⇦ S T O R Y the shapeshifter. ⇨
Username: aerolith
Kennel number: #80
a.) i am interested in this character because their design is very intriguing to me--i'm attracted to minimalist-type characters, and this one is exactly that. not too flashy, but still stands out. the simplicity and beauty of their color scheme really makes the red accent over their eyes pop, too. it's such a versatile design that it could easily be transferred onto a separate species. which kind of makes me think that they would be a good match for a shapeshifter character. (a limited amount of shifts, since they would most likely not be able to form themselves into a human--if they've ever even met one, anyway) i have many characters that i like to use for inspiration for my poetry, so this one will probably be a pretty fair candidate for that sort of use as well.
b.) i am unsure if i will use them for RP purposes or not, but if the opportunity comes forth, i will gladly do so! i'll definitely be drawing them as well, and again, using them as inspiration for my poetry and original compositions.
⇦ A B O U T story.⇨
name: they choose to call themselves "story".
gender: ambiguous, perhaps male-sided.
personality:
a wraith in the mist--a flicker of such vibrance like none other, a smear of bright berries or blood, a splatter of paint--coupled by a velvety mouse-brown, strange and supple. an owl fades into view, landing silently. its edges become detached and difficult to follow as its shape, its original shape, as the winged creature. or was it? can it be said that this ever-changing, delicate set of light red eyes, lightly bloodshot, its paws meeting the ground as a solid form of a thin mexican wolf, has ever been or will be one thing at the same time?
it is strange to see it with your own eyes, the shift. the wary nature of their poise and posture leads you to believe that they are not from around these parts. every snap of branch or disturbance in the water is an adrenaline rush straight to their heart, strapped somewhere awkwardly within their chest, never the same imprint of an animal's beating organ. a grim, knowing fear, harbored by a sharpness, an adept nature to change. they are on a journey, and they do not lack the needed precautions. but are they so fit that they will not falter in the face of their final destination?
you are a dart in the sand
or a fish wriggling in the wind over the water
you are the wrists of a deer running fast and far
and the teeth of the wolf that bites her.
(cautious, gentle, kind, wise, generous, trustworthy, brave, secretive, sensitive, alert, sympathetic, empathetic)
(anxious, wary, paranoid, frightened, reproachful, easily swayed, gullible, assuming, relenting, overwhelmed, mistaken)
wherein the rat is trapped in the wire
touch the feather to the underside of your flank, a single rib
drops to the ground and shatters into red powder
to paint your fur the colors of your ancestors.
history:
story had no name when they were born.
story did not have a story in their blood. but they would. they just did not know it.
from the womb of a mother not known by any, they seek deliverance, responding to an ancient prophecy in which two would be born from fire and flame, they who have the power of change. one must seek the other. there will be one who is pure and one who is sullied. good and evil must find each other, and one must die.
it was not a bad life, and story was not alone. as a babe, born and remarkably surviving a massive, raging desert fire, they lay wet and curled, shivering, in their first form, a slender mexican wolf. so slender that many doubted the babe would survive the night. they lay pitifully until the most peaceful pack, the Rain Over Dry Mountains, took him in as their own. they knew not of the prophecy--they only knew that he would die if he was not saved. as gentle as they were, they held darkness in them, like all creatures before and ahead of them have and will. when his abilities were discovered as a juvenile, playing with his non-kin, it was all hushed breath and rumors, misting the sky with dark clouds, which story looked upon with his round eyes, the sigil painted on his face by the grace of the sky-creatures bright in the filtered rain-light. thus, on the next great voyage across the plain, they sent story across the fork in the path towards another destination. animals do not grieve as hard as we expect them to, out of our own logic, but nevertheless, there was perhaps some guilt for a week or a moon.
story saw the owls the sixth night of being alone, and he spread his wings and flew.
they did not know where he came from or why he spoke with a growlish hoot. they only understood that he matched their form and feathers enough for them to believe that he was deserving of a wing-fellow or two, sky-creature bless him, his round red eyes rimmed with the light of the moon. a striking figure. now that story was aging, he began to understand the ways of the world, and how some were meant to be save moreso than others. and so, he led his flight to safety time and time again, thinking ahead more than any of them could have anticipated--his sensitivity and fine-tuned fright for any sort of danger made it either impossible to get a reason out of him, or a beacon of light in a dark, confusing cloud over their fragile avian lives.
his intelligence and clairvoyance was undoubtably special. but like the wolves, the owls knew not his fate or his final destination. he was a vagabond traveler, unmatched at catching prey and catching the drafts of the wind, unspeakably paranoid yet noticing everything. it didn't feel...natural. a night and a night again, they left before sunfall, and story slept. he slept until the last feather dropped, and the rest of them vanished into the storm wordlessly.
story flew over the hills and he saw horses. he dove, landed on his hooves and ran.
they had never felt the wind so fast and sure around their body before. and they laughed. the mares flanked them with a gentle nudge to their side, and they had found another family, connected with more souls, ambiguous and attached to no form.
story's heart was full, despite the fact that all of their families would leave him. despite everything about them, they were still believed to be a bad omen, in the end. they were just too...something. too much of something that nobody understood.
but the wolves began to remember.
they remembered tales of old and their forefather's writing on the walls of the stone valley that they found at last, in which they discovered a multitude of truths about the one they had found so long ago.
when they found them again, they made sure they knew what they needed to do. they made sure they knew that they were not the only one of their kind, and that they had a chance to become known as either one who falls to darkness, or one who rises to the light.
story knew that no prophecy could tell them that fate. they must decide on their own.
likes:
rain
running with the wind on his back
good company
safety precautions
a full stomach and a comfortable place to rest
open space
dislikes:
families and friends getting hurt
betrayal
loneliness
violence
deceit
extras--
CURRENT FORMS: mexican wolf, owl, horse
^^^art by myself (aerolith)
