.:: The Cast ::.

[AlexandriaBolitho]

XXXX a l e x a n d r i a － b o l i t h o ' s
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ＣＨＡＲＡＣＴＥＲ ＦＯＲＭＳ

[AlexandriaBolitho]

╔══════════════════════════╕
ι'ℓℓ ωαℓк ση тнє αѕнєѕ σƒ нєℓℓ נυѕт тσ ƒιη∂ му ωαу
╘══════════════════════════╝

Ariel.

History: Born to a poor family on the Tuscany coast, her early childhood is one she remembers with fondness. She spent her time racing on the beaches, playing in the waves, and competing with her siblings to see who could climb highest on the various rock cliffs. Their home was a small, seashore cottage without enough room for Ariel, her two younger sisters, and her two older brothers. Nevertheless, they made do. Her parents loved each other and would sing the children to sleep each night, telling make believe stories and reading from their small collection of books. Ariel grew up with callouses on her feet and hands, her skin tan from hours outside, and the salty air in her lungs. Her family was rather isolated from the rest of the world, but all they needed was each other. Things took a dark turn around her ninth birthday.

It was a full moon, the light of it reflecting on the waves below and washing the sand with a pale light. Ariel, right at the start of when she would be singing the bedtime songs to her younger sisters, fell to the floor in pain. Shaking uncontrollably and shivering despite the summer air, she couldn't help but scream as she shifted for the first time. It was slow, agonizing, and the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced. Her father carried her outside for more room and her entire family tried to comfort her through the ordeal, but they knew nothing more than she did. After spending the night in her wolf form, there was another agonizing shift back in the morning. In the months that followed, the same terror was repeated each night. She would shift, just as painfully each time, then spend the night wandering outside, restless. Her brothers and parents did their best to help, but her sisters, too young to understand, avoided her out of fear. A half a year later, Ariel left her family in Italy for a grandmother she had never met.

The grandmother, living in the United States, had raised her mother with stories of people who had wolf forms. With the hope that her grandmother could help her, Ariel flew by herself to go meet her, using up all of the rainy day money her family had saved. Thankfully, her grandmother received her with compassion and the knowledge of how to control her shifts. With years of practice, Ariel got to the point where she could shift without pain... mostly when she wanted. Her plans to return home where put on hold when, at the age of twelve, her grandmother got sick. She stayed in the states to take care of her grandmother. It was painful to watch her beloved grandmother slowly get weaker, but with the fear of doctors finding out her family's secret, they couldn't risk getting any official diagnosis. At nights, to get rid of her frustration, Ariel would go running in wolf form for long bouts.
She ended up running into a wild wolf pack (the non-were type) and when she had the energy to spare, would hunt or play-fight with them until the early hours of the morning. Then, she'd return home to take care of her grandmother, go to school, and work for a few hours at a local library. This continued for three years, until her grandmother passed away.

Grief drove Ariel into the woods, where she shifted into her wolf form and sang to the moon. She sang out about her family left behind in Tuscany, the loss of her grandmother, and the feeling of being alone again. Her howling didn't bring her back to Italy or return her grandmother to life, but when she looked up her wolf pack was there. That night she left with them higher into the mountains, running wild and letting her human side go dormant. For a year she stayed with them, until she ran into a family hiking. The sound of the human voices talking to each other and the sight of a father carrying his son on his shoulders made her ache for the kind of relationships you can't form with full wolves.

In the seven years since leaving home, she had slowly lost contact with her family in Tuscany. The distance and time left a fear in her: what if she went home and was a stranger? What if her siblings were still scared of her? Had forgotten her? Rather than returning to Italy, Ariel sought out others like her and her late grandmother. It took her a few months, but she found a new pack to join. At the age of sixteen, Ariel found her third family and they welcomed her with open arms. Now, a year later, her new pack is threatened by a string of murders and suspicious town folk. Having already lost so much, Ariel would lay down her life before losing anyone in this pack that she's come to love.

Personality: First impressions, at least in her case, aren't everything. She's slow to trust people enough to open up and for the first few times you interact with her, she's both quite and shy. It's only after you've known her for a while that she feels comfortable enough to joke around with you and let you in on what she's thinking. Once she does love you, however, it's with the kind of intensity that doesn't fade. Ariel is an honest person and can surprise others with how deeply she sees the world around her. She's naturally compassionate and looks out for everyone, regardless of how well she knows them. Generally, she can be found alone, either running, reading, or just appreciating the surrounding woods. Deep down, she still feels like the outsider in the pack and she wants to form stronger connections with her pack mates, but lacks the courage to initiate most conversations. Since she's shy and kind, people have the habit of mistaking her for being weak, but she has a silent ferocity inside of her that only comes out when she or loved ones are threatened. Her music is precious to her and while she has a beautiful voice, she isn't the type to flaunt it.

Summary:
name- Ariel Louise Valentino
age- 17
rank- fighter
gender- female
sexuality- bisexual
ethnicity- Italian
other- has been in the pack for a year

╔════════════════════════╕
נυѕт α ѕмιℓє ¢συℓ∂ σρєη тнє gαтєѕ тσ нєανєη
╘════════════════════════╝

[AlexandriaBolitho]

╔══════════════════════════╕
ι'ℓℓ ωαℓк ση тнє αѕнєѕ σƒ нєℓℓ נυѕт тσ ƒιη∂ му ωαу
╘══════════════════════════╝

Alex.

History: A bit of a ruffian, Alex has spent most of his life a pirate. How he got into it... well, that's a story. He was born in a small farm outside of London, but his family had to relocate to the city slums after losing the property. To feed his family, he spent most of his time pick pocketing and trying to avoid the gangs of young street urchins that would mug someone unaffiliated like himself. But, after his father's drinking drove him from their home in the basement of a boarding house, he ended up joining one of the larger gangs. That was his first step up from pick pocketing. Then, he was breaking into houses under the cover of night to steal anything and everything valuable enough to pawn. Naturally cocky, he bit off more than he could chew when he broke into the Fairchild Estate. He was caught by a patrolling constable as he was climbing back over the fence, bag of stolen goods slung over his shoulder. No matter how silver his tongue, he couldn't talk his way out of that one. At the age of ten he was sentenced to hang.

The gallows are over by the docks, where it reeks of rotting fish and the sweat. It's a rather organized process and Alex was locked up with his hanging scheduled for midday. After all, why bother delaying it when he was clearly guilty? After all, why bother delaying it for the likes of a street urchin like himself? Just as dawn was starting to break and the morning fog had rolled in, Alex managed to free himself of his chains. He scraped all of his skin off on his wrists and ankles while trying to slide them off, but he was free nonetheless. It wasn't long before he had scampered away and hidden himself inside a crate of linens on the docks. There, he bandaged his wrists and decided to wait until the next night to sneak back into the city center, where he was most familiar. He never planned to get on board a ship... but that's where the crate was carried off to. It wasn't like he could just pop out once he felt the crate moving. So, his first week underway consisted of hiding in the bilges, stealing scraps of food, and trying his best to avoid detection. Quite embarrassing that his best only got him a week.

When he was caught, rather than throwing him over or locking him up, he was given a spot as a deckhand. It was a merchant ship that headed out the Thames and into the English Channel, bound for the South of France. Since it was cost efficient to have as little crew as possible on merchant ships, they were eternally short handed. He did the chores assigned to those on the bottom of the totem pole, working until he had callouses on his callouses, but at the same time continually pestering those above him to teach him anything. He learned the rigging, the knots, the navigation... everything. Mostly just because the others wanted to give him some puzzle to think on and make him shut up. He kept with that crew for a solid three years, finding the sea more to his liking than the filth of London. With clean air in his lungs, food that he didn't have to fight dogs for, and constant labor, he turned from a scrawny slip of a boy into a young teenager, lanky for his age. So, when the ship was attacked by pirates, he came to the crew's defense with the vigor of a young boy in love with his ship.

It was his haphazardous and unrefined, but surprisingly effective fighting that saved his life. The pirate crew gave him an option: join us (and get paid) or die. It was a rather simple choice and Alex sailed with them for two years before switching to a different pirate ship. A year later he switched again. And then again. And then again.

He learned more as a pirate than he had on the merchant ship, from firing cannons to sword fighting to hand to hand combat (the kind more advanced than street urchins anyway). He spent a half a year as a master gunner after the master gunner on The Constance got a splinter the size of a baseball bat through his chest. He also spent two years as a boatswain, but ended up switching ships again and losing the higher rank. If he had stayed with one crew for longer, he could have easily risen higher in the ranks and solidified the position. As it is, his personality isn't one to settle down in any way, including with ships. Once he had learned all that the crew and vessel had to offer, he'd switch up to a different ship headed to a corner of the world he was yet to explore. With all of his traveling and adventure, he never got sick of the sea or the weight of immoral gold in his pockets, so he signed onto the Crown of Immortality as an AB. It was a step down in rank, but the ship was a beaut and he was bored.... so why the hell not?

Personality: Alex is a vagabond at heart, never staying in one place for long. He has wanderlust and is a little bit crazy when it comes to being an adrenaline junkie, driving him to take risks and make sometimes stupid decisions. Like his stint in Puerto Cabello... don't ask. Regardless, he's a madman with a flair for the dramatic, a womanizing streak, and an unhealthy blood lust that runs down to his bones. All in all, he was built for piracy.

Summary:
Age: 26
Gender: male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Rank: Ablebodied seamen

╔════════════════════════╕
נυѕт α ѕмιℓє ¢συℓ∂ σρєη тнє gαтєѕ тσ нєανєη
╘════════════════════════╝

[AlexandriaBolitho]

Layout by the fantastic rae sanders! Thanks again!

[AlexandriaBolitho]

[ name || lucius gallaecus ]xx[ gender || male ]xx
[ age || twenty-six ]xx
════════════════════════

Not of noble birth, Lucius started his military career as a low ranking foot soldier. Conventionally, he could have risen to a lower general where his low birth would have provided him with a glass ceiling. But, there is nothing conventional about Lucius. His skill with horses, combat, and avoiding detection shifted him from foot soldier to spy. He would scout ahead, go solo behind enemy lines, and risk his neck to gain information that would benefit the Empire. He's had to go undercover numerous times, faking his own identity and blending in to different cultures. Having to lie and holding the knowledge that the people he was interacting with would soon be dead... it was starting to take a toll. At the same time, his success was giving him a name among the commanders. Lucius: the man who gets things done, no matter the circumstance. However, since he was starting to gain a name and some political power, it also drew the attention of Atticus. A high born noble with a father sitting on the council, Atticus got a jealous streak when Lucius was engaged to Philomena. Philomena, daughter of the Caesar's brother, would have brought Lucius into the Caesar's family, eliminating any prejudice against Lucius based on his birth. Atticus, hoping to send Lucius to his death, sent him to go undercover with the Adem: mountain fighters who live on the inhospitable peaks of the Apennines. Lucius did his duty and went, but was soon found out. Despite knowing him to be a Roman spy, the Adem still took him in. For two years, he trained with them and learned fighting beyond anything he had seen before as a soldier. When he eventually returned, he found that Atticus had already relayed news of his death to the council. There had been a funeral pyre, he had been mourned, and Philomena had wed Atticus. Since he refused to relay the information of the Adem strongholds, and had been willingly missing for two years, he fell out of favor with the council. As a way to prove that he still held honor and loyalty to the Empire, he was assigned a rather dull job: to babysit a noble woman on her journey across the Empire. For anyone, it would be an honorable job. However, Lucius wasn't just anyone. He was the council's go-to spy, the Caesar's favorite, their best fighter, Philomena's betrothed... Was. He was all of those things. Now? Now, he had to play the body guard to earn back favor. Then he would be able to return to the job he was born to do.

════════════════════════════════════════════

Lucius has sandy brown hair, blonde in places where the sun has streaked it. Naturally unruly, it curls on top of his head, since he lets it grow slightly longer than is the fashion. His eyes are a deep, emerald green, the same color as myrtle leaves. His build is tall and athletic, but his musculature is more for agility and preciseness of motion than straight strength. He's over six feet and has scars from his years as fighting, as well as a large tattoo spanning across the left side of his chest, around his left arm, onto his back, and down his spine. It's tribal and intricate in detail, but jet black. He carries the traditional Roman shield and shortsword, which he is adept with. But, after training with the Adem, he prefers his longsword. He also has a black stallion, five years old, named Tarquin.

[AlexandriaBolitho]

╔══════════════════════════╕
ι'ℓℓ ωαℓк ση тнє αѕнєѕ σƒ нєℓℓ נυѕт тσ ƒιη∂ му ωαу
╘══════════════════════════╝

Mason.

History: He was born on Thisby with the island in his heart. Growing up surrounded by horses, capaill, and the sea, he became about as wild as them. Mason would help handle capaill and break in some of the island ponies that were too small for grown ups to ride. He'd be up before the sun rises and out across the beach before breakfast was on the table. If he was far enough away from home when he got hungry, he'd climb out onto the more water torn rocks to pick the edible seaweed that grown on the leeward side of the island. His first capall, Mishka, would catch fish like a fiend and there was often one or two left for him to hastily cook before they were off running again. Although his family managed a herd, Mishka was Mason's soul. She was a dark, midnight blue with eyes so dark you couldn't see her pupil. She didn't have a spot of white on her, but her legs had black up to the knees. Her build was tall and leggy, but fine, and her coat gleamed like wet glass. Her movements resembled that of the killer seals that live up in the arctic and each day Mason fell in love with her more. She'd catch fish, they'd ride bareback, and when the sea wasn't rough he'd sometimes take her bridle off.

Twice, he swam her. With the ocean around and beneath them, Mishka could fly through the waves with a speed no one could reach on the ground. Diving underneath the breakers, she'd race down the bottom and then fly back up before Mason's lungs really started burning. The second time he did it, however, his father caught him. At the time, Mason was fifteen, the age were you still have to listen to your parents but are old enough to feel like you know better. Since Mason was an only child and his mother had disappeared at the age of four (mainland or drowned, nobody would talk about it, so Mason never knew), his father feared losing him more than anything. So, he was forbidden from riding Mishka ever again and was restricted to low tide for all of the capaill. Mason argued and tried to get around the rules, but the scorpio races were coming and it was busy season at their wind torn barn. Mishka was lent out to a stranger, which killed Mason both since he had his first win on her the year before and because he hated to watch another sit up on his Mishka. Halfway through the race, his dark mare went crazy and lunged for the sea, dragging her rider down into the depths. A scarlet stain on the frothy water proved his fate and just like that Mishka was gone. Over the following winter, Mason spent every second out searching for his beloved capall and giving his father the cold shoulder.

Since he was out of the house so much, it was a full week before he discovered the remains of his father's body in the pasture. Feeling sick from the sight and guilty that his last words were angry, Mason drove all of the capall they owned back to the sea. Bills started coming in without any capaill to help pay them, so Mason started breaking island horses for locals again, but his heart wasn't in it. He wanted Mishka, his wild mare with a coat the color of the midnight sea. He wanted to gallop across the beaches on a horse who was the storm itself. He wanted the capaill back. When the sea started throwing out water horses again, he caught his new herd. Mishka wasn't seen again, but Mason threw himself into training all of them. By the time the scorpio races came around, he had top capaill to lend out. He ended up placing second on his mount, Kronos, but the first and third placers both rode capaill from his little yard. With his reputation built, plenty of people payed for him to keep and train their capaill over the coming year, guaranteeing food on the table. Over the next couple of years Mason kept training his capaill, but stopped racing in the scorpio races. If anyone asked, it was so that there was no conflict of interest. Deep down, he just didn't want to win on anyone other than Mishka. Whenever he can, he searches the seas for her, hoping against home that the water will return his love to him.

Personality: Mason, if you want to wax philosophical about it, resembles an onion. He's got layers to him and if you peel them off, it might just make you cry. On the surface he's confident to the point of annoying arrogance, with this constant wide smile on his face. The smile seems to say that life is this big inside joke and he's the only one who really gets it. One more layer down, you'll find that he doesn't care very much for the people that he's so friendly towards. Words are empty compared to action and while a capall may kill you, they wouldn't lie to you. He's seen so many people trampled, dragged out to sea, and bitten. It isn't supposed to get easier, that's the mark of a psychopath, but Mason finds himself worrying more over the capaill doing the killing than the people in danger. He hates copper, bells, and the lot of it. To him, it isn't about containing the wild that is the water horse. It's about being wild right alongside them. That's the last layer: the wild side. It's the bit that makes him insane enough to ride a water horse through the water, hop on a brand new water horse bareback, and spend his nights camped out beside the pasture with Buddy instead of actually sleeping in his cottage. In another life, he must have been a capall, because he knows that if he saw Mishka out at sea... he'd swim out to meet her sharp teeth and deadly hooves. There's an expression on the island, one foot on land and one in the sea. Mason has two feet out there and a thin safety line of propriety keeping him from throwing himself at a riptide and getting whisked away. His soul is missing: out there in the ocean somewhere, if he ever had one.

Other: The palomino in the picture above is Buddy, his only normal horse. He uses Buddy to carry supplies out from town and to ride across the island, where people aren't allowed to take their capaill. The AR and heart on the horse is a brand marking, by the way.

Horses:

╔════════════════════════╕
נυѕт α ѕмιℓє ¢συℓ∂ σρєη тнє gαтєѕ тσ нєανєη
╘════════════════════════╝

[AlexandriaBolitho]

The Herd.

Freyla ;; mare ;; 5 ;; x
Kronos ;; stallion ;; 7 ;; x
Fenrir ;; stallion ;; 5 ;; x
Cove ;; mare ;; 7 ;; x
Selkie ;; mare ;; 6 ;; x
Daya ;; filly ;; 1 ;; x
Mishka ;; mare ;; 4 ;; x
Rook ;; colt ;; 3 ;; image at top

[AlexandriaBolitho]

Mason Oliver Greene
Show Jumping Trainer
"Ｉ Ride or Die"

Name:
Mason Oliver Green
Nickname:
Mason
Gender:
Male
Horse:
My Beautiful Thorn
AKA Rosie
Age:
28
⚓
Hair:
Dark brown
Eyes:
Dark brown
Skin:
light tan
Height:
6'2"
Weight:
170 lbs
⚓
Traits:
Intelligent, Sophisticated, Athletic
Skills:
Jumping high or hard jumps, canter in dressage, fencing, dancing
Weaknesses:
Trot in dressage, impatience when teaching
⚓
Mother:
Annabelle Greene
Father:
Mason Greene
Siblings:
None
⚓
Sexuality:
Homosexual
Crush:
No
Relationship Status:
Single

Meet Mason, he was born the only child into a rather wealthy family and was groomed for perfection from the start. He went to a private academy for his grade school years where he learned the art of riding, fencing, dancing, and sneaking around when he isn't supposed to. After graduation, he was a student at Avanworth for two years. He ended up dropping out at the age of twenty to be a grand prix jumper and compete in the upper levels of eventing. After riding competitively for six years, Mason decided that he wanted a change of environment and that he had started to grow frustrated with the constant showing. He ended up becoming a trainer at the riding college he had dropped out of, there had been no hard feelings over him leaving, and has found a new happiness in training the horses and students... though occasionally there's a pupil who gets on his nerves.

He has dark, curly hair and always seems to have some scruff on his face that he's forgotten to shave, but that happens when you wake up at five in the morning to head to the barn. His eyes are just as dark as his hair and are easy to read, the emotion flashes through them clearly, though sometimes Mason hates his horrible poker face. He's tall and fit from riding all day and the physical labors of working at the barn. He's naturally very charismatic without trying and has a magnetic quality, unless he's angry. If somebody endangers a horse, they better watch out, because the hailstorm of fury is rather merciless. Disregarding safety, or the comfort of the horses, is one of his pet peeves. His other pet peeve is wishy washy riders who let their horses get away with misbehaving.

Mason is a very good rider and although when he competed for a living he had multiple horses, he now just has his one mare. She's well behaved enough for him to have good rides, but still spunky enough to give Mason just the right amount of trouble. Mason doesn't let anyone touch his mare and is very protective, though he also has a soft spot for Avanworth's lesson horses. They don't have an owner except for a student assigned to them and Mason always goes out of his way to make sure that they're treated just as well as the staff horses, especially if a horse is assigned to a student who slacks off.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

My Beautiful Thorn
AKA Rosie

KWPN // mare // 6 years old // paint // eventer // owned by Mason

Rosie is a spunky, but normally well behaved, KWPN mare. She has high breeding and was trained by Mason since the age of three, but like any young horse, can have rough days. She's a fantastic eventing horse, though always does best on the show jumping day. Dressage makes her bored and irritated, so she never behaves as well, and cross country exhausts her more than anything, but show jumping is her domain. She loves long spots but will balk if asked to jump too high from too deep. Whenever she hits her hooves on a rail she turns into a drama queen, but she rarely knocks a pole. Rosie has a long stride and speed isn't something Mason ever has to worry about much. She has an obsession with apples and loves to roll in fresh sawdust. When turned out, the mare spends more time trotting and snorting than grazing. She can be a bit of a bully in the pasture, but is an absolute sweetheart when humans approach her stall... especially if they bring an apple.

[sun]

"Monsters are real, ghosts are real too.
They live inside us, and sometimes, they win."

"A great friend, a better enemy."

• Name волк убийца [Volk Ubiytsa]
• Age 23
• Gender Male
• Sexuality Bi
• Smell Black teak wood and seasalt
• Crush None
• Shifts timber wolf, polar bear, orca
• Words wraith, dire, archaic
forsaken, north, soul
ember, scorch, brazen

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

• Height 6'3"
• Weight 185
• Physical Description To put it simply, Volk is a dangerously attractive man. He has a tall, muscled frame that hits the perfect medium between agility and strength. On his chest, back, and arms, Volk has numerous 'battle scars' that speak of lethal encounters he got out of, or started. His skin is smooth and pale, a side effect of his cold climate, and his features are symmetrically angular. His lips are well sculpted and full, though when they're upturned in a smile is when you should be worried. Underneath his thick eyebrows are two cold, uncaring eyes that are the kind of steely grey you never want to see looking your way. His hair is kept long, glossy, and as dark as his soul... not to be dramatic or anything. Without gel, it naturally falls into a well maintained look. He dresses mostly in grey suits, saying that wearing black would make it too obvious he's death incarnate and he wouldn't be caught dead in 'common clothing'. At first glance he looks like a lawyer or a mob boss, though he's too predatory to be a lawyer and too isolated to be a mob boss. Though humans may not know what a shifter is, he brings a certain chill that would tell even them to be afraid.

His wolf form is like taking the evil his human form hints at and shaping it into a body. The fur is black and glossy, enough to keep him warm but nothing more than functional. His eyes are still grey, simply with a larger pupil. He has long legs to carry his athletic frame and his wolf form screams danger. His teeth are sharp and a gleaming white, their contrast with his dark coat making them stand out whenever he bares them in warning. His wolf is both agile and strong, an equal balance.

His bear form has a thick, coarse coat. The white blends in perfectly to snow, but stands out everywhere else. His nose is broad and his eyes are dark, a rich enough brown that they appear black. He's muscled and strong, but deceivingly fast for his bulk. On each paw he has a handful of razor sharp claws and tucked inside his jaw he has canines easily able to snap bone. His bear serves as a tank, able to take any hit and still take down the opponent.

His tiger form is sleek muscle with the traditional black and auburn pattern. With long teeth, sharp claws, and pounds of muscle, you don't want to come face to face with an angry tiger. His stripes help him to camouflage in surprisingly well and while he's not the most agile of the cats, he's a capable climber and a strong swimmer.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

• Personality Picture a hit man. Or a snake. Or the biggest jerk you have ever met. Now you're getting warmer. Volk doesn't care about anything or anyone other than himself and his property. People exist purely to amuse him or waste space and what it takes to amuse him... can be a little vicious. He acts as if life is one big joke and the only one who gets the punchline is himself. Some may say his loyalty to those on his 'inside group' would redeem him, but after he rips apart a human for looking at his sister the wrong way, those few often take back their claims of redemption. It is true that what he cares about he cares about to an extreme, though it could be debated whether or not Volk truly understands the concept, or has ever actually felt, true love. His warped, possessive, and slightly obsessive perception on love may be the closest he ever gets, not that he cares. For him it's all about doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. At the moment he's drifting with nobody to check him or be the conscious he doesn't have. Rather, he's a loose cannon set to explode and determined to drag everyone else down with him. If it isn't fun it isn't worth it, responsibility is a foreign term, and it is just plain more exciting to be the villain in the story.

His childhood made him strong and able to not only survive any situation, but work it to his advantage until he's on top. A natural predator, it's only fitting that the animals spliced into his DNA are all apex predators (though it can be argued that his animal forms all have a soft side as well)...

If you had to sum Volk up it would be this: psychopath, insane, and maybe redeemable.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

• History Volk grew up an orphan, but not the kind with only the belongings they carry with them. He didn't survive on an empty stomach or live in raggedy clothing. If anything, it was the opposite. He traveled around with his older half-sister, conning people out of their money and houses to live a comfortable, if not immoral, high life. He learned how to lie at the same time he learned how to talk and from a very young age he came to the conclusion that if you can take it, you deserve it. Every single year his sister helped raise him, Volk worked his butt off to try and beat her at everything. He tried to steal more money than her, fight better than her, run faster than her, educate himself more than her, and on and on and on. Everything was a competition and every day he was getting stronger, more efficient, and more vicious. It was the two of them against the world and the two half-siblings were winning. Then it happened. [removed] Valyrie went down in the cross fire, leaving a nineteen year old Volk fighting their war against the world alone. Except no longer was it a war against the world. No, all of his unbridled fury aimed straight at the mob. Over the next three years, he hunted and killed every man he saw responsible for his sister's death, including a multitude who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. On his 22 year of life he had taken out every single one of them. There was nobody left to fight. He lost his sense of direction and started going on sweeping trips across the country, doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted (much in the same style that he lived his entire life), but this time he had no Valyrie to be the small voice of reason. Although she herself was nuts, without her, Volk swam down past the deep end and through the bottom of the pool of crazy. He ended up in jail for a list of crimes (not actually long enough to cover what really happened), which made him an easy pick for the scientists. They scooped him up out of jail and nobody knew Volk or cared enough to notice.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

• Shifts

[AlexandriaBolitho]

█
█
█
█
█
█
█
█
█
█
█
█
█
█
█

▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌

--- basic info ---
ɴᴀᴍᴇ: kvothe cedar hartman.
ᴀɢᴇ: twenty.
ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: male.
ᴏᴄᴄᴜᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: rider.

--- physical appearance ---
ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ: 6'2".
ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ: rich brown.
ʜᴀɪʀ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ: brown and gold.
sᴋɪɴ: very tan.
ғᴏʀᴍ: tall and toned with
definition from hours of riding.

--- personality ---
ᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛs: protective,
hard working, dedicated.
ɴᴇɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛs: arrogant,
show off, perfectionist.

--- love life ---
ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs: nothing
after Rebekah.
ᴄʀᴜsʜ: tba.
ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ: none.

--- other ---
ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ: bisexual.

▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌
▌

Don't act like you're not impressed.

Kvothe grew up in the outskirts of Manchester on his father's estate. An only child with divorced parents, his days consisted of tutoring sessions, riding lessons, fencing tournaments, and soccer practices. With the pressure of living up to his family's name constantly hanging over her head, and the eagle eye of his father's staff, Kvothe worked hard to improve himself as much as he could. He trained, studied, read, rode, ran, worked out, and just never stopped. He didn't have time to make friends, not that there were any kids around. He didn't have time to spend with family, not that they did either. He didn't have time to be a kid. Before he could realize what he was missing, he was already a young teenager. His family decided to send him to boarding school, were he quickly became established as 'the it guy'. He was head of the eventing team, assistant coached polo to the middle school students, competed in fencing, started in soccer, and kept straight A's. He was the kid that everybody wanted to hate, but just couldn't. Kvothe constantly wore this giant smile on his face and knew everybody by name. He was the kid who showed up every day, naturally looking fabulous, and just seemed to get what was being taught in class. He simply excelled in everything he tried. For Kvothe, life was perfect. Everything was a game, a competition, and he was winning.
At the time he had a steady girlfriend, basically the female version of him. Rebekah rode polo, played field hockey, was captain of the tennis team, and his only real competition for valedictorian.
What you have to understand about being perfect is this: no matter how much it looks like it, it doesn't come easily. Not to anyone. Perfection comes from years of hard work, high pressure, and micromanaging yourself until you cannot make mistakes. It's nearly impossible to obtain and absolutely impossible to uphold, that's why almost nobody appears 'perfect.'
Rebekah couldn't take the pressure. She cracked.
After Rebekah's death, his father wanted him to finish his last year at boarding school, graduate valedictorian, go to Oxford, and then take over the family's businesses. However, his mother in America reached out, wanting to have Kvothe come to Texas and spend a year away from the pressure he was under in England. She was worried if everything continued as it was, her son would follow his girlfriend's footsteps. Although her father didn't like the idea, he relented with the assurance that Kvothe would still return to England for college.
Kvothe never wanted to move to America. He wasn't close to his father, but didn't know his mother any better, and all of his friends were still at boarding school. He had become less chipper after Rebekah's death, but was still working as hard as ever, determined to be everything the two of them had wanted to be together. Despite maintaining his perfectionist attitude, he knew that he wasn't going to do what Rebekah did... so he's ultimately not enthused to be shipped off to Texas, a place he had never been to before and nearly the opposite of Manchester.
His only consolation is that his mother owns a ranch, so he can bring his horses with him. In reality, they're more his family than anyone related to him by blood.

Pas de Deux (a dance for two)
Deux is a bay, eight year old Andalusian stallion that was given to Kvothe by his trainer, Phillip, when the horse was only two years old. Kvothe was taking dressage lessons on trained horses at the same time he was training Deux, and with Philip's help the stallion grew to be responsive, obedient, and able. Deux has a good trot and walk, but in a dressage test he really shines in his canter. The stallion has the muscle for the more complicated dressage moves and is all in all a very good mount, but Kvothe knew from the start that he wasn't cut out for eventing. Instead, Deux is kept solely for dressage: both to show and to keep Kvothe sharp to the more fine tuned and difficult maneuvers in the discipline. The stallion is very friendly and stands at the front of his stall like a puppy dog, seeking out affection from everybody walking by. He is a sucker for apples or some time hand grazing and overall has a very sweet demeanor. His only vice is a tendency to get behind the leg in the trot, but he makes up for it with his flawless frame.

Calypso
Cal is a buckskin, seven year old akhal teke mare that Kvothe got when she was four years old. When he got her, she had only a few months under the saddle in basic training, but Kvothe saw right away that she had potential for cross country. Her akhal teke conformation is far from popular among dressage judges, but her incredible stamina and gazelle like jump have her flying across the longer cross country courses and acing the wide jumps. Cal has an enormous amount of heart and Kvothe just has to barely close his leg for her to go flying out across the green, ears held forward as she excitedly waits for the next jump. He's tries stadium jumping with the mare, but her heart isn't in it, so Kvothe made the ultimate decision to keep her just for cross country. Even if he only admits it to himself, Cal is one of his favorites because there's no feeling more freeing than galloping her down a cross country course. He doesn't have to worry about getting everything perfect, he can just let himself truly find joy in the riding. Cal's vice is licorice and she's an angel in cross country, but prone to severe misbehavior like rearing and kicking when other horses get to close. She's sweet to Kvothe, don't get me wrong, but she'll nip at strangers and doesn't get along with other horses.

Maiden of Gold
Mai is a seven year old, cremello, KWPN mare. She's a rather nervous horse with a tendency to spook on the cross country course and overbridle herself when doing dressage, but something about the showjumping ring just brings out the best in her. If you have leg to the fences, she'll jump the moon for you and take any distance you ask (if you don't have leg, she'll scramble to a stop or rear). Mai is sweet, if not timid, and a complete scaredy cat... but when her rider gives her confidence, she could win a puissance. Kvothe got Mai when she was four years old and started over fences, but her previous owners had been abusive and it took months for Kvothe to relay the basics before he could even bring the cremello back to jumps. She'll do anything for a sugar cube and will happily follow you around while you put jumps away, just stay calm and quiet around her to keep Mai in your pocket. Kvothe loves her because he knows that she feels safe with him around, and he likes being the source of that security. Although her dirty stops can happen when there isn't leg on, Mai aces tight turns, jumping high from any speed, and her sheer physical ability.

The Rascal King
Rascal is a six year old thoroughbred and paint cross. He doesn't have a fine breeding line stretching back for miles with a list of grand prix relatives. He's a nurse mare foal that was lucky to survive and lucky to find Kvothe. Kvothe broke him under saddle, expecting for the young colt to be a project horse he would eventually sell. Instead, the mutt horse aced every single challenge thrown his way. His conformation is solid, especially after all of the topline work Kvothe put into him, and his gaits are all floaty. He listens well in dressage and accepts the bit nicely. In cross country, he loves to run and has to be held back to the logs. The water doesn't phase him and Rascal aces banks. In stadium jumping, Kvothe just has to keep him from getting too forward and ride out the playful bucks that the stallion would toss his way after a long spot. Rascal is playful, strong as iron, and the underdog who proved himself to be the best. He's Kvothe's angel and show horse, the only one that does all three sports and is a true eventer. Rascal cannot stand to ever be in a stall (if you put him in one he'll rear and throw fits), but he'll always come running when he sees you by the pasture fence. At the price of a carrot, he'll stand quietly (mostly) at the cross ties. Always ready to work and always with a bit of spunk, Rascal has too much character for you to not love him.