden brown, he prefers to describe. The brute's fur at most times is a mess due to its rough state and lack of cleanliness once after killing a worthy contender, and a majority of his limbs and face consist of minor scars founded from his meal's struggle for life. Alas his ear be the most crucial part of his beloved story, leaving him still completely able of hearing in both ears, but only awarded with one complete ear to guard his sense of sound. There leads a lot of information upon how he earned it, and keeps it as a prize to remind him of what he was and always will be to the present.


Photo:

Mjölnir A240gg
Mjölnir 33kypz4

History:
From the time he had opened his eyes, his family had always depicted the offspring to be a rather indifferent and strange child. But they never so much as minded the uniqueness found within such a soul, and helplessly ignored it in hopes it would fade as he later matured. There were more important matters to attend after all. His parents, along with neighboring wolves that were apart of the long bloodline, felt an on-growing disturbance as the little tike remained silent at nature's bend. Perhaps he was not one for words, most had assumed, though it was a more abstract than that if they had a look into his young mind. For as easily as a month prior to the litter's day of birth, the carrier was diagnosed with a internal disease that was unfortunately left unnoticed asides their mate. Within the developing womb, the pups were endangered by this infection as time progressed in the early stages of pregnancy. Of course such curers at the time could not find a way to help such a case, they had no idea what the carrier would need nor what would work, rather than wasting a plentiful amount of materials on just a single subject. But the mother cared not to pester them with her disease, she instead ignored it in replace of a simple common cold that would eventually go away and within a month she'd give birth to a heavenly set of children for herself. They'd tried so hard for this, given the circumstances prior to be believed the two thought they were infertile and incapable of breeding. But with several attempts during the season, they managed, and the litter came with amazing results. However, their second oldest was at a case of indifference. He never once spoke nor whined at his arrival of life, and the parents worried quietly amongst themselves if something was wrong. Days after, the pup finally whimpered, and the family was relieved.

As adolescence rolled around the corner, Mjölnir, and his siblings, Nifleheim, Ymir and Fritjof, had come to make a fine line of distance between them. The eldest, Ymir, found her calling and fought breathlessly with challenging several in order to gain the title of a true fighter of the pack. Fritjof strived to become a healer, preparing herbs and new medicines that soon cured three times the amount of wolves than what could be done before. Nifleheim aided the pack with his charisma and confidence in leading hunts alongside their father, whom was Delta male of the pack. But Mjölnir was left undefined. The pack depended on fractions, but the quiet male could not find a side that fit him most well. By the time his siblings had prospered into wonderful beings and found their true callings, the puzzled brute kept to the sidelines and questioned his existence upon the face of the world. He grew to be a year and still had no idea of what he wanted to be or what he was most good at. This confused, hormonal stage led to several outbursts and panic attacks, and the wolf grew to have a sever case of anxiety because of the stress put on him. His siblings nor parents never cared enough to ask what was wrong, or where he'd go at dawn, the family split further and further away by the second. Soon, Mjölnir was on his complete, independent own. For those who saw the aging apprentice, some believed he had slowly lost his mind, while the more innocent blamed it on the stage and it was merely a phase. He survived off rabbits that which he learned to kill mercilessly and built his own den in an abandoned badger set at a year and half not far from the main clearing. At times, he captured vultures that would scavenge for a dead squirrel corpse, and rip their feathers just for some color to his temporary home, all the while making a bed with their bones and savoring their meaty flesh. Though a part of him was left unsatisfied.

Months pressed on and the wolves grew to be full grown and ready for the pack. The ceremony where they chose their rank consisted of an open field with the wolves sitting in a circular fashion. The elders would sit closest to the alphas and peer to the apprentices with joy and hope that they do best with the final decision they choose. Brought to the center of the ring, the litters sat according to age. Those who were the eldest, much like Ymir, would choose first, and the youngest would choose last according to the hierarchy's word. New litters of that spring and young-adults sat with their parents, nudging them with impatience until they were then silenced as the alphas began to speak. Mjölnir sat in the third row, being he was the second youngest of his litter. His eyes were dilated and focused someone on the children rather than the leaders. He couldn't bring himself to pay attention enough until his mother made her scandalous, most famous scowl in his direction, breaking him from his reverie within a split second. She was one fae that which no one wanted to aggravate. With no surprise, Mjölnir saw as both his eldest siblings chose according to their skills, Ymir became a Warrior, Fritjof a Healer, and then the spotlight shown on him. Their beady eyes staring in his direction as he walked cautiously up to the centerfold and reached gazes beneath the watchful orbs of their highest authorities. He felt a surge of tension rising at the bottom of his stomach as his anxiety clenched at his insides, he was almost at a loss of words when they asked the simple question. The pack leaned closer to the silent one. Hesitantly he answered, and their eyes grew big at the revelation he wished to be the carer of life. At the end, once the surprised expressions had faded, every one of the wolves lifted back there heads and howled in unison to represent the welcome into their official numbers.

Time pressed gradually after that, his siblings growing stronger and further apart from the family ties, stretching the band to which was once too large to take part in. It took a solid month once after choosing his rank did he finally bend to its will and peace, did he begin to realize as to why he had chosen such a title. In the time of his settlement, he was confronted with hallucinations that which helped lead up to the final moment - the moment to when he'd make his first kill. The plan had been apart of him for six months now once finding no satisfaction in the territory's game. Bucks were no longer his target, feeling as though their bones were not strong enough for him, and their blood a bit weaker due to their vulnerable state. As his illness slowly consumed him, the wolf grew restless and more ready as moons phased continuously. On a mid spring night, he was brought to the attention of a litter that had been born a bit later than the rest that season, and ordered by stronger authority to watch over the mother and her young until strength would resume to her form enough for her to get up and feed so that she may return to them for feeding. Mjölnir quietly obeyed and followed rules with sly intentions that night, aiding and making the bitch feel as welcome as highly possible around him, despite his suspicious performance and 'niceness'. The pack had continued to rumor of his strange attitude, making many uneasy of his care over their children. But the carrier complied and fell to rest, as did her young not long after. Mjölnir stood guard and waited till the moon was at its highest before giving in to the temptation and running off quickly to feed off something close by before returning position. When the sun rose that morning, the carrier with her partner left as predicted to fill her for the litter. In their absence, the brute cared for the few and left the runt to his own paws, taking it into his mouth carefully so it would not wake as it dangled from his jaw. As he waited for the area to clear of watchful eyes, he ducked towards the back of his den where it was most dark and held the pup down with his weight, which silenced it slowly of its pain and breathing. Bringing it to the side of the main portion nearest to the litter, he pretended to act sincere and filled with despair for when the mother would return. When she did, he granted her the news that the smallest did not survive. And he internally found power in watching her grieve and cry over the weakest, only so that he could eat the corpse later that night for his first time. And oh did he enjoy it. Savored every bit of it and licked it to the last drop of blood coating its flesh.

The insanity grew to even deeper depths as it consumed his mind each month of that year once after the heavenly meal. It was as if it were his own heroine and he couldn't keep himself down from the thought of taking another hit of it. But he tamed himself, aiding carriers with their offspring as was he supposed to do, meanwhile, his illness only became stronger and even more of the fight to pursue in keeping under-wept. As mating season came around the corner and couples were blossoming in speech of a family, his hormone levels grew to outstanding heights, though it was not the intentions to mate precisely, but to battle for attention. For some reason, his hunger had grown terribly deep that season before pups would be born, perhaps the impatience had finally gotten to him and the hallucinations he was naturally finding himself lost in had made him snap. Fritjof had silently been talking with another male about his feelings for a fae whom had been working with him for quite some time as she had joined their ranks during the summer. She was only a year younger than him and his brother, but either way, Mjölnir had found a liking into the same female but for different reasons. He found her small frame and thick rear as something of a meal, rather than love like his foul sibling. When the twig snapped in his mind, the brute clicked and was atop his brother within the following split second. Rage then fueled his fight and urge to kill the bastard. With little effort, Mjölnir had him on his back, teeth glaring and fur raised, making him bigger than he naturally was due to the situation and levels of testosterone in the air. As the two gracefully fought each other, Fritjof managed to get the upper-hand and tear away one of the brute's ears. This made the male black out into a powerful hallucination and twist of emotions. When reality finally found the strength to settle, the earth found a way of balancing right again, and he was being trapped beneath a suffocating amount of weight as he thrashed instinctively to get up. Blood pooled on the ground, the source being a wolf that was carried away by two others, its chest still beating, but the facial expression appeared blank. Fritjof died due to blood loss later that night, for the team of curers could not fend off the flow quick enough. Mjölnir was sent to imprisonment, which included being put into a steep, five foot den that would be topped with branches, and fed a hare a day for the past week until put on trial. Before the jury of elders and the alpha, he was then sent to sit beneath the watch of the pack's strongest on both his sides. As the Alpha questioned the event, the brute did not respond and only relied with a sinister smirk. He had every urge to tell the pack of how he killed the pup that one year of his caretaking, but he held his tongue and allowed the leaders to simply exile him from his lands.


Joining Keys: Member has posted the joining keys and have been removed for the fair joining of future member. - Alphess Quinn

How did you find Age? Healer Ember

Example Post:
Ocean-hued orbs dazzled in the mists of the darkness - the beast staring quietly while the muscles beneath bunched and coiled under a thick pelt of light tans and dipped grey touches here and there in small swirls across his large shoulders and back. His teeth flashed in the little glimpse of light that peeked through the trees over his head, slivering his serpent-like tongue between his clenched teeth to lick the blood stained canines he so proudly had. A low growl stay lodged in his throat as his eyes were forced upon the likes of a large, juicy hare in his presence, basking pleasantly as it cleaned it's grey fluffed fur on the caked dead log beneath the shard of sunlight. His color did not help in as much for the advantage within that time of year, as the lands were covered in white, and he was of but only a large beckon for the prey to easily catch if he were not careful enough. The meal's ears twitched and flickered around for a hear, wrinkling it's small nose at the air while pawing at it's ears to dust off the little collected amount of crystals embedded into it's fur. Jasper watched it carefully before his own ears turned at the sound of a loud howl roaring through the trees. He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder to where the clearing lie a chase away. As he looked back to see the hare, it had fled, making him growl to himself, "Blasted!" He cursed recklessly beyond his own command, keeping it quiet as he knew he was only so far away from the call to what sent his only meal to go running off.

The wolf curled his lip and stomped at the ground with a large, powerful paw of sharp claws, brushing up the snow with an angered sweep of his weight pressing onto the winter ridden floor. Blue flames burned in his eyes as he glared into the distance, sparkled by the speck of light and the reflection of white from all that surrounded him as he tread towards the given howl. He quickly shook off the feelings to be hidden by a mask - raising his head high with a proud stance as he worked his way into the empty clearing. The leader stood upon a rock, one he would suspect to be given for mild announcements he never cared for, but knew it was mandatory for a wolf to attend. He had never much approved of the leader being female, though he kept quiet of that and all of the other's knowing. He wouldn't be caught dead trying to socialize with such idiocy. What a waste, he thought bitterly with a slight roll to his eyes within his mind as the voices cackled helplessly. The grey matched and slivery brown lined colored fae waited patiently for the others to arrive, smirking to himself as he was the first to attend and find a spot. As he walked to the center before her, the male bowed his head and held back a snarl for he hated submitting at all costs, no matter the rank or level of superiority, then rising back to his normal position. Looking around with one small, mindless gaze, the large brute emerged towards the back and settled himself near a tree that bordered the clearing. He had no intentions of being near the crowd, never has, and he wasn't going to start now. From then, his words were hushed, and a sweet silence wrapped around him.


Last edited by Rogue Mjölnir on July 10th 2015, 22:45; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Mjölnir Mjölnir Icon_minitimeMay 25th 2015, 20:26

Mjölnir R0it

Now before you can get started, please add your wolf to the following pages:

- Name Claim
- Ranks

Once you have completed these things, please head to the border of your prospective pack and post!

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