I will finish the history later tonight, I don't have time at the moment ;) It feels.. nice to be back :D
-Amanda.
Basic Stuff
-Might I add that both characters have an affinity for death. They're intrigued by it, and in some sort of way sort of way its like their god. Although in no way dark creatures themselves, its sort of more along the lines of looking up to a god so that they will not cause you harm, and so that when you die, it will be in peace.
Name: Ruairi (Iri, Ree, or Ru) (prounounced ROO-e-ree) Aodh (Pronounced AY) (His name is rarely used when around Keavy, as she always refers to him as “Thu”)
Age: 6 months
Breed: Timber Wolf (his larger size is due to dire wolf lineage, of ages past)
Family:
Erc - brother
Danaan - father
Ennae - sister (name meaning bird-like)
Feidhlim - mother (means lucky)
Bloodline: Death-Singers
Past Mate(s): None.
Appearance: Think of this as his adult description too it corresponds as that too I suppose. ;)
A wolf of stony hues (black and silver) whose large and angular frame dwarfs most others in comparison. His shoulders are large and broad, reeking of masculinity where as his legs are slightly more slender, made more for running and hunting then anything else. His face is well constructed, giving him a somewhat handsome appearance. A wonderfully tapered muzzle, and almost bear like ears complete his visage. His eyes are usually a mixture of the following pale shades: Yellow, Green, and Silver. His eyes are white, almost iridescent silver that is quite striking against the black that lines his eyes and brows – he hasn’t seen the sun, or the world’s glories since he was two months old. Blindness had all ready consumed at a young age. A large ruff surrounds his neck, where on dark cold nights, it protects him from the terrors of the world. Paws are still large enough to leave strange sized tracks upon the ground.
He was left to inherit the traits of the Aodhs, long fur along the nape of his neck, which continues until his shoulders, and just behind his flanks. The gaurd hair here is slightly darker, a deep ebonite shaded with silver. His stance reminds many of a large bear, what with an almost bulky frame, and a strange muzzle, one that seems wider, and more pronounced then most other wolves. His head is large, and in some circumstances can be considered shaggy, and so in this way, it is assumed that he is much older then he actually is. There are ways to tell the difference. His tail is slightly shorter then most wolves, hand though his eyes are wisened, like those of an old king, regal atop his throne, Ruairi is only but six months, in the prime of his life, and he knows it. One of the most noticeable things about him is his scruffy and roguish fur. It always stands up strangely about him, leaves and things entwined in the long tendrils. He has a thick Irish accent, which is evident when he speaks, and is only heightened when he is angered; where then his words begin to become incomprehensible.
He's handsome looking in a strange way. His frame is long and sinewy, but his chest is built like a barrel, with muscles developing to match. His neck is surrounded by a thick amount of deep black fur, and the only thing which mars that color are the occasional silver highlights that seem to make themselves apparent randomly across his body. Ruairi is built like a warrior, with thick legs, and a muzzle covered in scars from ancient wounds. There is a slight dent in his muzzle where his brother nicked him once upon a time, and for some strange reason the fur never grew back properly on the small patch, and remains a strange sheen of white, as if the bone beneath is shining through (which it isn't).
Personality: Ruairi is one of those wolves that immediately demands respect, although he never says it. His stance and eyes reveal what he wants to be revealed, and sadly, there is almost always some sort of mask covering his features. He speaks another language, besides English, his accent thick and broguish, his masculine voice deep and filled with passion for whatever it is he's talking about. He can be rather sullen at times, past events catching up with him. He often uses his ears more then his voice, and he speaks through his eyes, using them to express the turmoil of emotions that flow freely within the shadows of his soul, despite the fact that they are infact useless to him. The funny thing is that despite all his wanting to be a statue, stoic and thoughtful, his eyes almost always manage to give away something – a small trickle here and there – because he doesn’t always think about facial expression (he can’t see it, why would it matter) and also the way his eyes may or may not flick about, they can give things away that he himself doesn’t really understand. He does talk however, and a certain aire of dominance is around him, not of an alpha, more like a king. He was born to be a leader, a fighter, a savior, and a lover. When he smiles it lights up the many delicate angles of his face, and enjoys listening to the tales and things of other wolves around him. He tends to take a while to warm up to others, but when he does, he will reward you with, whatever you do so desire. It’s strange though that someone that 'kind' (thats not the word I want to use, but it will work) can at the same time be so cruel, malicious, and two sided. --His name does mean battle, and warrior afterall.
Ruairi is a manipulative bastard.
There is something about him though that makes him live up to his name, a dangerous quality, a never dying wild side. Something that eventually gave him the name Ruairi, replacing his original name (He doesn't even remember what his actual name is). His eyes blaze with a strange light when threatened, and his whole body changes. Despite the fact that he is a large male with poetic tendancies, it would be foolish to refer to him as almost female in his ways. He is as rough and hot headed at times as most other males, although to do so, one must truly anger him; he has a slow fuse – the blindness does not help, as at times he knows when he has been beaten. Tread carefully when he is angered, as he was taught by the best on how to react, and to reconsile quickly, though mostly with words.
Name: Keavy Criofan (her name is rarely used, as she is always referred to as “Sibh”)
Age: Around 6
Breed: Timber Wolf (smaller build)
Family: Large, much, much too large -- she also doesn't remember them.
Bloodline: A long line of death-singers, as long as my arm. Someday, a magnificent family tree will go here, but that day is definately not today.
Past Mate(s): None, though there have been infatuations.
Appearance: Keavy is someone that could easily be considered pretty, but is made to look far less then what she actually is by the way she carries, and thinks of herself. She is on the smaller side for a female, although quick and agile, she knows how and when to move properly. She is a subordinate though, whatever ideas of having her own opinions and voice have long been washed away, although she may still have them- most phrases that leave the females far too long muzzle are haunted, quiet, and meant for those who only really know how to listen, for most of what she speaks has a twosided meaning. The only evidence of her speaking the opposite of what she really thinks (lying, I suppose) is a slight tensing about her muzzle, which only wolves who really knew her would understand, and be able to pick out. To really know Eithne, is to realise the answer to an enigma, and, get past the walls she has erected around herself, made of the strongest steel and mortar. Her eyes are mismatched, for an unknown reason, one a strange saturated green and the other a light brown. Her fur is creamy, with dark splashes of brown placed symetrically upon her face, a deep auburn coating her forehead and mixing in with the browns whenever it can, and around her vibrant eyes. Her nose isn't black, but a liver color, with a light tone that matches her fur.
Probably, a long, long time ago, dog was introduced into her bloodline, something that is both a curse and a blessing. Though she doesn't know this, and neither did her family.
Her legs are longer then they probably should be, her ribcage a little bit stouter. Her ears are too big, and her muzzle far too narrow.
Personality: She is manipulative, fiery, and above all rather frightening when angered. She too has a thick accent, which is almost always accented by the liltingly beautiful tones of her voice, before silence follows.
Keavy is one of the haunted ones, with a past filled with betrayal, family issues, and much more, its an amazement she still has any emotion left at all.. and that she once had the capability to love. Usually her face is the definition of indifference, with nothing revealing itself, stony stare stuck straight ahead, those mismatched orbs staring into your very soul, or so it seems. If you’re one of the lucky ones though, and she takes an interest in you, you may be graced with a few casual words.. and if she has taken a liking to you, you may even get a full conversation, filled with the wit and humour, only a rogue can posess. The life of a traveller has given Keavy many advantages, she can read other wolves like open books, and can tell artificial meanings from true ones. She has strange enigmatic qualities despite everything though, and you can’t help but feel safe in her presence, even if she never once takes a look in your direction. See that’s thing about Keavy, that most don’t really care to hear about.. She’s a deeply troubled girl, looking for an escape; something that may or not cause him to do things others may look down upon. She uses body language more often then not, as she finds that to truly be able to communicate one should know the others ‘tells’ as well as they know themselves. She sometimes wallows in a bout of self pity, although this never lasts long.. Only memories of her mother and siblings dance about in her mind. At this point, all he really needs is someone that is willing to stick around for the ride. Keavy was brought up into a different sort of culture, with different customs.. Her whole family was into the arts, 'barding' so they called it. Games were usually played in such a fashion, and despite the fact that she is dark and foreboding most of the time, she can sing, make riddles, and does enjoy reciting the occasional lymerick or two.. Sometimes even prose.
History:
“Keavy!”
The shouting was almost too much, the way that the red coated females legs quaked and shaked beneath her long limbs. This hadn’t been the plan, this was wrong. Rain fell heavily around them, sticking to their coats and dripping down their long muzzles. The male who stood behind her was panting with exhertion his eyes wide as he followed her along in a frustrated manner.
”You don’t understand!”
He pleaded with her, bumping hishead forcefully into her rump where she promptly snapped at his bleeding face.
“Oh, I understand.” She hissed from between clenched teeth, the girls tail arching highly over her back. “You don’t want to put one of my-“ She spat the next word, “—kind in danger.” The lilting tone in her voice was cold as he looked up at her, pleading with her to leave. Blood leaked from a wound above her shoulder, bright vermilion smeared across her lips as she snarled. “What about the rest of them? The ones that I didn’t manage to kill?” Her voice quavered for only a moment, but was strong as he opened his mouth to say something and she cut him off. “You told me this would give me gratification – give them enlightenment-- sending them all to meet Bás early…” Her voice fell into thoughtful silence, head canted sligthly to the side.
“They all manipulated my love of Bás, told me I was doing it for all the right reasons!” Here her eyes flashed and smoldered angrily, rain falling in a casual line down her muzzle as the smooth fur wrinkled and contorted. He suddenly spoke, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he shook his large shaggy head. “The others.. they will make it there eventually. The Altinas, the Tomahiels… Their children will make amends, because of what we’ve all done.” His eyes softened, “—what we’ve all sacrificed.”
“They will continue, it’s not over.”
He sighed, “I know.”
They both stood there. Silent in their thoughts when suddenly the branches crackled around them.
They were coming.
“Go.” Cahan stood squarely, his broad shoulders slick with rain as a snarl bubbled inhis throat. Keavy stood beside him, reaching out with a paw to nudge him, but he whirled, his teeth pulled back angrily, his face contorted into too many expressions. “GO!”
There was an answering snarl from Keavy whose body had flattened against the rocky ground, blood now staining her fur, her growl turned into a whine though, as a large form, dark and deep, like Cahan himself smashed into his side, causing the large males paws to slide across the ground towards her. His jaws were buried in the other creatures thick fur, as more wolves began to appear from the foliage, their snarls echoing forebodingly around the trees, the steep descent behind them creating no where to run to.
The Vanoras had arrived.
“Bás.”
The word was said so softly, though she was sure that Cahan heard, she saw him look at her and thrust a muscled leg in her direction. “No!” The leg connected with her smaller shoulder knocking her sideways, sliding towards the steep drop. Her paws grappled for a hold, her teeth gnashing together not in anger, but for the first time, fear. Cahan looked slowly away from her, his broad muzzle stained in blood; he would save her. Be a real hero for the first time in his life.
And Keavy fell.
She wasn’t sure afterwards how long she had fallen, or if she had fallen at all, or how she had ended up with blood smeared across her, her muzzle scratched, her face pressed into the cool mud as the rain continued to pour.
Who was she?
Keavy. She atleast knew her name, but not where she had come from or who ‘Bás’ was. The name (was it a name) kept circling around in her head, kept calling to her from the darker depths of her imagination. The girl wandered padding through the foothills, her wounds slowly healing. She came back to the place where she had awoken, and found a body there, a great hulking mass of ebony, tongue lolling from the broad muzzle. She merely canted her head, eyeing the bloodstains, the great tears in his flesh with curiousity. Nothing sparked. His eyes lay ungazing, and she twitched an ear leaning forward to gently lick his forehead, for reasons she didn’t fuly understand.
It was the whimpering that caught her attention moments later. Made the females fur stand on end, and her mis matched eyes to widen as they settled on the creature that lay curled in the ferns, small bodies surrounding it. She crept closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as they focused on the cub, his jaws open and crying. He wasn’t that old, but something was wrong with his eyes, they looked like the eyes of the fallen one behind her. “Caoch..” She murmured, clicking her teeth together to alert the cub of her appearance. He became silent immediately, as his brothers and sisters around him, snuggled against their bodies which now lay cold and unmoving around him. There were flashes of red against the dark bodies, and Keavy winced.
Something about them made her grasp at something nearby, inside her head, but then it was gone.
She felt that he needed to be saved, and leaned forward, plucking him gently from the bodies about him. ”Tá sé ina aonar.” She managed from between her jaws, and there she carried him off, forging a life for the two of them.
Ruairi grew stronger by the day, and Keavy taught him what she could remember about this… Bás. Things came back in slow pieces, flashing and arcing through her conciousness.
Cahan had saved her that she was sure of. She could remember his name, and painfully, she remembered finding him on the cliff side his eyes looking so much like Ruairi… Sometimes she thought there was a connection there, but.. she couldn’t quite understand it.
Now they’re here.