▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓Name:
Although her true name has long been
lost and she is called by many many
names this Guardian of the North
responds to only one. Alala. A name
most fitting for her and she boasts it
proudly. From the African Lou meaning
"the Lost One" or weather you prefer
to see it as the Greek meaning of "war-like"
either fits her well.
Pen number:4
Will you make any use of the Cryst?:Yes. I may not be very very active in the community with art and stuff but I do love on both the Cryst I currently own and talk about them to my friends and do little stories for them in my notebooks and this lovely woman would be included in all that. She would be very loved and doted on and given all sorts of time put into her to further develop her character and just to make sure that she is very active.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓Personality:
violent || dominant || protective || fierce || leader || survivor || sly || lethal || intelligent || arrogant
Alala's personality has been greatly influenced by her past. Where once a normal Cryst, Alala has grown into very powerful and fierce woman. She is one that if you were to just walk [or technically pad] into a room, even if it was filled with 100 other Cryst, she is the first one you would notice. She seems to have this air about her that draws the few that have actually met her and makes them instantly either fear or admire her. She is a very proud and vain woman with eyes like the setting sun that seem to pierce into one's soul, reading even their deepest thoughts before they speak a word, or so one would think with how skilled she is a reading people. Alala is such a character that she does not take kindly to being opposed and will do what she deems fit to be the one that comes out on top, to ensure that she is seen as dominate, the winner of all. She is a very fierce and unforgiving creature that has no qualms with taking control of any situation. All of these qualities are what made her successful in being able to defend her kin in the North, to be able to save countless lives in the war that surely would have wiped her people out of existence. She is a survivor and a warrior.
Despite her very prickly and domineering first impressions Alala is actually a very caring Cryst, after all she wouldn't put herself through the trouble of helping others if she didn't have some form of a heart. She is very protective of everyone, weather she knows them or not and will defend those she deems worthy with everything she has, giving even her last breath if that is what it would require. She has a soft spot for kits and young families, the loss of her own having always been a very heavy burden on her heart that drives her to make sure others have a happy ending.
History:
My life began with a single sound. A small mewl given from my lips as my lungs burned with oxygen for the very first time. Nothing else. My mother had often told me that after that first sound of weakness, calling out for her in need as I was born, was the only sound I made for a long while. My little was large, totaling in four surviving kits and one born of a still birth, a sound never coming from her tiny lips. Just as my litter was; so was I. The largest of my litter by quite a lot I was a big child. Stocky, long furred, bright red crystals just peaking out of my fur. Later, when I was the last to open my eyes, we would learn they were bright yellow-orange orbs. The color of the sun, contrasting with my red and silver fur and further setting me apart from my siblings.
My early life was uninteresting. Like any cub I was dependent on my mother for just about everything, food, warmth, comfort. Like any cub I slowly grew larger and larger, stronger and stronger. I spent my days rough housing with my siblings, and winning if I must say as their smaller sizes weakened them, and watching my mother and father was they went about doing their normal things, learning as much as my small mind would allow me to absorb. Life was simple like this for almost two months. And then the illness started.
It began with my father. He came home from a hunt looking sickly one night, my mother of course fretted over him. His coat was dull, his crystals cracked and dim looking, his eyes loosing that light of life everyone has. He was not sick for long, only a few days, and then he began to get better so we all just passed it off as some short lived bug. But then my youngest sibling caught the same thing, weather it was in the air or from coming in contact with our father no one knew. She was not as fortunate as my father and the illness proved too much for her. She was the first to go. And then it was my eldest sibling, though still younger than me, followed by my last remaining sister until I was the only cub left. My parents were in a panic, weeks had passed by this point, each new day bringing the fear that one of their children would not wake up the next sunrise, and we had no idea how to stop it. Eventually I came down with the sickness too. It felt like death. I know of no other way to describe it. It felt like my body was burning from the inside, this all consuming heat that wanted nothing more than to burst from my lungs. I couldn't breathe properly, my mouth was dry, my crystals itched endlessly, everything was either too hot or too cold. Nothing felt right. I lost myself to this sensation, this feeling of complete wrongness, for days. Or so I'm told. I don't remember much of what actually occurred while I was sick but when I was finally dragged out of the darkness I was laying in the corner of a darkly lit cave, an elaborately dressed medicine Crystinalian standing over me and trying his best to shove some sort of bile tasting paste into my lips. Too weak to object I was forced to swallow said paste. Everything seems to taste like mint now.
By the time I was well enough for our family to move back to our home group I was already almost six months old. Four months had passed in sickness, loss, and fear, something I was eager to never have to experience again. Once again my life seemed to return to normal. I grew into a young woman, still larger than most the males my age. I had friends, enemies, crushes. The whole nine yards of a normal and happy teen age time for us. Eventually I would leave my mothers side to find a life of my own in a different group of our kind, meet new people.
I found a mate.
We were happy together and soon were expecting kits, a happy young couple madly in love with the idea of having a family of our own to grow and raise and adore. This was not to be. Within minutes of their birthing all three of my kits would lay dead, curled around my stomach and cold. So very cold. I do not know what is wrong with me. I do not know why my kits had to die, why my mateship had to crash in the wake of their death. Why my happy ending had to be torn away. But it would not get better.
Years after the stillbirth of my children, after my love had left, after I had finally given up on the thought of maybe continuing on and was ready to accept death in whatever form it may come, something changed. Our snowy lands had always been realitivly peaceful and quiet. Sure we had the occasional spat or argument, the terrain and weather harsh on us, but for the most part this new home I had rooted myself into was a kind one. And then one day the hunters came.
I am unsure how to describe these new attackers, as they are not something that we had ever seen or been able to prepare ourselves for. Looking back on it now I am not even sure I remember what their faces look like, they are only black shadows in my memory. It started with those that lived on the outskirts of our loose group. The young left unprotected, the old. And slowly they closed in on the larger population of us.
For two years we lived in fear, anticipating the time when they would make a move to surely wipe us out of our homeland. And we did not have long of a wait. They came in the dead of night, the screams of my friends as they were killed waking from my slumber. I do not remember much of what happened next but much like the time when I had once been small and scared, burning with sickness, a new feeling etched its way into my blood. Rage.
An emotion so powerful and blinding that the sight of the blood of those I had held dear of years, their bodies mangled on the snowy ground with the red seeping into the landscape, drove me into a frenzy. I killed without mercy. I ripped them limb from limb and drove back the crusaders that had for so long stolen the peace that I had finally come to know. I would not let them take from me my friends and family. I would protect those who could not protect themselves. Those were my lands, my home, my fate. And they, these cowards in the night, silky and black, would NOT take them from me. With the help of the few remaining that they had not already killed, we drove them away, slaughtered them and made them regret ever coming for our lands in the first place. The weather may have been horrid, the slopes and terrain unforgiving, but of all the things that prowled in our lands, we were the most dangerous when threatened and pushed to the edge.
After that day, when all the dead had been cleared away, our own kind buried and theirs burned, I have not stopped moving. It had been my sole job to protect those who need it, to make sure the world stays a better place under my watch. I could not let another soul suffer from loss as I had.
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